⁰⁴

he  huffs  out  a  laugh,  shaking  his  head  as  he  takes  a  sip  from  his  water  before  screwing  the  cap  back  onto  the  bottle.  “ that’s  all  it  takes,  huh ? one  conversation  about  my  highly  organized  social  life  and  you’re  out ? ”  the  teasing  lands  easily,  but  there’s  an  edge  to  it  this  time.  his  gaze  follows  her  as  she  shifts  on  the  counter,  and  for  a  moment  he  looks  away,  drumming  his  fingers  against  the  marble.  he  doesn’t  want  her  to  go,  though  the  reason  remains  maddeningly  elusive  ;  feelings  were  far  easier  to  suppress  than  they  were  to  understand.  “ weren’t  we  supposed  to  grab  breakfast  tomorrow ? ”  a  shrug,  as  though  the  thought  has  only  just  occurred  to  him.  “ the  place  down  the  street  opens  at  eight.  you  made  me  promise  to  try  those  stupid  red  velvet  pancakes. ”  the  corner  of  his  mouth  twitches.  “ seems  kinda  inefficient  to  leave  now  just  to  drive  back  over  here  in  a  few  hours. ”

pauses halfway through pushing herself off the counter. for a second she looks at him, suspicion and hope splitting in a way she doesn’t quite know what to do with. “ inefficient ? ” she repeats, one brow lifting. “ that’s a very interesting way of asking me not to leave. ” she glances down at the oversized sleeves hanging past her hands before looking back at him. “ and for the record, you promised those pancakes were disgusting before you’d even tried them. ” there’s something dim in her expression now, but it's still awkward. “ if i stay, i’m not waking up at seven - thirty because you decide you need an hour - long lecture about why red velvet shouldn’t exist. ” she slides off the counter completely, standing in front of him now. “ and if they’re good, i expect a formal apology. ” a tilt of her head. “ written and signed. ”

his  grin  falters  for  the  briefest  instant  at  her  question,  subtle  enough  most  people  would  have  missed  it,  though  his  gaze  sharpens  on  her.  he  watches  her  drink  from  his  water  bottle  like  she  belongs  in  his  kitchen,  in  his  clothes,  in  his  space.  domesticity  should  have  unsettled  him  more.  instead,  an  irritating  warmth  unfurls  low  in  his  chest.  “ nobody  important, ”  he  says  easily  like  the  answer  requires  no  further  thought  whatsoever.  but  she  keeps  pressing  on  the  matter,  drawing  a  quiet  scoff  from  his  chest.  “ exhausting ? ”  he  echoes  as  he  steps  forward  until  his  hip  presses  against  the  counter  between  her  knees.  “ you  act  like  i’m  maintaining  a  fuckin’  spreadsheet. ”  his  fingers  slide  around  the  bottle,  brushing  hers  with  deliberate  slowness  before  reclaiming  it.  “ most  of  ‘em  don’t  matter  long  enough  to  become  exhausting, ”  it’s  uttered  lightly,  though  his  eyes  linger  on  her  mouth  for  a  second  too  long.  “ that’s  usually  the  appeal. ”

she looks down as he takes the bottle back from her, suddenly very aware of herself sitting there in his kitchen wearing his clothes, asking questions she probably didn’t have the right to ask — they were only hooking up. the warmth from before spirals into something more embarrassing. “ right, ” she murmurs, thumb rubbing absently against the sleeve pooled over her hand. “ sorry. i didn’t mean to make it weird. ” the words are gentle on the surface, almost teasing, but she avoids his eyes when she says them. after a second she nudges his hip gently with her knee, attempting a smile again. “ your spreadsheet comment was funny, though. ” — “ i should probably go. ”

he  barely  glances  at  the  illuminated  screen  before  flipping  his  phone  facedown  against  the  marble  countertop,  her  voice  drifting  through  the  kitchen  a  second  later.  a  smirk  tugs  at  his  mouth  instantly  at  her  curiosity.  possessiveness.  he  liked  how  it  sounded  on  her.  “ why ? ”  he  muses,  twisting  the  cap  off  his  water  bottle.  “ you  jealous,  des ? ”  he  leans  back  against  the  counter,  gaze  sweeping  over  her  swallowed  by  his  hoodie. 

doesn’t look up right away, curled into his hoodie like she belongs there, fingers tracing absentminded patterns against the edge of the counter. she catches the glow of the screen anyway. girls’ names. pictures. she hates that her chest tightens every single time. but she only hums softly, like it’s nothing. “ uh, depends, ” she says after a second, reaching over to steal his water bottle from his hand. “ should i be ? ” there’s a teasing lilt to it, light enough to pass as a joke, but she keeps her eyes on the bottle instead of him while she takes a sip. it gives her a second to hide the fact she actually fucking cares. “ i just don’t get why you keep all that, ” she admits quietly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “ if you like someone, wouldn’t all the random girls get exhausting after a while ? ” she glances at him, vulnerable for half a heartbeat before she masks it with a faint smile.

most  girls  in  this  town  —  most  people,  really  —  either  leaned  in  fast  because  of  who  he  used  to  be,  or  they  stayed  long  enough  to  feel  chosen  before  he  moved  on  first.  yara  doesn’t  fit  that  pattern ;  she  doesn’t  orbit  him,  doesn’t  soften  when  he  turns  to  the  versions  of  himself  that  typically  works.  doesn’t  seem  particularly  interested  in  being  picked,  or  won  over,  or  kept.  which  should  have  made  her  irrelevant  but  it  does  the  opposite.  “ masochistic ? ”  he  repeats,  though  it’s  less  a  question  and  more  a  test  of  the  shape  of  it,  like  he  can  turn  it  into  a  joke  before  it  gets  too  close  to  anything  real.  “ that’s  a  bold  choice  for  someone  who claims to hate me and is still standing here. ”  his  jaw  ticks  once  as  he  looks  at  her,  and  there’s  a  brief,  almost  annoyed  exhale.  like  he’s  irritated  at  the  fact  his  attention  keeps  returning  to  her  when  it  would  be  easier  if  it  didn’t.  there’s  an  instinct  to  step  back  into  the  familiarity  of  charm,  and  distance,  but  she  remains  unmoved  by  all  the  facades  that  used  to  work.  “ besides, ”  he  says,  lighter  again,  but  not  fully  back  in  control  of  it,  “ most  people  in  this  town  pick  a  lane  with  me. ”  they  either  regard  him  like  a  trophy  or  a  warning  sign.  “ you’re  the  only  one  who  doesn’t  bother. ”  and  it  feels  like  the  one  confession  he’s  let  slip  past  all  his  defenses  tonight  without  meaning  to  catch  it  on  the  way  out.

held his gaze for a second after that, cigarette balanced between two fingers. the alley had gone strangely quiet. his words sat between them heavier than they probably should’ve. you’re the only one who doesn’t bother. something glazed across her face then. enough to make her look younger for a second, like she’d accidentally let him see too much. her eyes dropped again, briefly, catching on his mouth before climbing back up to his eyes. “ maybe i’m just tired. ” she murmured but there's no real commitment behind her words. “ seems easier. ” she leaned her head back against the brick for a moment, eyes falling shut before opening again. “ you’re just a guy, kit. ” the honesty seemed to irritate her the second it left her mouth. she looked away, taking another drag instead. finally, she exhaled through her nose and dropped the cigarette to the pavement. she ground it out beneath the heel of her boot, eyes fixed downward while the ember died out. “ okay, well. this was fun and all, but i should probably get home. ”

his  mouth  quirks  around  the  cigarette,  but  the  smile  is  tired  at  the  edges  now,  stripped  of  most  of  its  usual  arrogance.  he  watches  her  fight  with  the  lighter  for  a  second  before  answering,  gaze  dragging  over  the  oversized  jacket  swallowing  her  whole.  a  low  exhale  slips  through  his  nose,  “ pretty  sure  it  was  kelsey. ”  maybe.  his  shoulders  lift  in  a  loose  shrug  against  the  brick  wall,  tapping  ash  onto  the  pavement,  before  eyes  flick  back  to  hers  beneath  the  security  light.  then,  quieter,  roughened  around  the  edges  in  a  way  that  sounds  far  too  honest  for  him.  “ didn’t  really  feel  like  going  home  yet. ”  and  by  the  fact  that  he’s  standing  outside  her  bar  with  a  half-finished  cigarette  instead  of  being  tangled  in  some  other  girl’s  sheets,  the  choice  has  already  been  made.  apparently,  yara’s  brutal  honesty  is  still  easier  to  stomach  than  the  emptiness  waiting  everywhere  else.  he  glances  past  her  toward  the  empty  alley  behind  the  bar  before  looking  back  at  her,  cigarette  balanced  between  his  fingers.  “ thought  for  sure  your  bartender  boyfriend  would’ve  followed  you  out  after  that  tragic  little  ‘ let  me  take  you  out ’  performance  earlier. ”  his  mount  tilts  faintly  when  she  finally  gets  the  cigarette  lit.  “ guess  you  weren’t  impressed  by  his  advances  either. ”  a  beat.  “ good  to  know  it’s  not  just  me  you’re  mean  to. ” 

her eyes stayed on the cigarette between her fingers for a long moment after he spoke, lashes lowered, sleeves tugged over her hands until only the tips of her fingers showed. his teasing barely pulled a reaction out of her. just the faintest exhale. “ he flirts with anything that breathes, ” she murmured. “ i’d be offended if he didn’t. ” the alley smelled like wet concrete, nicotine, rain trapped somewhere in the air even though it hadn’t started yet. “ and i’m not mean to you, ” she mocks, almost distracted. “ you just say shit that deserves mean answers. ” the vaguest twitch of her mouth, eyes dropping to the pavement between them. when she spoke again, her voice had gone soft. “ just don’t get why you’re here, kit. ” of all fucking places. and it's not exactly accusing but her fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. then, before she could seem to think better of it, she leaned in just a fraction too close. “ feels a little masochistic, honestly. ”

half  this  town  used  to  orbit  you.  her  words  land  with  sharpened  precision,  unearthing  recollections  he  spends  most  nights  trying  to  drown  beneath  whiskey  and  ambient  noise.  friday  night  stadium  lights,  deafening  applause  reverberating  through  bleachers,  grown  men  clasping  his  shoulder  like  proximity  to  kit  fontaine  might  grant  them  immortality  by  association.  this  town  had  once  looked  at  him  like  he  hung  the  damn  moon.  even  now,  after  the  injury,  the  implosion,  they  still  stared  —  only  now  there  were  murmurs  woven  beneath  the  reverence  :  poor  kit.  what  a  waste.  could’ve  been  legendary.  the  golden  boy  who  almost  made  it.  small  towns  adored  tragedy  almost  as  much  as  they  adored  glory,  and  he  had  become  the  fusion  of  both.  “ yeah, ”  his  mouth  curves  faintly  at  her  accusation,  though  the  smile  carries  an  uncharacteristic  melancholy.  because  yara,  unlike  everybody  else  in  this  godforsaken  town,  never  looks  at  him  like  a  relic  preserved  behind  glass.  she  looks  at  him  plainly,  brutally.  and  hell,  he  thinks  there’s  a  depraved  part  of  him  that  likes  her  for  it.  when  she  urges  him  to  order  or  quit  distracting  her,  his  gaze  lingers  another  second  too  long  before  he  finally  shakes  his  head.  “ i’m  good. ”  he  pulls  cash  from  his  pocket  and  slides  it  across  the  counter,  tip  gratuitously  excessive  in  the  way  people  with  unresolved  guilt  are.  outside,  the  girl  waiting  for  him  brightens  immediately  when  she  sees  him.  he  approaches  with  a  smile,  with his  typical  charm,  pressing  a  fleeting  kiss  against  her,  before  ushering  her  into  the  uber  with  the  hollow  promise  of  a  call.  maybe  yara’s  right.  maybe  he  is  an  asshole.  thirty  minutes  later,  he’s  leaning  against  the  brick  wall  behind  the  bar,  cigarette  smoldering  between  his  fingers  as  he  waits  for  yara  to  emerge  through  the  back  door. 

the back door shoved open with a tired groan. she stepped out with her oversized jacket already swallowed around her frame, one sleeve half-covering her hand while she wrestled a lighter from her pocket. her eyes looked exhausted in the yellow security light overhead. and for a second, she almost walked straight past him. almost. instead, she stopped short when she noticed the cigarette ember igniting beside the wall, her expression tightening immediately. “ seriously ? ” she muttered, tugging the jacket tighter around herself against the cold. “ you waited out here ? ” her tone of voice came out flatter than she intended, but there was something underneath it that betrayed her anyway. because the stupidest part of her, the lonely, ugly little part she spent most days trying to starve to death, had noticed the shape of him through the back window ten minutes ago and kept looking anyway. she leaned against the opposite wall, fishing a cigarette from the crumpled pack in her pocket. “ don't have better shit to do ? ” a complete impartiality, eyes fixed on the lighter flame instead of him. “ where's kennedy, kit. ”

a  laugh  escapes  him,  low  and  incredulous,  arriving  a  fraction  too  delayed  to  sound  entirely  authentic.  the  neon  glow  fractures  across  the  planes  of  his  face  as  he  drags  his  tongue  against  the  inside  of  his  cheek,  gaze  dropping  briefly  toward  the  amber  liquor  sweating  against  the  counter.  seventeen.  christ,  he  hates  that  boy  more  than  anybody  else  ever  could  —  all  arrogance  and  invincibility,  grinning  like  the  world  had  already  carved  his  name  into  permanence.  “ jesus  christ, ”  his  mouth  quirks  despite  himself,  “ you’ve  been  holding  onto  that  for  years ? ”  his  eyes  lift  back  to  hers,  amusement  lacquered  carefully  over  an  older  bruise.  “ and  here  i  thought  you  never  paid  attention  to  me  in  high  school. ”  then  the  bar back  cuts  through  the  moment  with  his  easy  grin  and  half-assed  invitation  toward  yara,  all  effortless  charm  and  uncomplicated  desire.  kit  watches  her  send  him  away,  jaw  ticking  faintly  before  he  exhales  through  his  nose.  “ yeah,  well, ”  quieter  now,  roughened  around  the  edges  by  whiskey  and  candor  alike,  “ he  doesn’t  know  you.  makes  it  easier. ”  the  confession  slips  out  before  he  can  cauterize  it.  “ i  flirt  with  girls  i’ll  forget  in  a  week, ”  he  mutters,  almost  absently,  then  immediately  leans  an  elbow  against  the  counter,  smirk  returning  like  practiced  muscle  memory.  “ but  alright,  professor.  tell  me  again  how  flirting’s  supposed  to  work.  i’ll  take  notes  this  time. ” 

she dropped her eyes for a moment after he said it, thumb dragging mindless circles into the soaked rag in her hands until the fabric twisted around her knuckles. the whole bar kept breathing around them. liquor over sticky counters, the crack of pool balls splitting through the room. but it all sounded too far away. like the world had narrowed down to the space between his mouth and hers. “ you were hard not to notice in high school, ” she murmured. “ half this town used to orbit you. ” — the recognition of someone who’d spent years watching people burn themselves alive trying to stand close to him. she looked at him, then. the way the red neon over the liquor shelves washed over his face in a way that felt almost unfair. “ and you were kind of an asshole. ” the corner of her mouth twitched after she said it, something halfway between amusement and accusation, but it disappeared almost immediately. yara swallowed, clearing her throat. before she could even muster up a response, she caught her manager’s eyes from across the bar, already watching them too long. there were empty glasses stacked beside the sink, tickets still in the window, stools that needed flipping before close. she’d spent almost the entire night trying to outrun the end of her shift, and suddenly she remembered exactly who kit was. something in her face glazed over after that. she folded the rag once over her hand and stepped back into the rhythm of the bar. “ look, i’m slammed right now, ” she avoided his eye, already reaching for another glass. “ and i’m almost off. you need something, order it. otherwise you’re putting me behind. ” just another customer sitting at her bar while she tried to survive the last thirty minutes of her shift.

he  lets  out  a  small  exhale  through  his  nose,  half  laugh,  half  surrender.  of  course  she  sees  it.  of  course  she  names  it.  it  irritates  him,  how  she  cuts  through  every  layer  without  trying.  his  eyes  flick  down  to  the  glass  she  just  slammed  onto  the  shelf,  then  back  to  her  face,  sharp  and  searching,  his  usual  mirth  dimmed  beneath  something  more  unsteady.  he  leans  back  a  fraction,  as  though  proximity  alone  might  betray  the  truth  he  keeps  embalmed  beneath  charm  and  liquor.  “ if  i  was  just  some  random  asshole, ”  voice  carrying  a  half-broken  attempt  at  amusement,  “ you  wouldn’t  waste  half  this  energy  on  me.  you’d  ignore  me.  end  of  story. ”  a  beat,  his  jaw  tightening  at  her  question,  at  the  ease  of  the  exit  she  offers  like  a  mercy.  his  gaze  drifts  briefly  to  the  bottles  —  glinting  and  familiar,  almost  obedient  in  their  promise  —  before  returning  back  to  her.  always  her.  “ whatever’s  fastest, ”  he  says  at  last,  performance  thinning.  then,  after  a  pause  that  lingers  too  long  to  be  accidental.  “ and  for  the  record ? ”  he  holds  her  stare.  “ i’m  not  exactly  here  for  the  alcohol. ” 

yara’s eyes mirrored him while she dried her hands on the towel over her shoulder, expression flattening like she already knew where he was trying to take the conversation and didn’t know whether to laugh or get irritated again. she leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “ unfortunately, i don’t ignore you because you’re not some random asshole. i’ve known you since you were seventeen and thought putting your football jersey in your instagram profile picture was a fucking personality trait. ” the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. “ and now i know you’re not here for the alcohol. you’ve been nursing the same drink for forty minutes. ” her eyes held his for another second. before he could answer, one of the bar backs brushed past behind her carrying a bucket of ice. “ yara, ” he said, grinning. “ you ignoring me tonight or you finally gonna let me take you out ? ” without missing a beat, she pointed toward the kitchen. he laughed and disappeared through the back door, leaving her muttering under her breath before her eyes landed back on kit. “ see ? ” she said dryly. “ that’s flirting. you’re just being annoying. ”

there  was  something  about  the  way  she  looked  at  him  that  made  his  skin  feel  too  tight.  like  she  could  see  every  cheap  trick  before  he  even  pulled  it  out  of  the  deck.  and  she  kept  digging  beneath  the  surface  like  she  was  trying  to  find  the  bruise  and  press  her  thumb  directly  into  it.  he  should’ve  just left  with  kelsey  (  or  was  it  chelsea  ?  kassidy  ?  )  instead,  he  was  still  here,  letting  yara  peel  pieces  out  of  him  one  sentence  at  a  time,  hating  how  badly  some  pathetic  part  of  him  wanted  her  to  keep  looking.  “ yeah ? ”  he  says,  voice  edged  with  dry  amusement  as  his  eyes  flick  up  to  hers,  “ and  what  exactly  would  impress  you ?  me  standing  here  crying  into  my  whiskey ? ”  he  studies  her  and  his  gaze  doesn’t  leave,  cutting  through  the  noise  of  the  bar  like  he’s  narrowed  the  entire  room  down  to  just  her  reaction.  “ you know, yara, you’re  not  nearly  as  detached  as  you  keep  trying  to  sound. ”  then  tilting  his  head  with  an  easy,  practiced  smirk  that  doesn’t  quite  reach  his  face.  “ i  don’t  think  you’re  trying  to  psychoanalyze  me, ”  he  leans  in  closer  over  the  counter,  “ you’re  invested  in  me. ” 

yara looked at him for a long second, already irritated before he’d even finished talking. “ there it is, ” she muttered. she grabbed another glass from beneath the counter, mostly just to give herself something to do besides shove him backward by his forehead. “ you always do this. ” her eyes don’t meet his. “ turn everything into whether somebody wants you, likes you. it’s annoying. ” and yet here you are, yara. entertaining him. “ i’m not detached, moron, ” childish, but she rolls her eyes. “ i just don’t feel like doing whatever this is with you every night you get drunk. ” she slid the glass onto the shelf behind her harder than necessary. “ you think i’m invested ? fine. i think you like arguing with me because i’m one of the only people here that doesn’t tolerate your incessant bullshit. ” a glare. “ do you want something else to drink or not ? ”

he  lets  out  a  low  laugh  at  her  words,  but  it  comes  a  second  too  late  to  sound  genuine.  his  arm  stays  slung  around  the  girl  beside  him,  loose  and  careless,  though  his  grip  tightened  almost  imperceptibly  when  yara  says  you  care  too  fucking  much.  like  she’d  reached  under  his  skin  and  pressed  directly  against  the  bruise.  he  holds  her  gaze  for  another  second,  tension  flickering  behind  his  expression  before  he  exhales  through  his  nose,  already  irritated  with  himself  for  letting  the  conversation  go  this  far.  then  he  turns  slightly  toward  the  girl  tucked  beneath  his  arm,  the  switch  in  demeanor  almost  seamless  again.  easy  smile.  warm  eyes.  practiced  charm.  “ hey,  give  me  five  minutes,  yeah ?  i’ll  meet  you  outside. ”  his  hand  slides  to  her  waist  as  he  presses  a  quick  kiss  to  her  mouth,  lingering  just  long  enough  to  sell  it.  the  femme  nods,  flushed  and  unsuspecting,  peeling  away  toward  the  exit.  only  after  she  disappears  into  the  crowd  does  he  look  back  at  yara.  he  steps  closer  to  the  counter,  all  traces  of  the  performance  roughening  around  the  edges.  “ you  think  you’ve  got  me  figured  out  because  i  drink  here  too  much  and  flirt  with  strangers ? ”  he  scoffs  softly,  “ congrats,  yara.  real  groundbreaking  stuff. ”

she watched the whole thing without saying a single word. the kiss, the smile, the practiced charm he wore like an old sweater she’d stretched thin over the years. she’d seen him do it since they were seventeen. back when girls in this town mistook confidence for a semblance of personality. by the time he stepped back up to the bar, she was already reaching for another glass. “ get over yourself, kit. i don’t think i have you figured out because you flirt with strangers, ” she said evenly. “ half the people in here do that. ” she wiped the counter slow, eyes glazing over him. “ i think i have you ‘ figured out ’ ” paired with air quotes and a roll of her eyes, “ because you care so much about looking like you don’t care. ” a stifled jeer. “ and for the record, ” she added, leaning one hip against the counter, “ i’m not standing here trying to psychoanalyze you, either. you’re the one that sent your ‘ date ’ outside so you could keep arguing with me. ” a half shrug. “ so what does that tell you ? ”

the  bar  thrummed  with  noise,  neon  lights  bleeding  crimson  across  the  bottles  lining  the  shelves.  ten  minutes  earlier,  she  had  made  a  remark  that  reminded  him  too  much  of  his  older  self,  still chasing the glory of a  young  boy  who  no  longer  existed.  her  words  lodged  beneath  his  skin  like  splinters,  so  he  buried  the  ache  beneath  drunken  spectacle,  slinging  an  arm  around  the  first  pretty  girl  who  smiled  at  him.  he  looks  back  at  yara,  jaw  tense  despite  the  lazy  grin  he  wore.  “ that  supposed  to  hurt  my  feelings ? ”  or  was  she  just  disappointed  he  proved  her  right ?

yara glanced up from the drink she was pouring, eyebrows lifting a little at the sight of him with his arm around some girl like he had something to prove. the lights caught the edge of his grin, familiar. infuriating. “ i don’t know why you always think everything’s an attack with me. ” because it was, whether she realized it or not. the glass jostled softly against the counter as she slid it over to a customer. around them, the bar settled, music buzzing through old speakers, somebody laughing too hard in the back corner. “ you asked a question, i answered it, kit. ” her eyes met his then. “ doesn’t mean i’m trying to hurt your feelings ? ” she leaned against the counter for a second, studying him properly. beneath all the cocky bullshit, he still looked like the same boy this town put on a pedestal. like he didn’t know who he was without everybody looking at him. “ and honestly ? ” she murmured quieter. “ i think you care way too fucking much. ” but what she really wanted to say was : get back to your drunk, meaningless, one nightstand and leave me alone.

"cut the bullshit . i know who you are ." / @patriciandoll

“ and who am i, crew ? ” the question leaves her shrewder than she means it to. she fucking hates that he can still pull irritation out of her so easily, like pressing a bruise just to see if it still hurts. she’s not complicated. never claimed to be. she likes simple things, straightforward things. but he has this way of talking to her that makes her feel dissected instead of understood. her arms fold tighter over her chest. annoyed now. defensive too, which only annoys her more. “ you really don’t, ” she mutters, nails digging into her palm. “ you just think you do. ”

he  stares  out  his  side  of  the  windshield,  rainwater  bleeding  down  glass  in  warped  streaks  beneath  the  jaundiced  glow  of  the  streetlamp  outside.  for  a  fleeting  second,  he  thinks  about  stepping  out  into  it,  letting  the  storm  soak  straight  through  him,  wash  away  every  reprehensible  thought  he’s  ever  had  about  her.  maybe  if  the  rain  is  loud  enough,  it’ll  finally  drown  out  the  cacophony  in  his  head.  the  guilt.  the  desire.  the  unbearable  tension  constricting  his  throat.  his  jaw  flexes  once  before  he  speaks,  “ you’re  not  insane,  daisy. ”  quiet,  rough.  “ you’re  not  making  it  up  in  your  head  either. ”  his  eyes  shut  briefly,  like  the  admission  costs  him  something,  before  a  humorless  exhale  leaves  him.  “ i  know  i’ve  been  fucking  with  your  head.  i  know  that. ”  shame  curdles  low  in  his  stomach  because  he  was,  wasn’t  he ?  pulling  her  close  only  to  recoil  like  he’s  touched  a  live  wire.  “ i  just  .. ”  his  voice  falters.  then  finally,  the  elephant  sitting  between  them  all  along.  “ he’s  my  best  friend. ”  his  stare  drops  to  his  hands,  “ your  brother  trusts  me  with  you  and  i  keep  thinking  about  how  badly  i  could  betray  that. ”  silence  swells  again.  too  intimate.  too  suffocating.  before  he  can  stop  himself,  his  hand  reaches  across  the  console,  fingers  wrapping  carefully  around  hers.  it’s  tentative  at  first,  before  it  becomes  firmer,  grounding  her,  himself,  reminding  them  both  what  this  feels  like.  his  thumb  brushes  once  against  her  skin.  “ but  i  don’t  want  you  to  stop. ”  confession  scrapes  raw  from  his  throat.  “ that’s  the  fucking  problem,  daisy. ”  a  swallow.  “ i  want  it  too  much. ” 

the second his hand closes around hers, she breaks. a small, wounded inhale like something in her finally gives out from the strain of holding itself together for too long. her fingers tighten around his before she can stop herself. she ducks her head immediately, embarrassed by her tears, one of her hands coming up to wipe angrily at her face. “ fuck, ” she mutters shakily, laughing once through it. “ i told myself i wasn’t gonna do this. ” but she can’t seem to let go of him either. his words sit heavy inside her chest. “ you think i don’t feel guilty too ? ” she asks quietly, eyes fixed on their hands. “ that i haven’t spent every second of this trying to convince myself to get over it ? ” she presses her lips together hard. “ he’s my brother. ” an inaudible sob. “ you’re his person. you’ve always been his person. ” another tear slips before she can catch it and she gives up wiping them away after that, shoulders curling inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “ that’s why this hurts so bad, ” a swallow. “ because if you were just some guy, i could walk away. i could tell myself you fucking sucked and move on. ” a tearful laugh. “ but it’s you. ” she finally looks at him then, eyes red - rimmed and honest.

❝   diana…   ❞      frustration  blows  out  on  the  exhale.   it  isn't  directed  toward  her,   no   —   the  weight  of  disappearance  falls  solely  on  his  shoulders,   and  so  does  the  fallout  that  comes  with.      ❝   back  out.   tell  me  how  to  fix  it,   who  i  need  to  call,   just–   don't  call  it.   ❞

her expression doesn't change immediately. that's the cruelest thing about diana. the way devastation reaches her slowly or not at all. for a moment, she watches. the panic ripping at the seams, the desperation curdling. don’t call it. as though the wedding itself were a living thing heaved over a ledge. as though she hasn't spent months standing beneath it already, waiting for it to crush her. her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass until her knuckles pale. “ kiwoo, ” she mutters, and his name sounds disgustingly tender in her mouth. “ you disappearing doesn’t change anything. ” but it does. it changes the air of the room. the thready beat of her pulse. the architecture of restraint she's been building brick by brick just to survive standing beside him while another man measures her for rings. she turns away before he can see too much. it feels empty and beautiful in the same empty way the wedding will be beautiful. imported flowers. a cathedral filled with people congratulating her for walking willingly into a life that feels like embalming herself alive. “ you think this is about fixing god - damn schedules ? calling people ? ” and still, she sounds less concerned about herself than him. her throat moves once before she continues, lower this time. “ you should’ve asked me before it got this far. ” a quiet slip of the tongue. love, enormous and starving and years too late.