heritagedoll, written by lex.
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@heritagedoll
heritagedoll, written by lex.

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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.
“ oh, who was that ? ”

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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. ”

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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.
“ you’re the fucking worst. ”
"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. ”

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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.