U Can Call Me Baby

It made sense. She was by far the most popular girl in school. Blonde, skinny, rich, and beautiful… you didn’t think you stood a chance. You played it cool to your friends, but you walked home that night crying, and vowed to yourself you would forget all about your stupid feelings for Rodrick Heffley.

But of course, it didn’t work. You were still completely in love with him. It turns out, feelings don’t fade away overnight. He was too cute, dorky, and fun to forget about. It was also hard to stop liking him when you were with him practically every day after school.

Rodrick wanted to strangle Ben after that night. He could tell something had changed in you since then. The way you started to hesitate whenever he pulled you in for a hug, the sad look in your eyes when you smiled at him after he’d give you a compliment… he hated it. He thought you’d begun to think of him as every other guy, falling for the most basic popular girl ever. But what could he do? He couldn’t tell you that he felt absolutely nothing for Heather Hills, because then he’d have to explain that he was in love with you. And he was certain you didn’t like him back. You were far too cool for him.

As a particular Green Day song started playing, you both snapped your heads towards each other with a grin.

“Oh man, I love this song!” Rodrick declared, gripping the wheel and headbanging.

“Same, crank it!” you squealed, reaching for the volume dial. However you both reached for it at the same time, bumping fingers. You bashfully put your hand back in your lap and let him turn it up. He cleared his throat again, cheeks growing slightly pink.

You started singing along with the lyrics of the song, swaying dramatically in your seat. Rodrick laughed, relieved that you weren’t focusing on the tension, and began singing along with you, although poorly. But you didn’t care. You still enjoyed the moments where you and Rodrick could just act like the goofy best friends you were before your feelings had made everything all complicated.

When you finally arrived at the Heffley residence, the boys practically jumped out of the backseat to run into the living room and play video games. You chuckled at their enthusiasm, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you joined Rodrick in front of the garage. “I missed this.”

“You should, that damn musical took you away from us for two whole months. That’s like, 100 days.” Rodrick huffed, opening up the garage door.

You shook your head at his horrible math skills. “Numbers aside, I don’t regret it. I’m very proud of that musical.”

Rodrick slung an arm around your shoulder. “You should be, you killed it.” He smiled at you and ruffled your hair.

You giggled, pushing him away and walking into the garage. “I was so happy you came to see it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have missed it. Gotta make sure my front woman is giving us good press.” he joked, picking up his drum sticks.

You laughed at him again. He seemed to be allergic to making a mushy statement. Rodrick thought about throwing in a remark about how seeing you sing a duet with your character’s romantic interest made him jealous, but decided against it.

“We’re here!” a voice shouted from the sidewalk. You both looked up to see Ben and Chris sprinting into the garage.

“It’s about time, doofuses.” you playfully scolded them with a grin.

“Listen, not all of us can be as privileged as you guys.” Ben huffed, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have wheels to get us here everyday.”

“Y/N walked here after theatre rehearsal in five minutes last month!” Rodrick retorted, holding his hands out in disbelief.

“Yeah, speaking of which, it’s good to have you back, singer.” Chris smiled at you, opening his arms to give you a hug.

You happily hugged him back, not noticing the way Rodrick scrunched his nose with jealousy. You kept one arm around Chris’s waist and turned to face Ben, your other hand placed sassily on your hip. “See Ben, Chris here understands how to greet me after my absence.”

Ben rolled his eyes as you let go of Chris and walked across the room. “Okay, I will admit, I am glad that you’re back.” he confessed, patting you on the back as you walked past him.

The guys began setting up their instruments as you plugged in your microphone. “Did you guys manage to write any new songs while I was gone?”

Ben and Chris shared a guilty expression.

“I did.” Rodrick declared, raising his hand with a proud expression.

You smiled at him. “This is why you’re my favorite, Roddy.”

Rodrick grinned at the other guys like a little school girl. “I’m her favorite, guys.”

“Like that was ever a question.” Chris chuckled.

“Alright guys, let’s start rehearsal with Rodrick’s new song.” you ordered, snapping everyone back to attention. You had a knack for keeping the boys in line when they were getting rowdy. It was one of the things Rodrick loved about you.

—/—/—/—/—/—/—

Today was the last day of school, and as everyone was saying their goodbyes and signing yearbooks in the hallway, you were stopped in your tracks by a pair of icy blue eyes.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.” the owner of the eyes declared. You noticed that there was a hint of desperation in them.

“Heather Hills, to what do I owe this encounter?” you grinned, adjusting your bag around your shoulder. “I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me.”

She rolled her eyes, then grabbed your arm, lacing it with hers as she started off down the hall. “Please, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. I need a huge favor.”

You were beyond confused. You weren’t even aware that Heather knew you existed, and now she was walking arm in arm with you and asking you for a favor?

“Okay, what can I do for you?” you asked, furrowing your brow as you glanced over at her. Even though you subconsciously hated her for being Rodrick’s crush, you couldn’t bring yourself to be mean to her. It just wasn’t you.

“The worst possible thing has happened… the DJ backed out of my Sweet 16!” she exclaimed, looking up at the ceiling as if she was fighting back tears.

“Oh wow… that sucks.” you replied, trying your best to sympathize with her rich girl problems.

“I know, right?” she cried, glancing over at you. “And it’s really hard to find another professional group on such short notice, I mean the party is in one month!”

“Okay… so what does this have to do with me?” you asked, still confused.

“Well you see, I did happen to see you in the musical last week…” Heather explained, “… and I have to admit, you were really good.”

You smiled, fighting the fuzzy feeling in your chest. “Thank you.” As much as you wanted to hate Heather, it felt good to be complimented by her. Someone as popular as her had no reason to give out false compliments, so in a way, it meant a lot.

“And I know you have a band, so…” she stopped in her tracks and turned to face you, hands gripping onto your arms as she looked at you seriously. “… I need you guys to perform.”

Your eyes widened. “Us? I mean, trust me, I’m flattered but… we’ve only ever really performed at talent shows. And will a month be enough time to learn the songs you want? I already know we don’t have the same taste in music…”

Heather’s eyes drooped disappointedly. She dropped your arms and stood up straight with an unpleasant expression. “You know what, forget it. I’ll figure something else out.” She then began walking off down the hallway.

You scoffed in exasperation… had Heather felt insecure about being rejected by you? That couldn’t be true, because that would mean she actually valued your opinion, and she didn’t seem to care about anyone’s. Still, you couldn’t deal with how sad she looked. You sighed and called out to her. “Heather!”

She turned around, blonde hair flipping over her shoulder. She raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows expectantly.

“We’ll perform at your party.” you told her.

Her face lit up with a wide smile, then she ran up to you and hugged you. You froze, uncomfortably patting her on the back.

“Yes! Okay, so here’s the list of songs I need you guys to play.” the blonde girl squealed, pulling a sheet of pink paper out of her bag. You winced as you looked over all the pop songs she had listed out. It wasn’t that you minded, you and Rodrick had jammed out to your fair share of Ke$ha and Lady Gaga songs… but you knew Ben and Chris were going to hate them. “The rest of the set can be whatever, as long as it’s not that sad emo crap that makes people want to kill themselves.”

You squinted your eyes and shook your head, plastering on a fake smile. “Sounds good. I’ll start rehearsing them with the guys tonight.”

“Thanks Y/N, I really appreciate this!” she grinned, squeezing your arm.

You both glanced to the side as three guys suddenly walked up in front of you.

“Y/N, are you ready to go?” Rodrick asked, looking absolutely bewildered as to why you were talking to Heather Hills.

Heather scoffed at the sight of the three guys, her usual unpleasant expression returning to her face. She turned back to you. “I’ll text you the rest of the details. And trust me, my Dad will pay you big time for this.”

You smiled at her and nodded, and then she strode off back down the hallway towards her friends.

“Am I hallucinating or was Heather Hills just talking to you?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow.

“And hugging you?” Chris added in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I kind of blacked out a bit…” you laughed, brushing your hair behind your ear and looking at the ground to collect yourself.

“Hey, if you guys are friends, then that means you can set her up with Rodrick!” Ben declared, slapping Rodrick on the shoulder with a stupid grin.

“Yeah, she said she’d text you! When she does, you can give Rodrick her number!” Chris suggested.

Your heart sunk into your stomach, making you feel like you were about to throw up.

Rodrick whipped his head around at his friends, giving them a dangerous warning glare. “Stop, guys.”

Ben and Chris gulped, nodding at their drummer. They knew when Rodrick looked at them like that, he was about to rip them to shreds.

Rodrick rolled his eyes and turned back to face you, his eyes softening. “Seriously though, are you okay? What happened?”

You shook your head, not letting yourself feel touched by his concern. “Yeah, I’m great, actually. I just got us a gig. A real one.”

—/—/—/—/—/—/—

“Are you serious?” Ben whined, holding out the sheet of paper Heather had given you. “There’s no way I’m playing this cheesy pop crap.”

“Yeah, and even if it was good music, there’s no way we can learn 10 songs in a month.” Chris shook his head, adjusting his beanie.

You were all back in the garage, discussing your conversation with Heather.

“Yes we can, school is out so we literally have all day so rehearse!” you explained, snatching the paper back from him. “Plus, we’re going to get paid really good. You know we need new equipment. Rodrick is on his last pair of drumsticks.”

“I don’t care about the money.” Ben scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not a sell out.”

“Well it’s also a great chance to get our name out there.” you reasoned. “We’ve been wanting to play a real gig for forever now. Maybe one of Heather’s rich relatives knows a record company.”

“You’re dreaming too big again, singer.” Chris chuckled, shaking his head at you.

You held out your arms in disbelief, then slapped them back down against your sides. You looked over at Rodrick, who had been standing next to you listening, a pleading look in your eyes.

“So what if we dream big?” Rodrick asked the two guys. “Every great band started out with just a dream. We have to take every chance we get.”

Ben looked like he was considering Rodrick’s words, then shook his head. “But Rodrick, these songs are shit…”

“Oh, don’t be so elitist, Ben!” Rodrick criticized, scrunching up his face. “I’ve caught you listening to Taylor Swift before.”

Ben looked embarrassed, glancing down to the floor. “Yeah, but… just her early stuff, you know…” he mumbled, digging his toe into the floor.

Rodrick gestured over to you. “Y/N just got us a chance to show everyone how great we are. We all know she’s smarter than the three of us combined, and if she thinks we can do it, then I’m with her.”

He then held his hand in front of you, palm down. You smiled at him appreciatively, then slapped your hand down on top of his. You both looked at the other guys in front of you expectantly.

Chris grinned at the sudden inspiration, then put his hand in the pile. Ben was still looking down at the floor.

“Come on, Benny boy.” you pleaded. “I need you to do this with us.”

Ben looked at you for a moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes, then walked over and slapped his hand on top of Chris’s. “Okay, I’m in.”

You all cheered for him with your hands on top of each other.

“Alright, on three…” you started. “One, two, three…”

“Löded Diper!”

—/—/—/—/—/—

You sighed as you walked into your living room, the familiar scent of your home instantly comforting you. Your first rehearsal for the party was overwhelming, to say the least. You and the guys had spent the whole night just working out a practice schedule and figuring out how all of your parts would fit together.

You walked into the kitchen to see your parents sitting at the table, sharing a bottle of wine. They both smiled at sight of you.

“Hey sweetie, how was rehearsal?” your mom asked, head rested in her hand.

“Good, we mostly just hashed out our setlist though…” you replied. “Rodrick gave me a ride home, he said it was too dark for me to walk.”

“What, he’s too good to come in and say hi to us now?” your dad joked. crossing his arms over his chest. You slapped his arm playfully. Your dad was an old friend of Frank’s, so he had known Rodrick since before the two of you were even friends. He thought he was a bit of a trouble maker, but deep down, a good kid, and even more importantly, a good friend to you.

“Oh Y/F/N, it’s late. The poor boy probably didn’t even think we’d still be up.” your mom laughed at her husband.

“Yeah, I’m pretty surprised by it too.” you commented, joining them at the table. “What are you guys still doing up?”

Your father sighed, then glanced over to your mother, who gave him a nod. You looked between the two of them, confused.

“What’s going on?” you asked, anxiety growing in your chest.

“It’s nothing bad,” your mother reassured you, giving your wrist a light squeeze. “We just have some big news for you.” She then looked over at your father, prompting him to continue.

“I got the big promotion.” your father said, trying to contain the proud smile on his face.

“What? Oh my god, that’s awesome! Congrats, Dad!” you replied excitedly. Your dad had been gunning for this job for months, but didn’t think it would ever actually happen.

“Thank you, sweetie.” he said, then let out another sigh. “However, there is a downside.”

“What?” you asked, not seeing any possible negative outcome.

“I have to move to our sister location in the next state over.”

Your mouth fell open slightly at the news. “But guys, it’s my-“

“We know it’s your last summer with your friends before college, honey…” your mom comforted you again. “That’s why we talked to your aunt and uncle. They said you’d be more than welcome to stay with them while we move into our new house.”

You scrunched your nose in discomfort. You loved Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson, but living with them didn’t sound like the most fun thing in the world.

“They’re aware that you’re technically an adult now, and can do as you please.” your father told you, sensing your hesitation. “They’re on board as long as they know you’re safe and not doing anything illegal.”

You looked down at the table, a lot of thoughts spinning around in your head. On one hand, it would suck not being with your parents for your last summer before college. Plus, you wouldn’t be able to perform at Heather’s party with your band.

At the sudden thought of the band, something else popped up in your head and instantly killed all other thoughts. Rodrick.

You didn’t know how you were going to go without seeing Rodrick every day. But… maybe it would be a good thing? Some distance might help you get over your crush on him. But there was still a small part of you that hoped it would suddenly change his mind and realize his feelings for you. You thought this part of you was stupid and overly optimistic, but still acknowledged that it was there.

“I think I need some time to think about this.” you told your parents, getting up from the table.

“Take all the time you need sweetie.” your mother told you. “But let us know before the end of the month.”

You nodded, then said goodnight to your parents before walking upstairs to your bedroom. You felt like a liar, because you really didn’t need to think about it. You just needed to find out once and for all how Rodrick felt about you.

—/—/—/—/—/—/—

It was now three weeks into your grueling rehearsal schedule. The four of you had been working day and night, barely even getting to enjoy your own graduation ceremony before immediately running back to the Heffley’s garage to practice in your caps and gowns. The party was in one week, and you guys had managed to get six out of ten of Heather’s songs up to performance level.

The remaining four were proving to be a pain in the ass, with each of you struggling with your own part on one of them. And to make matters worse, none of you were struggling with the same song, so it couldn’t just be scrapped.

Besides struggling with the vocals on a certain song, you were also struggling to find a good time to talk to Rodrick about your feelings. Every time it seemed like you were getting close, you would either chicken out, or someone would interrupt you. Frustrated, you knew you had to do it before the party, so tonight, you dragged out rehearsal as long as possible in hopes that it would get Ben and Chris to go home immediately after.

“Alright guys, I’m calling it.” you surrendered, raising your hands up in the air. It was really late, and you could tell Ben and Chris had hit their limit.

“Thank God.” Ben sighed, unplugging his guitar. “I’m gonna go home and drill the chords to ‘Call Me Maybe’ until my fingers split open.”

“Love the dedication, buddy.” you half-heartedly praised, patting him on the shoulder as you walked past him to stand next to Rodrick’s drum set. “You tired?”

He threw a drumstick up in the air and caught it, hoping it impressed you. “Nope. You know me, I’ll be up for another four hours at least.” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Same, I’m wired right now.” you told him with a smile. “Wanna hang for a bit?”

He tried not to let his face light up like an excited little kid. “Yeah, sure. But I think if I play any longer, my dad will come in here and set my drums on fire, so we’ll have to hang out in my room.”

You laughed, easily being able to imagine Frank in the scenario Rodrick had described. You turned to Chris. “How about you?”

“Nah, I’m gonna do the same as Ben.” the blonde sighed as he packed up his bass. “Even though I think listening to ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ one more time will push me into psychosis.”

You gave him a sympathetic expression. “I promise this will all be worth it in the end.”

“I know it will.” Chris nodded with a smile. He turned to Ben. “Come on, Benny boy, let’s get out of here.

“See you tomorrow, guys.” Ben waved goodbye as he walked out the door.

You waved back, then turned to face Rodrick. “The usual?”

He nodded with a smile. “Popcorn and Scott Pilgrim.” He got up from his drum set and let you into the house. You guys had seen that movie a million times, but it was still your favorite.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” you asked as you hopped up on the kitchen counter.

Rodrick scoffed with a smile as he threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. “As if you have to ask. You know my mom is in love with you. She literally said you can come inside any time.”

“That’s right, I did!” a chipper voice squealed from the doorway. You both looked over to see Susan grinning in her pajamas.

“Susan!” you cheered, hopping down from the counter to give her a hug. Rodrick couldn’t help but smile at the display. As much as he hated to admit it, he loved how well you got along with his family. Susan adored you, Frank was always happy to see you, and Greg and Manny saw you as a cool older sister.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Y/N!” Susan told you as she wrapped her arms around you. She pulled back, holding onto your arms as she looked at you softly. “You look worn out, honey. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Mom, I told you, we’ve been working our fingers to the bone for three weeks over this party.” Rodrick rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against at he counter.

You gave him an annoyed expression, then turned back to Susan with a smile. “I’m okay, thank you for asking. Like Rodrick said, we’ve just been working really hard.”

Susan put a hand on your cheek. “Well, you still look as beautiful as ever!”

Yes she does, Rodrick thought to himself.

“Although I don’t think that Heather girl deserves all of the hard work you guys are putting in...” Susan went on, putting her hands on her hips to show how strongly she felt. “She’s very unpleasant.”

“Well, Rodrick’s the one who has a crush on her. Maybe you can ask him what he sees in her.” you retorted, a little sassier than you’d intended. You looked over at Rodrick to see him looking at you like a sad puppy. You gave him a playful grin, walking over to the microwave and taking the popcorn out.

Susan glared at Rodrick, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Rodrick held out his hands, not sure how we was supposed to have responded to your statement. Susan just shook her head at her son’s cluelessness. “That was your chance.” she mouthed to him.

Susan was the only person Rodrick told about his crush on you. Well, she had already known as soon as she noticed her unhygienic son suddenly showering and putting on deodorant daily. But as soon as you became friends, Rodrick had sheepishly approached her asking for advice on how to ask you out. It was obviously still a work in progress.

“Well Y/N…” Susan sighed, moving on from her son’s incompetence. “It’s already so late, and it’s supposed to storm soon, so I really don’t want you walking home tonight. How about I call your parents and ask if you can stay the night?”

Rodrick’s eyes widened. How was his mom a better wingman than his friends?

“Okay, thanks Susan.” you gave her an appreciative smile as you poured the popcorn into a bowl. “I’ll probably fall asleep halfway through the movie as usual.”

She grinned at you as you walked past her and up the stairs. As Rodrick followed you, she grabbed onto his arm, causing him to look at her with wide eyes.

“Fix it.” she whispered to him. Rodrick had never seen his mom so serious before, not even when she had punished him for throwing that party a few months ago. What he didn’t know was that Susan was dead set on having you as a daughter in law, and wasn’t going to accept anything less.

As you walked into Rodrick’s bedroom, you were surprised to see that it was clean. Well, clean for his standards. You wondered if he had tidied up in hopes that you would hang out tonight, and for once, you let yourself smile at the thought.

You plopped down in front of his bed, sitting criss cross on the floor. “Do you have a hoodie I can wear? It’s kinda chilly in here.”

“Yeah, sure…” Rodrick nodded, scrambling around his room to find a clean one. You laughed as he frantically dug through his closet, which he had obviously just shoved all of his dirty clothes into a few hours prior, until he finally emerged with a black AAR one. “Here you go.” he tossed it to you with a small smile, hoping you didn’t notice how flustered he was. But you obviously did.

You took it gratefully, then put in on and fluffed your hair out of the collar. When you glanced back up at Rodrick, you noticed he was frozen in place.

“What’s wrong?” you asked with a small chuckle at his current state.

You look so good in my hoodie. “Nothing…” Rodrick shook his head, squinting his eyes in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe how easily you could make him forget himself.

You moved on, pulling the well-used DVD out of its case and popping it into the TV. As the movie started up, Rodrick reached over and turned off his bedside lamp, making the room a bit cozier. You instinctively scooched closer to him, your knee touching his legs, which were stretched out in front of him, and your arm brushing against his.

He looked at you, alarmed at the sudden physical contact. You giggled, then gestured to the bowl in your hands. “So we can share the popcorn?”

“Oh, right…” Rodrick sighed, an awkward laugh spilling from his lips. He reached into the bowl and took some. As the movie went on, both of you laughing at the same familiar scenes, he started to hear his mom’s voice echoing in the back of his head. “Fix it.”

He cleared his throat, shuffling down a bit to lean back onto his bed. “You can, uh, put your head on my shoulder. But like, only if you want to.”

You stopped chewing for a moment, slightly shocked at your best friend’s boldness. He had never initiated something like that before. Quickly remembering yourself, you nodded with a meek smile, then scooched down a bit to do as he had offered.

Rodrick felt pathetic at how his heart was pounding in his chest over the slightest bit of intimacy. Was he really that touch starved? What he didn’t notice was that yours was doing the same, beating hard and fast in your chest like one of his drum solos.

Gathering up as much courage as he could, he slowly creeped a hand up from behind you and put it in your hair, running his fingers through it gently. You closed your eyes and made a small noise at the feeling, then froze at your own actions. You looked up at him with a wide eyed smile. “Sorry… I guess I’m not used to that.” Looks like you were a bit touch starved as well.

He chuckled at you softly, the sound making your heart ache. “It’s okay… it was cute.”

His fingers stopped abruptly in your hair at the realization of what he just said. Damnit, he was already moving way faster than he wanted to. He was so afraid of scaring you away.

“Thank you.” you smiled warmly at him, placing your head back down on his shoulder and focusing your attention back to the movie.

Rodrick breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god. You hadn’t slapped him or stormed out of the room.

A crack of thunder from the brewing summer storm sounded off outside, making you jump further into Rodrick’s embrace. His heart stopped. Yours did too. Maybe it was the coziness of the room, or the way the hoodie he gave you smelled like him, but for some reason, you were feeling brave.

“Roddy, can I ask you something?” you suddenly asked at a quiet part of the movie. He turned to you, but you refused to look up at him.

“Of course, you know you can ask me anything…” he replied, gently placing your hair back down on your shoulder to give you his full attention.

You hesitated, fiddling with your rings. You wanted so badly to tell him about your parents moving. You always told each other everything. Well, except one very important thing. But how could you put that on him? He shouldn’t have to convince you to stay. Instead, you just laughed and shook your head. “Nevermind, it’s nothing…”

Rodrick sat up abruptly, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look up at him. “Tell me… please.” He looked at you more intensely than he ever had. To hell with not moving too fast, his best friend clearly needed him right now.

You fought back the tears in your eyes, devastated at what you were about to say. “My parents are moving away. They’re letting me decide whether or not I want to go with them.”

Rodrick’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly, his eyebrows knitting together with a pleading expression as he shook his head. “No you can’t go, I… I need you here…”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gripping his hands a bit tighter. “What do you mean? Why do you need me?”

His eyes glimmered in the dim light of the room as he looked into yours. They seemed to be pleading with him as well. Give me a reason. Tell me why I should stay.

He leaned closer, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at your lips, then back up at your eyes. You leaned closer to him as well, your brain going on autopilot and your heart jumping into the driver’s seat. He looked down at your lips again, for longer than a few seconds this time, wanting so badly to close the distance between the two of you. He placed a hand on your cheek, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. When he found none, he focused back onto your eyes. “Because you’re my best friend.”

Your jaw clenched. That’s what he had to say to you in your moment of desperation? That you were friends? You already knew that. You were reminded of it every goddamn second you were together. Suddenly, it was all too much. The back and forth, the constant mixed signals, the unrequited yearning… you were done.

You grabbed his wrist softly, then pushed his arms back into his own lap. “I have to go.”

He looked at you bewildered as you stood up, taking his hoodie off and throwing it onto his bed. “Y/N, what did I do…”

You whipped around to face him, hand gripping the door handle. “Nothing.” you stated sharply. “You did nothing.”

Rodrick froze at the cold glare in your eyes. In all the years he had known you, even with all the stupid shit he had done, you had never looked at him with so much anger.

As he watched you storm out of his room, he wanted so badly to chase after you. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He had obviously fucked things up enough.

“Y/N, where are you going, sweetie?” Susan asked from her spot on the couch as you ran down the stairs towards the front door.

“Oh, I’m sorry Susan, but I have to go home…” you told her with a fake smile, not wanting to worry her.

“Okay, well let me drive you, it’s pouring down rain right now…” she replied, closing her book and setting it down next to her.

“No, please…” you protested, fighting back the tears that were threatening to stream down your face at any moment. “I’d rather be by myself.”

You gave Susan an apologetic gaze, then bolted outside. You took off down the sidewalk, your hair and clothes immediately getting soaked by the rain. She wasn’t kidding, it was pouring. But the dull ache in your chest made you numb to it.

Finally free from anyone’s eyes, you began crying, tears mixing with the raindrops that clung to your face. You kept running forward, one foot in front of the other, until you were several blocks away from the Heffley’s. Once you glanced over your shoulder to make sure no one was chasing after you, you collapsed against a nearby lamp post, gasping for air between sobs. You rested your forehead against the cold metal pole, squinting your eyes to push out the remaining tears.

You hated yourself for letting things go this far. If you had just gotten rid of your stupid feelings for Rodrick like you had planned to originally, you wouldn’t have gotten this hurt.

You looked up to the night sky in desperation, as if some kind of answer would be written in the stars. As raindrops pelted your face, you finally made your mind up about two things. One, you were never letting anybody into your heart again. And two, you were moving away with your parents this summer.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She wanted to yell but it came out a whisper, scared that Vecna or the Demogorgons would hear her.

She looked around, like she’s never been down here before but she has, way too many times. It was dark, spooky and a nightmare down here and of course she had to get stuck with him, her enemy. Though the real enemy was Vecna, Mike was a close second. She didn’t even acknowledge that he was next to her as she started walking, fast, like that would make the situation better.

It’s weird, she wasn’t even sure how she got down here, how they got stuck down here. Mike walked behind her, staring at the back of her head as she speed walked, trying to find a way out, knowing how hard that was. She knew that he was behind her, that he could be hot on her trail but she refused to give him the time of day.

Each of her steps made noises as she and Mike made their way through the woods. She was at the point that maybe a demogorgon showing up wasn’t that bad. Maybe it could chase them to release or maybe if she was stuck down here forever, eat her.

She shook her head at the ridiculous thought and grabbed her walkie talkie, “Henderson, do you copy?” Her voice was a growl.

There was nothing on the other end, she couldn’t reach him. She sighed and kept walking, at this point Mike wanted to laugh. What good is she doing right now? Each turn or cut she made Mike was behind her. And each time she tried to use the walkie he bit back a laugh. It was no use and yet she kept trying.

“You can’t avoid me forever.” He finally spoke and for a second she did truly forget that he was there.

She turned to face him, walkie gripped in her hand as she was ready to use it again.

“I can sure as hell try.” She said and went to use it but Mike grabbed it from her.

She looked at him, annoyed and confused, wanting to point out that she was trying her hardest to get in contact with Dustin and get them out of here. He smashed it to the ground and she felt her soul leave her body. The walkie was broken and with shaky hands she tried to pick it back up.

“What the hell did you do Mike?” She yelled, not caring who or what heard.

“There’s no use anymore.” He told her and she shook her head, tears in her eyes.

“We need to get out of here.” Her voice broke.

“There’s no use.” He told her and she has never been more confused.

He took a step forward and she took a step back, a pattern until her back was against a tree.

“We aren’t leaving, Y/N. Not anytime soon.” Mike didn’t seem upset at that or afraid, rather happy as he trapped her against the tree.

“So you can stop hating me.” He told her as he placed a hand by her head.

Her eyes moved but her head did not, scared that one wrong move would cost her.

“Mike what the fuck?” She whispered, scared of the guy that was so close to her.

Though her body felt drawn to him. The other hand cupped her face, the softness made it hard not to nuzzle. She closed her eyes for a quick second before opening them.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” He whispered, his thumb swiped her lips.

Her heart was racing and she was so confused. One minute they were sworn enemies and here they were, close.

“Mike.” She wanted to question him again but he wouldn’t give her anything anyways.

So she let him kiss her as he took her breath away, proving to be the best kiss she’s ever had. Her hands that were shaky at one point, moved to his cheeks, cupping them as she kissed back. The hand that was cupping her face moved to her hip, squeezing it as they continued to make out in the forest of the upside down.

Nothing was on her mind but the guy that was kissing her. Her hands moved to his hair, tugging a little making him groan. If she could have a thought right now, she would hate how good this all felt and how she wanted more.

“Mike.” His name mumbled between them and he bit her lip, causing her to whimper.

He pulled away from the kiss and dropped to his knees, her eyes immediately looking down at him as he stared up at her. He tugged on her jeans and she couldn’t say no, even if she wanted to. She nodded and watched as he undid the button and unzipped them with focus, as if he was on a mission.

Her panties came down with them and she felt the cool air of the upside down. His eyes stared at her wetness for a moment, like it was the best thing he’s ever seen. She was so close to begging him but when she went to open her mouth he had already begun touching her. His finger was running up and down her lips, gathering the wetness and rubbing circles on her clit.

Her eyes closed as she focused on what he was doing. Her head fell back against the tree, biting her lip as he toyed with her. Her hips bucked as she silently was asking for more. Mike moved one of her legs over his shoulders and decided he wanted to taste her. Her hands immediately went to his hair as she tried so hard not to moan but that would eventually become to difficult.

Her moans filled the forest as Mike sucked on her clit, his spit covering her pussy. The sounds of his mouth and her wetness was all either of them could hear and that made her very horny. Her eyes were shut and she panted like a dog, hips softly humping his face.

“So good.” She whispered and Mike hummed, causing her legs to shake.

The vibration hit her core and it was the best feeling ever, or so she thought. When she orgasmed, she was proven wrong as she nearly screamed from the feeling as Mike rode out her high. He pulled away from her pussy when she whined and it took her a second to open her eyes. Mike stood up, cleaning his face of her orgasm and his spit.

She felt tired but wanted more as she felt her body relax. She opened her eyes and saw that Mike was staring at her. She moved quickly to kiss him, nearly catching him off guard. He held her close as they made out again. She groaned and pulled Mike to the ground. She pulled on his shirt, wanting it off more than ever right now.

He chuckled and pulled away to take it off before she ripped it off him. While he did that, her hands worked at his jeans, making him smirk as she tugged them off him. He nearly tackled her to the ground in another kiss, moving her shirt up her body.

“Please.” She begged against his lips.

He knew what she was begging for but he wanted something else first. He got her shirt off her and moved it so she could lay on it. Her bra was nearly off her as he went to suck on her tits. She stared up at the sky as Mike’s mouth wet her nipples. His hands spread her thighs and he got in between them.

She felt his hard dick against her and thrusted her hips up, wanting him inside of her. He didn’t waste any time getting inside of her, moving her legs around his waist. He stared down at her as she stared back up at him. Her lips were parted and he took the opportunity to steal a kiss. She kissed back and moaned loudly as he began moving.

Her hands moved to his back, gripping it with all her might as he groaned into the kiss. It hurt so good, her nails marking him for what he hoped was forever. His hands were digging into the ground as he moved. He pulled away from her lips to lay his head in her neck. She heard every breath, every sweet nothing and noise he made.

She sobbed into the air, tears brimming her eyes. His name fell from her lips over and over again, like she was praying to him. Mike’s eyes rolled as he felt her clench around him.

He lost his rhythm and tried holding back, “I need you to cum for me.” He begged her with what he could.

She nodded, near the edge as well. She cried out when she felt Mike reach between them to rub her clit. She bit her lip and tried not to scream as she came. Mike groaned loudly into her neck, the noise filling her ears. He pumped her full of his cum before he laid there, catching his breath.

Her hands ran up and down his back as she stared at the sky. Shock ran through her body at what they just did. Mike pulled away from her neck to look at her, cupping one of her cheeks.

“There’s something you should know.” He said and he looked at her with love, all the love he had. She bit her lip, waiting for his words.

“I trapped us in the upside down. I wanted you and now I have you for as long as they’ll let me.” He said and her eyes widened.

She tried to push him off of her but it was no use.

“Hey, you can’t be mad. We just had a great time and there’s many more to come.” He said before thrusting again.

♱ he’s got his eye on you. quite frankly, everyone in town has got their eye on you—you’re perfection personified. a true angel haunting the neighbourhoods of hawkins, a syphus wearing the cinnamon-soft skin of a mortal body, a soft-edged miracle roaming sidewalks & cul-de-sacs & the soulless school hallways. seraphic light stuck into teenage bones, carved from crystal, yet breathing the same tired indiana air as everyone else & mike doesn’t get it. you’re heaven sent & yet stuck, slumming it here in the wasteland of cornerstores & cornfields that is hawkins indiana. some bored god must’ve dropped you here by mistake, to see if anyone would notice. some sort of deity-driven prank. well, mike wheeler he has very much noticed. 

♱ he means it when he describes you as perfect—you’re no more and no less; all sugar-spun soft locks of hair bleeding down your spine, pink ribbons and pinker cheeks, a sugarcoated psalm of a girl leaping from classroom to classroom like lazy sunlight over stained glass. you are draped in the scent of faint frangipani & vanilla & adolescent daydreams, your laughter sounds like weeping piano keys, and everyone adores you for it. even the sun bends to your will, constantly following you around & illuminating your statuette from behind like a lovesick worshipper. and mike—poor, smitten mike—mimics its rays, becomes a second little sun just inches behind the first one, swallowing your footsteps. hot on your heels. soaking up your glory from the shadows.

♱ he yearns for that smile you lend out to others; strawberry-sweet & saccharine, the color of pearl. he yearns for the melody your bangles make upon lithe wrists. he yearns for the flavor of lips glossed peach, yearns for the glow of full cheeks blazed rosy, yearns to memorise the subtle contours of your figure as it arches in cold cobalt levis, yearns to place his fingers across the slope of your nose’s arc, read the braille of your freckles, study the architecture of your face, the structure of the features that have tattoed themselves onto his frontal lobe. the memory of you is not quite as sweet as the real thing, but to be honest—it’s the best he has. it’s not like you’ve ever even spoken to him properly. 

♱ he’s a loser, and he can’t have something as sacred as you. his body stretched over the summer and he hasn’t mastered maneuvering it. he is awkward & gangly & juts out at odd angles. his voice still cracks occasionally, like young fireworks or popping vertebrae. he has strange interests, wizards & warlocks & wiverns. he likes galaxies, and thus there are planets painted on his bedroom wallpaper. they’ve been there for his whole childhood. he has an entire universe to lose himself in, a literal one etched onto the plaster around him, yet every night, without fail, his orbit curls back to you. the center of his gravity is rooted in an all-american bone white smile & baby pink kitten heels. he’s got no chance of holding you, having you, knowing you, but sad boys can dream and so he does too. 

♱ he mourns you like a soldier mourns his wife from the battlefields; craving the face he knows he won’t come home to. he paints perfect little fantasies where you know his name & say it breathily, mould your mouth with his, fold your body into the open alter of his palms, absorb the longing he exudes for you and let it live beneath your ribcage, carving out a little slice of the heaven you carry just for him. it’s a very much look-but-don’t-touch type of crush, he learns. like he’s a child with sticky hands blooming against the glass window of a candystore; he’s forever salivating in front of ripe sugared paradise, yet his teeth will never learn its flavor. in his eternal purgatory he is forced to pretend he can properly recreate it with other girls. with his mind. his memories. his imagination. 

♱ his friends all tease him relentlessly—for pining over a “plastic hallway princess” as according to dustin, and tell him he has more chance of “passionately tonguing down steve.” he ignores them all, because why would he let you go? instead he marvels, as you sit. speak. eat. you’ll bite an apple and he’ll find himself wishing it was the skin of his neck. even the cafeteria’s sickly lighting can’t dim you, in fact—even it seems to work in your favor, cradling your features in a burst of artificial fluorescence that mimics the sheen of heaven itself. but maybe he’s biased.

♱ he watches with unhideable fascination as you cram your dark eyelashes into some medieval looking handheld device and depart from it with them looking even loopier and gravity-defying than before. nancy never desired barbies, but if she had, he’s sure you’re the splitting image. freshly torn out of a plastic box, and gracing the world with your doll-like, delectable presence. he tries to tell himself he won’t spend another empty day dwelling in his mental movie reruns of fantasies of you. it’s a lie, of course. he couldn’t even convince himself.

♱ alas, mike would learn to grow content with his routine of sideline pining—or as close to content as he can with this you-shaped hole knocking around in the rhythm of his heartbeat. he can’t ever truly ignore it; but he can keep it at bay, like a moth concussing itself as it bounces off the walls of a mason jar. he’s caged in the boundaries of his own longing. you’re everywhere he tries to run. 

♱ you’re in history class, and you’re laughing your way through a tragic civil war presentation, sunlight in human form, notes half-wrong, grin fully right. he’s in the front row, breathing projector dust & vanilla & fabric softener. your eyes catch the light and they gleam like stars. he knows those stars. he’s studied those stars. he stuck those stars, glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling in the second grade, stared at them until he memorized every shape. yours are the grown‑up, dangerous version. they are alive & they are moving & they are warm. you scramble through terrible descriptions of the battlefields & the bloodshed, and all he can think is that the galaxies would sell their big solar system souls to match the black-hole pull of your pupils. there’s enough space in them to swallow planets, to cradle universes, to ruin boys like him. and now he’s fallen into your orbit once again. & again. & again. 

♱ you’re in the gymnasium, sneakers squeaking on the lacquered wood floor, manicured fists clutching green tinsel, shaking it at some mandatory pep rally, captain of the cheer team &, (god help him), captain of his heart. he’s brooding on the bleachers, perverse as he admires the curvature of velveteen skin as it peeks from where the uniform rides too high, how it flashes like a dare. you shake your pompoms & try to conjure enthusiasm out of the bored classmates that inhabit the bleachers alongside him. he doesn’t believe in school spirit, but he believes in you. 

♱ you’re there when he tries to walk home. his sneakers scuffing along cracking concrete curbside, just to give his lanky limbs something to do. head low & heart lower. he watches as you and your flock of brain-dead aquaintances pile into an offensively magenta camaro and zoom off into the mottled gray hawkins horizon, exhaust pipe spitting ash like halos in your wake. sigh. sigh. sigh. he’s been cursed; heart of a yearner, confidence of a cornered mouse. he’s spineless. he’s hopeless. he’ll never have you. he’s completely convinced—he’ll never have you. so imagine his surprise when he ends up with you in the janitor’s closet. 

♱ he doesn’t know how he landed himself here. wedged between mopheads & dirty buckets & the gravity of your body tumbling back into him. he’s drowning in daylight, in the faint reek of lemon disinfectant and subtle mildew & yet this tiny ugly little room becomes a cathedral when you step inside of it. he’s the only thing in hawkins that’s strong enough to hold your light. still, it’s a place for dirty things, forgotten things, like all the filth & grime that’s accumulating in the stale air, that’s webbed between every mop’s bristle. he supposes that whatever happens between the pair of you here will soon too become dirty & forgotten in quick succession. the bulb above you sputters to life in a single golden gasp and traces the slope of your cheek, the arc of your mouth, the sugared gleam in your eyes; you are a comet skimming low, roaming the bleach-tainted surroundings, scattering impossible miracles. you are his impossible miracle. how is he in here right now? with you? his luck needs to be studied by scholars. 

♱ and he’s all panicked, hiked breathing & eyes large & wide & so impossibly brown. they’re coffee colored, cappuccino-lit foamy mornings, caffeine in a chipped mug, warm & slightly burning. they’re a forkful of mudcake, cravings of cocoa crumb scraped off the roof of a mouth. whatever he is, it’s almost edible, it’s indulgent, it’s all-consuming. maybe that’s why you’d set your sights on him—you wanted to see if you could swallow him whole. he’s concerned that he’ll combust before you get the chance, though. because he’s scared. he’s nervous. he’s never done this before, he’s never done this before. he is a panicked little virgin with a tight throat & tighter jeans, sandwiched been rusted shelving and an angel with a flirty gaze & a goal, a goal which involves a performance that he maybe can’t give you. 

♱ the air carries the scent of your perfume & the stuttered gulps of his nervous breath. the dust flickers welcomingly around your face in a soft bokeh, glinting in the severed beams of wilting afternoon that creep in through the slats of the blinds. once again, the sun answers to illuminate you. “i’ve never done anything. like, anything at all.” he mumbles. you nod, not minding, of course. he is still struggling to comprehend the gravity of this situation. you are an inch from his face, at best. he could fashion a home in the space between your steady inhales & exhales. the rise and fall of your chest beneath the lilac cardigan embracing your body. the distance that journeys between your mouth and his own. it’s getting increasingly smaller. he’s getting increasingly harder. 

♱ “don’t care, mike. i can show you the ropes,” you joke. he’s more surprised you know his name than your eagerness to have sex with him. he says, “yeah?” and you go, “yeah,” and there’s a silence which doesn’t make him want to blast himself out of a canon, which is a welcome change. the quiet isn’t fully quiet because he’s breathing so heavy; a little ambience to the scene about to unfold. 

♱ he catches a recirculating inhale of your fragrant aroma beneath the notes of stale, recycled atmosphere in the room; some nectar-sweet whisper that reminds him of summer, of fresh berries, of vivid indigo juice staining fingers at the corner of mouths. he wants to stain his skin with you, also, but he doesn’t wanna act on it, so you have to do it for him. 

♱ the first kiss is hesitant on his part because there is too much thinking & not enough enjoying. he’ll register everything & nothing all at once; the burn of lips under his mouth, the flavor of spearmint & honey, the fingers which thread in his hair and his own which stay awkwardly stiff barring either side of his equally as rigid torso. his first kiss & it’s stolen in a janitor’s cupboard with the school’s precious nymphette, a dream of his; day dream, wet dream, surely just a bedtime dream—how is this happening? he is going to wake up any moment. you’re all smeared over his mouth. lipgloss will forever taste like you. 

♱ he stands utterly still, bewildered to the point of complete rigidity. a wooden plank under your coaxing hands. when he doesn’t reciprocate, you pause, and tear your lips away from the warm sanctity of his own chapped pair. you blink with feathered eyelashes and cheeks pink like strawberry syrup & bubblegum & anything sugared. cavities already line his gums and he welcomes them with pride. “did i read this wrong? shoot, sorry mike. i thought—” and he cuts you off. he scrambles at the idea of messing this up. he will not lose this miracle due to a failure to act upon it. 

♱ it takes a moment for him to find his voice, cause he’s got to actively detach himself from your eyes. when he does manage to find it, its fragile and not quite solidified, tense around the edges like shattered glass. “no.” he blurts. “no. god. no. that’s not—i didn’t mean—i didn’t not like that. not at all. trust me.” his breath catches on every second syllable he sputters. a faucet of trembled incomplete sentences. “i like you.” you raise a brow. “i really like you. i have for ages, its sorta really embarrassing, actually. i’ve just, y’know. never… never done any of this stuff before. especially not with someone like you.”

♱ “someone like me?” you ask. he’ll become perpetually more stammered, expressive brows colliding with each other, pinching the skin above his forehead, creating ripples that crease all the way up to his scalp. “shit, god, okay that sounded awful. i didn’t mean—not someone like you as in, a bad thing. i meant, y’know, someone like you—pretty. popular. you should be, like, stuffing me in a locker, or something.” he laughs, awkwardly, his breathing textured like sandpaper. 

♱ you’d snort at him. “i don’t think you’d fit in locker. you’re tall.” you mutter, hands spanning along the expanse of his elongated pale limbs. he’s wiry but not emaciated; enough meat on him to portray his masculinity without looking stiff & muscular & inflated. you like it. and he blushes, red hot & melting. “tall.” he echos. what else can he say? his tongue is ribboned around itself. tied up. 

♱ “you’re pretty,” he mumbles in the gap between exchanged metallic oxygen, souring softly. afternoon is dying like a star but it doesn’t matter because he’s got his own one right here, cradled in his arms. you send him a syrupy smile. “oh yeah? you think?” and he shakes his head. “no, fuck—i know it. everyone does.” he mumbles. “you’re so flustered,” you giggle. “i’m not flustered.” utter lies. “just, uh, just sorta tryna process this.” he mumbles. you frown. “process? process what?” 

♱ and he’d say. “you. mostly just you.” there’s shrinking distance wedged between your two faces; like magnetized metal drags you right back to him, right onto him. his eyes get browner, darker, more swollen with lust or longing—you can’t discern which one it is but right now it doesn’t really matter. you act on the imprint of desire moulded in his irises, you pull him in again for a better kiss. a real one. 

♱ now he’s more grounded. he kisses like he’s trying to suck you into his lungs, trap you in his ribcage under where his heart stumbles over the rhythm of its beating, thumpthumpthumpthump is the melody that grows in him. his tongue wedges under your own, you have no choice to swallow every breath that he spills into your throat. he hopes you don’t pick up on the whiny little wounded noises he emits, like some animal down the barrel of a rifle, like something pleading for mercy. can you blame him? he’s on the cusp of catharsis, right here. on the edge of a cliff, tasting the smile he’s lusted after for months. he doesn’t fall, he floats. he’s so fucking dizzy. 

♱ you’ve still gotta guide him through it. he’s sloppy, and each tactful glide of your tongue puts his own slobbered efforts to shame. you thread manicured fingers into the spiral of his chestnut curls, you tug a little, and he whimpers. not a debatable matter, sorry. he’s already panting into you, sacrificing all oxygen for serotonin instead, canines gnashing with your own. one yank really rips the sounds out of him, head craning to try and conceal it within your own mouth. it doesn’t work. 

♱ every action of his would seem like question; the gentle hand that braces your hip, or the other one which cradles the satin waterfall of hair that leaks down your shoulders, protecting your skull from the metal of the shelf that looms behind you, the one your pressed into. he’s considerate like that. and it doesn’t halt—the further you go. the less you wear. it’s dizzying; the breadth of his palms carefully prying fabric off your respective figures, clothes shedding like wilted rose petals and collapsing with a mellow sag on the floor. you appreciate the pale & freckled plains of his boyish torso just as he marvels the sight of not just any pair of breasts, but yours. 

♱ and he’d just have to tell you how he’s feeling, announce it in case you’d read it on his face before he had the chance. a sort of make-the-joke-before-someone-else-does mindset he never really shook since childhood. so it’d be all, “holy shit, you’re—my god. i mean, i thought you’d be pretty, but i never thought, like, this was even—possible…” he’d traipse off. staring, mentally preserving a polaroid of supple skin cupped in subdued cream lace. it’s perverted the way he’s banking that vision, folding into the forefront of his mind, for later use. 

♱ you’d tell him “you can touch, mike,” because you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t dare without your permission. you know he puts you on a popularity-provoked-pedastal. he doesn’t know how he got here, or if he even really is here at all—for all he knows, something sick has twisted itself into his mind and he’s still dreaming back at the wheeler house, rutting & sweating into his navy comforter, face suffocated into a pillow, whining your name. lord knows it’s happened before. but you tell him to touch you, voice floating effortlessly around the confined space and seeping into four walls of thin stretched linoleum—and he does. his hands are huge, we’ve been knowing that, all exaggeratedly stretched and almost feminine, and they latch onto your tits and dwarf them most likely; his jaw ticks right down to the bone, eyes unwavering from the swell of skin that he has the privilege of cradling. and he’d worship any part of your body gladly but something about the curve of your tits has mike’s knees crumbling beneath him like damp sand. “holy shit. pretty. hot. wow. holy shit.” he’d mumble. such a loser but he’s your loser >⩊<

♱ and because you’re in this cramped claustrophobic closet and there’s minimal time and somebody may enter at any moment, he doesn’t have time to do anything he really wants to—no time to work you open on those fingers that seem to go for miles, no time for you to train his mouth to trace the nectar that is smudging between the bracket of your honeyed thighs—but he wants to. maybe next time, he thinks greedily. 

♱ it’d be a fast endeavor. his hands would scope & seek, searching each slant of skin for something, anything, everything—nothing at all. he looks perfect; sweat pricked from the temple down, bony angles and broken breath, his collarbone stretched like wings out before you, his sentences failing to fall out of the confines of his tight throat. it doesn’t really matter; you’re not here to talk. 

♱ you scour his boxers, seizing his cock from the superman patterned fabric cage. it’s impressively long, pale and flushed at his tip, all rufescent & dribbly & the second your gentle fingers make contact everything tenses, and his puppy-gaze only further congeals into every feature. his brows, which kiss animatedly and draw upwards, folding lines into his forehead, and his big eyes which struggle to stay trained upon you as they flutter. his dark eyelashes feather & frolick, the weak bulb-light overhead melts through them, drips into the concave dip of his pronounced cheekbones, glistens over his pale skin, accentuates a freckled galaxy that settles across the bridge of his nose. he’s as angelic as you, even if nobody’s told him yet. 

♱ admittedly—he’s sickeningly nervous. the first person seeing his cock is human artwork; from the brushstroke outline of your celestial figure, to the watercolor smears of everything that’s packed into it; eyes, lips, lashes, supple skin & tender heart. but you’re encouraging. admiring. a thumb pawing the slit of his pinkish tip, the coo of your voice all, “such a nice cock, mike. all for me, huh?” and all he can do is nod. its nod or bust violently all over you, like, right now. so count your blessings. 

♱ without anything to do with himself, he resorts to another kiss which is very him heavy. hiccuping & stuttering like a roadside dying creature, little animal noises spewing out of him and into your throat, your lungs. its slower than before because he’s indulging, extracting any flavor he can from the arch of your lips, the roll of your tongue. he kisses you because he has nowhere else to put this shaking. 

♱ you’d guide his cock right into you hastily, so hastily that your panties wouldn’t even join the rest of your clothes in the polyester graveyard you’ve created below you—instead you’d haphazardly glide them to the side, lacy thong out of the way to reveal the slickened-honey spew of wet & warmth that sheens between your thighs. the lush scent of you is killer; melted amber drooling right before him. a filthy alcove that’s tumbled straight out of his sickest fantasies. and he gets hard all over again. his dad’s old playboys are one thing, but this? this is art, this is something he feels sorta guilty for even looking at. 

♱ “you’re— you’re so…” he swallows hard, words molten on his tongue. “wet.” and you say something corny like, “all for you, mikey,” and nobody’s called him mikey since second grade and it’s such a predictable line but he’s falling for it all anyway, throat creaking with the effort as he tries to grip himself at his base to prevent anything from erupting out of him too soon. it’s fumbled and adolescent; the condom and the way he struggles to sheathe it, the way he apologises between gasps. 

♱ he slides in with minimal friction—the shared concoction of his own pearlescent precum and your slick aids in an easy entrance. he grips the shelf behind you. clamps it so hard his knuckles bleach white to the bone with the strain, and his other splays across your exposed hipbone, kneading little circles into the dough of your flesh, which stabilises himself maybe more than you—but its a sweet gesture all the same. he narrates the entire process, painfully chatty.

♱ “okay, okay. i’m just gonna go in, i guess, right? that’s okay? right? you’re okay with this, with me, with… everything? you totally wanna—” and you just have to cut him off. “mike.” and he blinks. “yeah?” 

♱ “breathe. i want this, c’mon. don’t leave me waiting.” he flounders a bit. lips covered in the residue of peach kisses, swollen and syrupy. he stutters his breathing and pushes in, bit by bit by bit because he’s struggling to tamp down the desire that is stacking up fast. you’re tight. you’re tight and you’re warm. you’re here with him. in his arms. under his hands. his fingerprints live upon you now. in the cavern of your cunt, he’s now nestled. your body welcomes him with a clutch that makes his entire structure shudder. his breath knotting. his spine arching. his sanity thinning to a sweet, fragile thread. and he is very loud about it. “ohmygod. shit. shitshitshit. oh jesus christ. i can’t do this, oh shit. holy crap.”

♱ you laugh at him as his moon-pale cheeks warm. his fingers carve into the flesh of your waist, the dip and crest of it. he’s really trying to swallow all these embarrassing cries but they are slipping through the gaps in his teeth. he needs a hot hot minute. his forehead bows to you, he rests it, sweat-salted on the top of your head like he’s praying into your skin. damp curls & heavy panting heat your scalp up as he tries and fails to maintain a shred of his masculinity. but he never really had a shot at that, did he? you’re here, half-naked, all-his. even if its just for this severed moment. you droop dreamily towards him. mike wheeler, you’ve officially peaked, he thinks for a second. 

♱ you moan into his skin & it blooms there. “is it okay? i’m not hurting you or anyth—anything? tell me if i do, yeah? tell me if i’m too much, or, i dunno. not enough. i just—i just wanna make it g-good. for you. so good. mm.” his eyes roll back and white creamy sclera greets you. “shoot, you feel insane.” he croaks. aw, bless his heart. he has no idea what he’s in for. 

♱ you’ve gotta ground him. you press a hand between sweat-slick shoulderblades, that flex like wings beneath your feathered contact. you stroke the vague divot between them in circular motions. “is it okay like this? i can—i mean, i can move if you want, or—i don’t know. guide me. tell me what to do, i wanna get it right f’you.” he slurs. cuntdrunk & cross-eyed before you’ve so much as slid up and down, yet. 

♱ when he does move? yeah. it’s a little proddy. he needs a few scattered minutes to get his rhythm going, exploring the walls of your chamber with an expression like he’s been struck across the face. he looks teary, he looks as though he’s rooted in a visceral, aching agony. in a way—that’s you. you are his agony, his undoing. his first time & his only time—the only one that’ll matter, in his opinion. it feels like he’s flying. soaring. you rake nails down his vertebrae as he stumbles upon the good places all deep up inside of you; g-spot, cervix, any little clusters of nerve his fat cockhead manages to stab. his flesh gets beneath your french tips as you dig at his back; but the pain makes everything more raw. he laps at your neck, drinking your pulse, shackled to you, in you, around you. fused. 

♱ he sullies the slot between your neck and your shoulder with ripe indigo bruises. he doesn’t really know how to do it right the first time, the second, the third. they’re not proper hickies; it’s more consumption than claiming; his teeth whittling away at any exposed skin just to give his mouth something to do. a terrible attempt at muffling his cries, or getting himself to stop fucking talking. 

♱ because he’s all, “mmngghh, am i doing it right? shitshit, its so good, you’re so good,” and “i can’t even think,” and “you’re, ffff—, ungh, you’re so fucking warm.” his words are more scrambled with each thrust, sentences dissolving to salt & soft sobbing right against your skin. there’s something sacred about the way you’ve managed to rewire him. his smears another messy kiss against the canvas of flesh he can reach. whispers, desperately, “you’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re perfect.”

♱ you snicker at him. he’s stupidly endearing; a slowburn disaster with a heartbeat in his throat. his skill is questionable but his cock, oh, it’s big enough to mask any lack of coordination on his part. you feel good. you tell him, in a drooled murmur into his face and it’s all the positivity he needs to keep his act up. “feels good, mikey. you’re a natural,” you inform him. “yeah? s’good for you too? i’m not totally humiliating myself?” he jokes, panting. you promise that he isn’t. one praise-soaked murmur is all he needs to believe you. that’s the sin of it. 

♱ and so he speeds up. glassy & glossy eyed, lashes damp with tears he’ll die before admitting to. puncturing you from the inside out with shallow, shaky efforts. “are you okay? are you close? m’getting close, i think, thats okay, right?” he stammers. thrust. thrust. thrust. the metal framework behind you is shuddering & trembling. a bottle of clorox has fallen to its death, joined by a roll of duct tape and one ripped rubber glove. he pushes a little further into you, his pelvis knocking against yours. skeleton on skeleton. 

♱ “yeah, mike. m’close.” and you take his hand, press it onto your clit. “is thi–that the spot? whaddo i do? tell me what to do.” he quivers. fingers clumsy for it, stroking & teasing, coaxing your orgasm to its inevitable debut. he pouts at you, pleading for your summit so he can at least say he held out until you did. unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. it’s just so much, so much for him. he’s choked around from all angles, suffocating inside you, all air robbed, all smoldered heat he’s absorbing straight out of your skin. your curves hit off his angles, your cunt gulps him in further. you’re completely joined. and he’s completely fucked. he sobs as he comes, embarrassingly riskily loud. you’re sure his whimpering bleeds out from under the slot of the door. 

♱ “m’gonna cum, shit, i’m sorry, i can’t stop, shit, i–i can’t—” he trembles like electricity is frying him from the inside out. you’re lost in the eclipse of his dark eyes, growing impossibly wide as the wave hits him like a knock to the teeth. fist to the chest. kick to the sternum. it’s strong. it’s so strong; if he was in his rational state of mind he’d fear he’d snap the condom with the strength of his own spunk, spilling into the rubber cage, hands scrambling for purchase on your shoulders as he keeps you locked in place. the tears that had been dwelling but not yet shed, the ones pricked in his corneas begin to dribble down his freckled cheeks, licking at his features which are all screwed up as he comes & comes & comes. “s—so good. sosogood, you’re perfect, my angel holy shit, thankyouthankyouthankyou, you’re perfect, ah—” seismic quaking wracks his spine. he bends over you, bows in half. twitches like a beetle on it’s back. reduced to whining & white-noise, mouth falling apart around thank yous. 

♱ he doesn’t have enough time to be mortified before you’re tumbling down in a heap of fragility right with him. you come softer, gentler. he holds you as it happens, captures the moment, cups the light you emit in his palms, preserves it in the lines there. admires you, shamelessly, as you moan; lips swollen and eyes fluttering backwards. eyelashes blinking like moth wings, aftershocks jolting you in sparks. he’s too sensitive to ferment in you for any longer; once he’s sure it’s over, he tugs himself out of you. comfortably flaccid, completely ruined for anyone other than you. hesitantly, he scatters stray kisses onto your briny skin like dandelion spores. breathes in the sour-sweet scent of sex, of seduction, and still the remaining vestiges of amber-vanilla & natural musk that cloaks your body even now, even though he’d assume you’ve sweated all that off. 

♱ he inhales a wavering breath. “uh. wow.” he croaks. “was… that okay? for you, and not just me?” he’s so earnest it’s sickening. tooth-rottingly sweet. you reassure him. “i liked it mike.” he blinks. “yeah? i, uh, wow. you’re—shit. look at you.” his brain is gooey. his stare sticks to the crevices of your face, melded to you. especially now. the afternoon continues to bleed across you, showering you in heaven-yellow gold. you wear a mantle of sweat, a halo of light. draped in a post-ecstasy glow. “no wonder everyone can’t shut up about you.” he sighs, dreamily. 

♱ he’s more in control of the after than the during—helping you back into your abandoned outfit, peeling sweat-curled locks off where they’ve fused to your temples. hesitantly offering pecks to cheeks, to forehead, to lips. stumbling over what he reckons aftercare should be. “uh. water, right? we should get you some water. reckon the canteen’s still open? probably not. oh, i could get you some gatorade from the vending machine. shit. wait, i have no coins. maybe like, a few quarters in my bag, but that probably won’t…shit. i’m tryna be helpful but i think i’m just making noise.” he rambles. and he shuts himself up with a groan, dipping his head onto your shoulder. “thanks for everything,” he mumbles.

♱ he lets himself rest there. his own little hollow home, sanctuary in the sliver of skin between collarbone and jaw. a hand to yours, mellow skin on skin. he doesn’t know what this means, now. if you’ll forget about him, if his short time in your attention has expired. but he won’t ever lose this memory. he frames it mentally, hangs it on the plaster of his mind’s wall. evening swallows the day, you head home on wobbled legs.

♱ he dreams about you once again. 

⊹ .🪽₊ ݁₊｡⋆୨୧˚. ݁₊🕯️ ݁˖ 🦢

TAKING REQUESTS FOR ALL!CHARACTERS !! ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ ♱♱ ask me something heavenly!

He's never entered the lab before. He's never been interested. Why all of a sudden is he here now?

Obviously for his own gain. He requests Jayce to make him something as he overtly ignores Viktor. The two talk as Salo reminds Jayce of the councils meeting coming up in the next hour.

Jayce quickly flits around the room, trying to get everything necessary for the talk regarding Hextech. As Jayce rushes around the lab like a busy bee, Councillor Salo turns his attention onto you.

And this makes Viktor’s blood boil.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You're causally leaning against Viktors desk when Councillor Salo walks up to you, a smug look on his face as he watches Jayce.

“You’re new. I've never seen you before. I'd remember a face like that.”

Your lips thin a bit as you attempt to smile, it feels more like a grimace honestly, “I’m here every day. I'm just not an official partner of Hextech.”

Salo’s eyebrow quirks as he looks you over, you're tempted to shield yourself with your arms, Viktor’s writing has stopped. His hand gripping the fountain pen tightly.

“Ah, that's why I've never seen you during the Hextech conferences we hold. I would've paid more attention if you were there.”

The pen Viktor is holding creaks as you nervously laugh, “You shouldn't say such things Councillor. Especially with the founders in the same room.”

Salo hums and brushes a piece of hair off of your forehead, you gasp lightly in shock and you hear a snap behind you. The pen in Viktor’s hand has shattered, and dark ink stains his pale skin.

“Its only the truth. If you ever want more— riveting company. You know where to find me.” and with that, Councillor Salo walks away, taking Jayce with him as they leave the lab. The door shuts behind them and the room is plunged into silence.

Your eyebrows are furrowed and you gasp at the state Viktor is in. His face is furious, his hand is dirty, and he’s glaring at you.

He's never glared at you before.

“What the hell was that?!” He asks, his tone dark and sharp. You look at him in shock, not knowing what to say.

You've never seen him this angry before, and its kind of making your stomach jolt with butterflies.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Viktor can feel his lips snarling as he looks at you. You're his. You've been his since you were kids and you asked him how he made his toy boat.

He's infuriated. You allowed Salo to get close to you. To touch you. You didn't tell him off, you didn't dismiss him. You allowed him to proposition you right in front of him.

(Viktor knows they need the council on their good side but he doesn't care right now)

You looks like a baby deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes are big and pleading, your face is a mask of shock, and your lips are parted lightly in disbelief.

“I don't— I don't know. That's the first time we've ever spoken to one another.”

The flame in Viktor's gut barely recedes at that. He wants you once and for all. He wants to kiss you, hold you whenever he pleases, he wants to defile you and ruin you for anyone else.

(He's also tempted to collar you and chain you to his bed in his apartment. You'll never be able to leave him. He won't let you.)

“You let him proposition you, right in front of me. In front of Jayce.”

You can't help but scoff at that, you didn't let Salo do anything. As if you expected him to talk to you like that.

“Don’t you dare blame me Viktor! I didn't expect or want him to talk to me like that! As if I were nothing more than a body to warm his bed, as if I didn't have anything else to offer.”

Viktor bites his lip and sighs heavily, “So you should’ve stopped him! Did something at least!”

“And what? Ruined our relationship with the council?! Making it impossible to get funds for Hextech! Besides why do you even care?!”

Viktor jolts up from his seat, coming damn near nose to nose with you, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he didn't even need his cane. His anger overtaking his chronic pain.

“Because I love you! Because you're mine! You've been mine since we were children and I won't let some slimy snake-like Salo get his disgusting hands on you before I can!”

A gasp of shock escapes you as you look into Viktor's dark eyes, his clenched jaw, and snarled lips. He— what?

You jerk forward and kiss him desperately. You can feel him jolt in surprise before he kisses you harshly back, his ink-stained hand coming up to cup a part of your throat and jaw. Your skin now stained with ink from Viktor's broken pen.

The two of you briefly break your kiss and Viktor places his forehead against yours, the two of you panting lightly, “I love you too, just in case you didn't know. I've loved you since we were kids.”

Viktor smiles, his teeth proudly on display. He kisses you gently before angling your head to the side; peppering kisses and hickies on the unstained side of your neck.

“I am yours and you are mine.” He casually states into your neck, biting the juncture harshly. You groan at the pain, his teeth marks are going to be imprinted into your flesh for quite some time.

“Until the end of time.”

Viktor groans lowly in his chest and crushes his lips back to yours. You must look like a mess right now, messy hair, stained neck and cheek, hickies, a brutal bite mark on your neck, your lips plump and red due to the harsh kissing.

God you look ruined and Viktor hasn't really done anything to you yet.

“I want everyone to know you're mine. I've been dreaming of this since we were teens. Let me, please let me. I'll do anything.”

You sigh and card a hand through Viktor’s hair, “I won’t stop you, as long as I let everyone know you're mine too.”

Viktor removes himself from you, lightly backstepping to look you deep in your eyes, “Deal. I wouldn't want it any other way. Your place or mine?”

You smirk lightly and drag a finger down his chest, “Whos to say we have to leave the lab? Jayce won't be back for another few hours, and our places are too far.”

The dark look you get in return as Viktor ushers you to the futon in the corner of the lab tells you all you need to know.

He's gonna rock your shit.

The only saving grace was listening to your friends' problems. Like now, you were stretched out on a couch in the coffee shop on campus, listening to Jinx and Ekko talk about their fall break plans. They were arguing over the logistics of buying used music equipment.

“It’s a fucking steal, Ekko,” Jinx groaned, pacing behind the couch opposite you, “a bass like this goes for thousands, and this kid is selling it for a couple hundred!”

“Not really,” Jinx huffed, stopping behind where Ekko sat on the couch and crossing her arms. She waved a hand around as she tried to reason with him, “I mean, it’d be two days of driving, but we could make a trip of it. Take the van, go snowboarding at Blue Mountain? It’ll be fun…and I get a bass out of it.”

“Jinx.” He deadpanned, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Ekko,” She returned, looking down at him the same way. Then she stuck out her bottom lip, eyebrows pulled together as she pouted, “please. Please don’t make me go alone.”

He stared at her for a moment, gears clearly turning in his head. “Fuck!” Ekko groaned, tossing his hands up, “Fuck, fine. Yes, we can go to fucking Cleveland.”

“Why are we going to fucking Cleveland?” Viktor asked as he walked into the makeshift cafe living room.

You laughed, “We aren’t,” you inclined your head towards the couple, “they are. Because Jinx wants a bass. And because Ekko can’t tell her no.”

“That is not true!” Ekko defended, looking between you and Viktor. The both of you just stared back, blinking. Ekko groaned, “Fuck you guys.” and went back to working on his board.

You shook your head, looking back up at Viktor. His hair and the shoulders of his sweater were wet with snow. His cheeks and nose were flushed red from the cold, vivid against his pale skin.

“What’re you doing here?” You asked, doing your best to stamp down the heat in your chest, “I thought you were headed home after class.”

“Trying to get work done in the library,” he shrugged the straps of his bag off, “laptop’s dead, though…do you have yours?”

“I do. Get me a coffee, and I’ll let you steal it.” You joked, lifting the toe of your sneaker from the armrest and tapping his thigh with it.

“Already did,” he said, then swatted at your shoe, humming to get you to move. You huffed, pulling your knees in. He sat where your legs had just been, but when you moved to sit up, he stopped you. Instead of letting you drop your feet to the floor, he grabbed your shin, guiding your legs to lie across his lap. 

The motion was so casual. He barely even looked at you as he did it, still speaking to Ekko and Jinx about Cleveland while you short-circuited. You stared at the side of his face. Tips of his hair still wet, nose still red, beauty mark under his eye stark against his pale skin. He laughed, lips pulling back and giving you a flash of that crooked fang that you adored. Your eyes skimmed down to his hand, resting easily on your leg. His lithe fingers pulled absently at the frayed threads surrounding the hole worn into the knee. You didn’t realize you had floated away until the hand you were watching paused, fingers moving up just above your knee and squeezing. He was saying your name.

You flinched, blinking at him as you came back down to earth, “Sorry, what?”

“Hey there, space cadet,” he laughed softly, the smallest glint behind his eyes telling you he knew you hadn’t just zoned out on nothing, “can I have that charger?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you shook your head lightly, leaning over and disconnecting the charger from your own laptop. You held it out to him, then pulled it back, narrowing your eyes, “where’s my coffee?”

He rolled his eyes, then glanced over his shoulder. Turning to you with a smirk he said, “Right here.”

You followed his gaze to find one of the baristas walking over, a pair of mismatched coffee mugs in her hand. She had her eyes glued to Viktor, a pretty blush gracing her cheeks. Stepping in front of him, she gently handed over the mugs. If heart eyes were physically possible, she’d be sporting them.

“Here you go, Viktor,” his name came out soft and breathy, all the hopefulness in the world packed into the two syllables. 

“Dekuji, Donna.” He nodded, accepting the mugs with a polite smile. 

Donna’s smile widened, eyes barely blinking as she looked at him. She paused for a moment and then, with a pronunciation that wasn’t quite right, said, “Nemas zac…I’ve been practicing.”

“Ah, I can tell.” He raised an eyebrow, “Good job, Donna.”

She sucked in an excited breath, going to say something else when her eyes fell to Viktor’s hands as he passed you the second mug. Whatever she was going to say died in her mouth before it could come out. She blinked owlishly, looking between you and Viktor and your legs in Viktor’s lap. 

She frowned, then turned to you coldly, “Your shoes.”

“What about ‘em?” You asked, sipping at your drink.

“They’re on the couch,” she huffed, eyebrows furrowing, “your shoes are on the couch.”

“Oh, uh,” you panicked, the childish fear of being scolded flaring in your chest. Scolded by a freshman no less, you began to withdraw your legs, “yeah, sorry.”

“Oh, here,” Viktor cut in, drink set to the side as he leaned forward and stripped off his jacket. He laid it over the arm of the couch, tapping it to have you lay your feet back down, “sorry about that, Donna. Won’t happen again.”

He smiled at her politely. You wondered if he could tell that Donna didn’t actually give a fuck about the couch, or if he was truly just being sincere. 

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” her shoulders slouched and she forced a smile, “see you later. I hope you have a good day.”

Donna very pointedly did not look at you when she said this.

You scoffed, watching as he took a sip of his coffee, humming in question around the rim of the cup.

“Since when did this place offer table service?” You smirked, handing over the end of the charger.

“She’s being accommodating," he shrugged, not meeting your eye as he balanced his laptop on your shins.

“Uh-huh, sure,” you nodded, leaning back onto the arm of the couch, “I’m sure you can expect those accommodations to end after this little display.”

“She’s already asked me out,” he said absently as he opened up his work, “I told her no, and she hasn’t stopped.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you said, chewing on the inside of your cheek and pretending to be interested in the chipping polish on your nails.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he said, turning to you, “she’s a freshman. There’s no chance I’d go out with someone so young.”

You spoke before you could stop yourself, “If she were our year, would you have said yes?”

Viktor let out a heavy sigh, glancing up at the ceiling and shaking his head. He turned to you, expression even, “What do you think?”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think for a moment before saying, “I don’t know,” and going back to your phone. You tried not to smile as you felt him staring at you.

“You two are the worst.” Jinx said from where she was now sitting next to Ekko, her nose scrunched in disgust.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Viktor insisted, turning his gaze to her.

“Okay, sure, whatever.” Jinx rolled her eyes, slouching down into the couch and crossing her arms, “Anyways, are y’all coming to the bar tonight?”

“Probably,” you shrugged, then glanced up at Viktor over the edge of your phone, “you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Viktor laughed awkwardly, “Jayce wanted me to remind you that it’s your turn to DD.”

“Booo,” you whined, then narrowed your eyes at him, “he had you ask me on purpose, right? He knows I’d bail if he texted me.”

  “Yes, exactly.” He nodded, “So…you’ll drive?”

“I mean, yeah,” you scoffed, “I’m not gonna be a dick.”

“Perfect,” Jinx said, clapping her hands together, “Sevika accidentally ordered ten bottles of Malort instead of two, and Dad wants it G O N E, gone. We get to drink as much as we want!”

You snorted a laugh and tipped your knee to the side, knocking him gently in the stomach, “Good luck with that.”

“Don’t insult me,” he scoffed, raising an eyebrow at you, “I’m not intimidated by American liquor.

-----

The snow still hadn’t let up by the time you picked up the residents of the Rune Street house. Fat, wet flakes - more like frozen raindrops - muttered against your windshield and created a layer of slush on the ground. You didn’t bother leaving the safety of the warm cab to knock; instead, you called Viktor.

“Ahoj Mila,” he cooed, warm and soft, “you’re here?”

“Mhm, didn’t want to get out of the truck,” you told him, “are the others ready?” 

He scoffed, “No, I don’t think so.” His voice became muffled as he shouted for the others, a beat, and then he was back, “They say five more minutes.”

“Lame, you wanna come out to get front seat?” You laughed softly, “Mel and Cait will try to bully you and Jayce both into the back.”

“On my way,” you heard the door open on the other line just before he hung up. 

You looked up towards the front door to find him standing in the entryway. The lights from the house backlit him, casting a long glow across the wet front yard. As he made his way down the path, you leaned over, popping the lock to the door. A cold rush of air flooded the cab as he climbed in. 

“Sorry,” he said, assuring his cane was inside before yanking the door closed.

“It’s fine,” you laughed softly, moving your coat to your lap to make room for him next to you. He didn’t need to be told; he just slid into the space made for him. Subconsciously, you leaned closer, breathing him in as he pressed up against you.

“How are you?” He asked, brushing a strand of hair that was blown loose when he opened the door back in place, “Did you put makeup on?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning into his palm, "Lest's mom came by to pick her up for break; she’s lovely but judgmental.”

“Ah, I see,” he laughed, “trying to impress your lover's mom?”

“Yeah, obviously,” you snorted, “no, just trying not to give her a reason to talk shit. She loves to say I look tired, whatever that means.”

“Hm, well,” he narrowed his eyes at you, gaze moving around your face, “she should have nothing to say. I’ve seen you tired, and you're as beautiful as you always are.”

“Suck up,” you rolled your eyes, trying to play off the way your breath hitched, “I don’t need you to call me pretty.”

“Ah, you love it, though,” he said, smirking, “every time I do, you get all spacey for a moment. You chew on your lip, try to look away from me. You’re beautiful, I know you don’t need me to tell you that. I tell you because I like it when you blush. I like that I make you blush.”

You swallowed hard, realizing how close he was. You could feel his breath against your lips. You could almost taste him as he crowded in on you. The heat from his body making you sweat. 

“That’s not fair,” you muttered, wanting nothing more than to kiss him. It’d be so easy, just the slightest lift of your chin and his lips would brush yours. It’s all the permission he would need to really kiss you. To kiss you like you know he wanted to.

“All’s fair,” he breathed out. 

You could feel the way his lips moved when he spoke.

Then he was gone. Pulling back half a second before the truck door was yanked open. The cold dropped you back to earth. You sucked in a sharp breath, whipping around to face the steering wheel. The way Viktor turned blocked your face from view of the others - intentional or not, it was appreciated. You blinked a few times, pulling yourself together before looking over Viktor’s shoulder.

“Took y’all long enough,” you said, “hurry up and get in. It’s fucking cold.”

“Why does Viktor get the front?” Jayce whined as he clambered into the back seat after Cait, “He’s shorter.”

“Because he was on time,” you told him.

“Yeah, I was on time,” Viktor repeated, raising an eyebrow at Jayce, “something you wouldn’t know about.” 

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault.” Jayce scoffed, “The girls were still getting ready.”

“Don’t lie.” Mel said, pushing the seat closed behind Jayce, “You were still getting dressed, too.”

Mel turned to Viktor and you, fake whispering, “He couldn’t decide which jeans he wanted to wear. The dark ones or the ones that make his ass look good.”

“Mel!” He gasped, then tried to defend himself, “That’s not- it was the color, not-”

“Don’t defend yourself to us,” Viktor said, holding his hands up, “how you want your ass to look is your prerogative."

You giggled, Viktor turned your way just slightly and winked. 

‘Well, which ones did you go with?” Cait asked from the seat behind you; you could hear the smirk in her voice.

“I mean, the ones that make my ass look good, obviously.” Jayce said, then leaned on the back of the seat, his chin wedged onto Viktor’s shoulder as he tried to look at you, “Thanks for driving.”

“Ha, it's the best excuse to get out of drinking Malort," you scoffed, putting the truck into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“Oh, it can’t be that bad,” Mel said, fidgeting with the heater.

“N,o seriously, it’s awful.” You assured, eyes wide, thinking about the one and only time you had ever tried it, “Like, y’all need to prepare yourselves for the worst possible taste and then maybe it won’t be as bad as you think…maybe.”

“Actually, you can just bring me home,” Cait said.

“Too late,” you shrugged, “it’s already happening, you don’t have a choice.”

The warmth of the cab finally chased away the last of the cold air they let in, letting you relax better against Viktor. He placed a hand on his own thigh, fingertips ghosting against your leg every so often. 

-----

The Last Drop was as warm and inviting as ever. A stark contrast from the bitter, wet cold that seeped past the layers of your jacket. Jayce held the first door. Viktor held the second, bowing his head slightly and holding eye contact as you passed. Just inside the door, there was a coat rack that nobody but your friend group ever felt comfortable using. The five of you stood around, wrestling off heavy jackets and knocking snow off your shoes. Viktor waited a beat, watching as you hung your coat before placing his over it on the same hook. 

He slung an arm over your shoulder, smirking down at you, “You won’t let me make a fool of myself tonight, yes?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” You laughed, walking with him into the bar.

Sevika was seated at the end of the short hall, looking bored and angry as usual. Despite the cold weather, she wore a thick t-shirt with the sleeves removed. Showing off one ridiculously muscular arm and one scarred and tattooed stump where the other used to be. Even after knowing her through two and a half school years, you’d never not be intimidated by the woman.

You smiled politely from under Viktor’s arm while she pretended to check IDs. Your entire friend group had their first legal drink in this bar, she knew how old everyone was. 

“You two are being quite obvious tonight, aren’t you?” Sevika scoffed, making a show of checking your license for the security cameras. You stiffened, trying to pull away. You weren’t surprised by the remark. You should have expected it. Sevika was the first to call Viktor your “little boyfriend” after the show on Jinx’s birthday, scoffing at you when you tried to say you were only friends. 

“Heard about your ordering mishap, Sevika,” Viktor teased as he handed over his license, ignoring the remark and tightening his hold on you.

You elbowed him in the side, “It’s too early for you to be a smartass,” you scolded.

He snorted, taking his license back and turning away.

“Yeah, listen to your little girlfriend, kid,” she huffed as you slid your license back into your wallet, following Viktor. She muttered something about not getting paid enough to put up with brats as the two of you made your way into the main bar.

You glanced up at Viktor, assessing the position you were in. This was innocent. This could be innocent. Jayce had his arm around Cait frequently, walking just like this. Granted, he and Cait had never had sex, but technically, no one knew that you and Viktor had either. Not for sure that was. Not that you knew of, at least.

“You’re tense,” he said, glancing down at you, a hand squeezing the ball of your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, shaking your head.

“You know to ignore her,” he said, dropping his voice, “she’s just teasing.”

“Stop, I know. I’m not tense,” you insisted, doing your best to relax your shoulders.

He dropped his arm from you, “Better?”

The space where his arm had been felt ice-cold without it.

“I didn’t mind,” you insisted.

He didn’t make contact again. You had reached the back room where the rest of your friends were gathered. Now he’d just be touching you for the sake of it. The back of his hand brushed against yours. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You let Viktor break away from you, watching as he greeted Ekko. Jinx and him were already deep into a game of pool. Whoever was stripes was losing badly. You let yourself fall into line with your friends. Grateful for the night with them before everyone fled home for a week.

-----

It didn’t take long for the group to become thoroughly drunk. Vander had put a pause on the flow of liquor when Vi tried to stand on the pool table to fix a flickering lightbulb. Luckily, the door to the back room was closed by then, preventing his daughters from causing him too much public embarrassment. 

Viktor - who insisted that anything made in America paled in comparison to what was distilled in his home country - was more drunk than you had ever seen him. He was loud and boisterous and thoroughly enjoying the company of the other two men. Between drinks, the three of them - the scholars that they were - raved about the latest discoveries they had read about in their one shared class. Any meaning to their words was lost in the slur of alcohol. 

Luckily for you, Viktor was a beautiful drunk. A vision truly, with red cheeks and a smile that was only this wide when he drank. You loved seeing his teeth, loved the excited pitch to his voice as he jumped into conversation. The way he waved his hands, the way his accent grew so thick at times that you weren't sure if he was even speaking in english. The way every so often he’d turn to you with a smile so warm you were sure it was summer again. He’d place a hand on the back of your head and tip his forehead to meet yours. Telling you how drunk he was, how grateful he was for you, how pretty you looked. All quite enough for only you to hear. 

It all felt so… natural. Making sure he didn’t hurt himself in his fun, letting him compliment you and hold you close to him. All of it. It felt like you’d been doing this for years. You knew which way he’d tip if his cane caught on the old carpet. He knew not to crowd you immediately after taking another shot. Always waiting a respectable minute and washing the smell from his lips with a few sips of water before invading your space again. Even when he leaned against a low barstool, half sitting, and pulled you to lean against him. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, breath warm against your shoulder as he murmured about a headache. Even in front of your friends, it felt fine. Normal. How it was supposed to be. For the second time that day, you wondered what the harm would be in moving that deadline from thirty days to zero.

“Do you want to get some air?” you asked, keeping an eye on the others. Jayce and Vi were playing a game of pool, shit talking each other while Cait and Mel cheered them on. Jinx and Ekko were slowly building a house of cards. Impressively four cards high, even with their drunk hands.

“Ano prosím,” he practically whimpered. You laughed softly at his dramatics, standing and turning to pull him up. 

He trailed behind you as you slipped out the back door. Even with the heaters sparked up and running, the back porch was vacant. You dragged a pair of chairs close to one, offering him the seat. When he sat, he let out a sigh, leaning his head back and feeling the cold air against his face. 

“Better?” You asked, smirking at his closed eyes and parted lips.

“Hm, much,” with his eyes still closed, he lifted a hand, holding it out for you to grab.

“What?” You laughed, taking his hand. He tugged you forward, pulling you down to sit in his lap. You gasped, trying to stand back up and frantically looking around, “What are you doing?”

“Just sit with me for a second,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and dropped his head to your shoulder. You slung your arm around the back of his neck, trying to keep your weight from fully pressing down on him, “Mila, relax, you’re not gonna hurt me.”

You huffed, “Why do you want me to sit in your lap so bad?”

He tipped his head back, cracking a toothy smile up at you. “I mean, if you’d rather sit on my face, you are more than welcome to.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, fighting back a laugh and slapping your hand over his mouth, “Viktor, don’t say that.”

He laughed behind your hand, hand coming to grab your wrist as you hid your face against the side of his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he laughed, prying your hand away, “I’m sorry, it was too easy. I promise I wouldn’t have said that in front of people.”

“God, you are so drunk,” you huffed, face burning. You hated that you didn’t hate the teasing. You hated that it sent sparks down your spine. 

“Hm, very,” he nodded, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist, “thank you.”

“For?” You asked, letting yourself relax into him. 

He looked up at you with glazed eyes, reaching up and brushing a piece of hair back behind your ear, “For everything,” he said, voice soft.

“I’m going to get you water,” you insisted, only to keep yourself from kissing him. Again, you thought about your rule. Thought about if it was even worth bothering with at this point.

“If you must,” he sighed dramatically, laying a hand over his forehead.

You giggled, prying yourself from his grasp and standing up, “Don’t freeze while I’m gone.” 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted with one hand and produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with the other.

Inside, you caught Mel and Cait whispering to each other, little glances thrown your way. You narrowed your eyes at them. The little gossips that they were.

“We’re gonna smoke outside if y’all wanna join,” you told them, raising an eyebrow. See, you thought, nothing happening out there at all…not really, at least.

“It’s too cold,” Mel grimaced, sitting up and shaking her head. She scoffed, “make it warm again, and we’ll join you.”

“Ha, yeah, I’ll get right on that,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at them before making your way into the main room of the bar. 

In the time that you had been secluded away in the back with your friends, the bar had filled up. There was a game of some kind on. Locals were crowded around tables, anticipation and nerves wavering off of them like heat as they watched the flatscreens. You squeezed through people. Bumping and mumbling apologies all the way to the bar top.

Vander met you, tossing a rag over his broad shoulders and leaning his palms on the varnished wood. Older men weren’t your thing…Except for Vander. Vander could fucking get it. 

“Hey, Kid,” he greeted, grinning down at you, “how’s it going back there?”

“Well, I’m cutting Vik off,” you laughed, “and the others are getting close to their limits, too, I’m sure. So if that’s an indicator.” You shrugged at him.

“I trust your judgment," he agreed, then raised an eyebrow, “how many bottles did you take off my hands?”

“Like, two and a half,” you told him, “a good portion of that did end up on the floor. That was Vi’s fault, I swear.”

He let out a warm laugh, rubbing a hand over his forehead, “Yeah, I don’t doubt that. Guess Malort is gonna be the special for quite some time.”

“How much do you buy the bottles for?” You asked him, tilting your head.

“Since we got them in bulk,” he sighed, “about 25 bucks a bottle.” 

“Fuck, you spent 500 dollars on Malort?” You gaped, “That…that’s rough. But hold on.”

He watched you curiously as you dragged your fingers on the bartop.

“Whatcha doing, Kid?” He laughed as you worked.

“Math, hold on.” You told him, holding up a hand and going back to your invisible calculations. “Okay, a suggestion if you're willing. Buck Fifty Malort shots. You could, at a minimum, make back what you spent, plus a couple of extra bucks a bottle. Or, if you do shots for two bucks, you’d make about 9 dollars a bottle and wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.”

He blinked at you, glancing down to the bar like you had actually written on it and then back to you, “You need a job, Kid?”

“Ask me again in the summer," you laughed, “also, that was very simple math. Isn't your husband a business professor? You don’t need me, of all people, to solve Malort problems.”

“He is, and I keep him out of bar business,” Vander told you, “man’ll work himself to death if I let him.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you had heard from Vi and Jinx about how both their fathers were hard workers to a fault. 

“What’re you getting to drink, Kid?” Vander asked, hands going back to the bar, “On the house in exchange for your ideas.”

“Thank you, but I’m driving tonight. I’ll remind you next time, though,” you laughed, “but could I just get a glass of water? No ice.”

“No ice?” Vander asked you, raising an eyebrow, “Tap doesn't get too cold, are you sure?”

“It’s for Vik, he doesn’t like ice,” you explained, then shrugged, “it’s also freezing outside, he won’t notice.”

“Ah, I see,” he drawled, nodding to himself as he pulled a glass off the shelf.

“You too?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Does anybody in this town mind their business?”

“I own a bar,” he shrugged, holding the glass below the tap, “I couldn’t mind my business even if I wanted to.”

You rolled your eyes, taking the lukewarm glass from him. “Keyword if?”

He nodded, “Key word if.”

You both laughed as you turned away from the bar. Working here wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You wondered how flexible Vander would be with the hours, If it were something you could do while going to school to get some extra cash. All the summer internships you were looking into didn’t pay well, if they paid at all. You cringed to yourself, deadlines for those applications were going to be due at the start of next semester. You should ask them how their applications are going. 

You were lost in thought about application deadlines and where your friends may end up over the summer. So lost, you didn’t notice the body in front of you until you were already smacking into it. You hissed an apology as you recovered your balance, luckily only spilling a few drops of water. 

You wished you could retract the ‘sorry’ as soon as the person turned around. A face you knew far too well turned to look down at you. Your stomach dropped, and adrenaline flooded your body as soon as you made eye contact.

Aaron.

Your ex-boyfriend, Aaron.

Knew everything about you, Aaron.

Has met both your parents, Aaron.

Aaron, who you loved years ago.

Aaron, who you fucking hate now.

Aaron, who, despite the fact that he was the one who broke up with you, smiled like you hung the stars in the sky when he saw you. You saw his lips form your name. His teeth were still perfect. One was a veneer. He had knocked it out skateboarding at fourteen. You’d never be able to tell. 

Despite the proximity, his voice didn’t reach you. Everything else was louder. The crowd. The music. The TVs. Your own blood rushing through your ears.  You blinked up at him as he continued to speak to you, clearly not catching on to the fact that you weren’t pleased to see him. It wasn’t until his hand came to rest on your shoulder that you were able to move. 

You jerked away from his hand as if the contact alone burned you, managing a few steps backwards. You could feel your mouth move, but were sure you weren't saying anything coherent. Anything other than ‘no’. You didn’t even see his reaction to yours before you were practically running away. Taking a long arc around him, you made your way towards the room where your friends were.

You walked on shaky legs to the back door as it all came rushing back to you. The study dates that always ended with you under him in his twin bed. The projects you did together. The saved seats. The days when you’d ditch. The night, three days before the final in your only shared class. The three days of crying so hard, Lest and Mel almost called your dad to pick you up. The failing grade on your final test because how the fuck were you supposed to focus with the boy who said he ‘fell out of love with you’ five feet away. 

You looked down at the glass in your hand. The water inside too warm without ice to wet the outside. Here you were, doing it again.  Risking it again. You had one rule for yourself, and you were fucking it all up. You had let yourself create loopholes, particulars with terminology, and ambiguous behavior as if that was any better than calling it what it was. As if it were the labels that were going to break your heart and ruin your GPA. 

You steadied your breath as you reached the back door. You were being childish. You were being weak. You felt shame creep up the back of your neck, embarrassed by your lack of self-control. 

You found Viktor exactly where you left him. Leaning back in the metal chair and breathing out smoke. You didn’t let yourself look at him for longer than a second. Instead, you bypassed his open arms, setting the glass of water down on your way to the other side of the table. The cold metal of the chair bit through your clothes, uncomfortable even through the layers of fabric. You crossed one leg over the other, hands in your lap.

“Mila?” You swallowed hard at the sound of his voice, finally looking up at his face, “Why are you so far away?”

“What are you talking about? I’m right here?” I’m not your girlfriend, Viktor. We aren’t together. I can’t sit on your lap, I can’t kiss you. I can’t be weak.

“Well, you should be here.” He held a hand out to you, “Come here.”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m fine here.”

“Mila, are you okay?” He tilted his head. You could tell he was still drunk, but was sobering up, “Is something wrong?”

“No, everything is fine.” Nothing is fine.

“Mila, wh-” he tried.

“Stop calling me that!” You snapped, cutting him off, “You said you were fine waiting for me, and you haven’t been waiting. I can’t date you. You know that. I told you that.”

He stared at you, eyebrows pulled down and mouth in a flat line.

“Fuck you.” The words were laced with hurt, less angry than you’d expect.

“What?” You flinched, gaping at him.

“Fuck. You.” He said, slow and measured, before pushing himself to stand. He trembled as he rose to his feet, alcohol and emotion throwing him off balance, “You are such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?” You stood as well, skin simmering with defensive anger.

“Why are you doing this to me? Fuck,” your name fell from his lips like a cherry pit - sweet until it wasn’t, “what am I to you?”

You blinked at him, “You’re my friend.”

“Really? I’m your friend?”  His voice broke on the word, “Because this isn’t how I’d treat a friend.”

“Vik, I-” you felt your throat tighten up.

“Don’t fucking Vik me,” he snapped, voice rising, “I don’t fucking understand. Tell me, why is it fine for you to kiss me when you're drunk? To lie in my bed and practically beg me to fuck you. But when I want you, it’s a problem? Do you only want me when you drink? Is that what it is? Because that’s what it seems like.”

“That is not true,” you growled, fists tightening at your side.

“Isn’t it? Every time you drink - Halloween, Jinx’s birthday, fuck even that day on the water,” He listed, face hard as he stared you down, “I’m sick of wasting my time. I’m sick of being your drunk decision.”

You felt your bottom lip waver, biting down to hide it and nearly choking as you tried to speak, “Wasting your time…”

Despite your best efforts, tears spilled over. Instantly, Viktor froze, eyes going wide as he caught sight of the silent tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping down your chin.

“No, Mila,” he gasped, trying to take a step towards.

“Stay away from me,” you yelped, stumbling back.

You stared at the ground as you rushed past him, his voice calling after you. The heat inside nearly suffocated you as you pushed the door open. Mel was already there on the other side, so close you almost smacked her with the door. Concern was all over her face, eyes wide and hands out as she tried to approach you. You shied away, a sob catching in your throat as you tried to get out. 

Your vision was a watery blur as you stumbled through the bar. Dodging people, ignoring concerned voices. You snagged your jacket from its hook, folding it over your arm as you made it to the gravel parking lot. You were burning up, hot everywhere in the worst way. A heat you couldn’t escape.

You didn’t realize that you had been crying out loud until Mel grabbed you by the shoulders, spinning you around and begging you to breathe. 

“Please, honey,” she begged, hands wiping the tears from your face, “please, you’re going to faint. I need you to calm down. What happened?”

You tried to do what she asked, sobs still racked your body as you shook your head. She pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her shoulder.

“It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” you could hear her voice shaking.

“I…I want to go home,” you told her, forcing the words out.

She pulled away, hands on your shoulders as she nodded, “You can go home, honey. I’ll get us an Uber home or something. Just breathe for me, I’m not letting you drive until I know you're not gonna steer yourself into a ditch.”

She took a long breath in, you did your best to mimic. After a couple of solid inhale exhales, she dropped her hands, “Do you want me to come with?”

You shook your head, pulling your keys from your jeans pocket. She nodded, giving a sad smile and stepping away, allowing you to walk away to your truck. You didn’t let it warm up. Just turned it on and pulled out of the lot. The cold finally reached your muscles. You shivered as your truck tried to cough up as much hot air as it could with a cold engine. You reached for your jacket in the passenger seat, regretting not putting it on. You had tossed it to the side in your haste to get away. 

It took less than a second for you to realize that your jacket was still hanging on the hook back at The Last Drop. Instead, Viktor’s coat was lying across your lap. Cold and soft and far, far too familiar. A fresh round of sobs seized your body. Your vision blurred, forcing you to pull off the road. You cried in your parked truck until you couldn’t anymore. 

-----

You, like most people, moved faster than Viktor. Not held back by femoral anteversion or a hip to ankle brace, or a cane that more often than not slipped on snow and ice. He called your name, the type of adrenaline that comes with a really bad fuck up, making the muscles in his chest tighten up. He slipped, cursing whatever there was left to curse as he caught himself on the edge of the table, the cold metal biting into his palm. 

He realized as he took another off-kilter step, that not only did you have the physical advantage in the moment, you also had the sober one. By the time he made it to the back door, you were gone. Swallowed up past the door of the main bar. Viktor huffed, a hand on the door frame, and realized that all of his friends - aside from you and Mel - were staring at him with wide eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say. Even if he did know what to say, He couldn’t remember how to say it in a way they’d understand. Too drunk, too angry, too scared to figure out how to turn Czech to English.

“Viktor…”Jayce spoke, voice cautious as he stepped closer.

Viktor avoided his hands, taking an awkward side step around Jayce. Unable to look anywhere except towards where you might be. He moved through the crowded bar. By the time he finally pushed his way out to the parking lot, you were gone. Only Mel stood in the gravel, shivering with her arms crossed over her chest. He couldn’t even see your taillights on the road.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jayce asked from behind them as he pushed out the front door. 

Viktor swayed on his feet. Lights around him blurred as the sky began to spin. He blinked, only realizing what his body was doing when it was already too late. Doubling over, he retched. Gagging up all of the nasty midwestern liquor onto the gravel. He heard Jayce curse from behind him, footsteps crunching as he jogged up to Viktor. He watched as red began to drip down his face, mixing with the stomach acid on the ground. Only a beat, and the drip was a flow, streaming onto the ground. He barely had time to reach for Jayce before the ground was rushing up to meet him.

-----

You had planned to stay on campus for most of fall break. To study, work on finals, and… spend time with Viktor. But without the latter, the others didn’t really seem worth it. So instead, you frantically packed. Thanking God that Lest wasn’t there to witness the pitiful display, or attempt to talk you out of making the four-hour drive in the middle of the night. You haphazardly shoved what you needed into a duffel bag, deciding whatever you forgot you could buy or steal from your dad. 

When you made it back to your truck, you hopped in and drove away before you had the chance to hesitate. You knew you should tell someone, Mel or Jayce, or even your dad. You knew whoever you texted would try to talk you out of it. There was only one person who’d actually be able to change your mind, and he had just told you to fuck off.

-----

When Viktor woke up in a bed instead of on the ground, he had one thought first. I hope to God Jayce didn’t carry me here. He blinked up at the lights above him. Something was familiar about them; blinding light from his childhood. These lights weren’t blinding. They were dimmed low, but they weren't soft, still sending a sharp sting to the center of his brain. He closed his eyes, trying to gather information without sight to determine where he was. Funnily enough, he instantly recognized where he was with his eyes closed. The metronome of heart monitors and hum of machinery. The smell of antiseptic and cleaning solutions doing their best to erase bodily fluids. The clamp of a pulse oximeter on the index finger of his right hand. The cold plastic of the cannula under his nose and against his cheeks. He’d been to the ER plenty of times as a child. It had been years, though, since an unplanned hospital visit. 

He listened to his own heartbeat, steady as he knew it should be, and forced himself to open his eyes. A curtain the color of sunbleached Scheele’s green to his left, and to his right, Jayce. It always shocked Viktor when Jayce managed to make himself look small, and right now, he looked tiny. Normally broad shoulders, hunched, his elbows resting on his knees, and face buried in his hands. Slow breaths, raising and lowering the curve of his spine.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice came rough and dry.

“Viktor!” The other man gasped, head jerking up. His eyes were rimmed with red, handsome face puffy with tears. He stood quickly, taking a step towards Viktor, hands outstretched like he was approaching a wounded animal.

A wounded animal. Viktor resisted the urge to laugh.

“I’m fine.” He tried to wave him off, hand held back by monitors.

“You are not fine, Viktor.” Jayce shook his head, eyes wide and corners of his mouth pulled down in disapproval, “What is going on? What the fuck was that?”

“Jayce, please.” Viktor brought the free hand up to cover his eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

He could hear the way Jayce recoiled, the shuffle of the chair as he dropped his weight back down, “I’m sorry, I just…I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Neither do I.” Viktor scoffed, taking his hand off his eyes, his words only partially true, “I did just wake up, remember?”

“Fuck, man, I’m sorry.” Jayce slumped back in the chair, “You’re right.”

“I normally am.” Viktor joked, smirking at him.

“Do you remember… anything?” Jayce asked, looking at him expectantly.

Viktor thought for a moment. He could remember the look on your face that shattered his insides to a thousand pieces. He remembered you rushing past him. He remembered the feeling of gravel against his face. He reached up, touching the right side of his forehead and, sure enough, found a row of butterfly bandages holding split skin together.

“I remember up to this, I guess.” Viktor told Jayce, “I’m assuming someone drove me here? What time is it?”

“It’s two in the morning,” Jayce told him, and then cringed as he admitted, “we called an ambulance.”

Viktor blinked at Jayce, letting out a heavy sigh, “You called an ambulance because I fainted?”

“No,” Jayce said firmly, “we called an ambulance because you threw up, started bleeding from your nose, passed out, and split your damn forehead open. All while we were too fucked up to drive you here ourselves and trying to figure out why our designated driver left crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor pushed his head back against the paper-thin pillow, heels of his hands digging into his eyes until he saw colors that weren’t there, “fuck, I’m sorry... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”

“Viktor, stop.” Jayce tried, “C’mon, V. It’s fine, please.” Jayce stood, reaching over and grabbing Viktor’s wrists. He pulled his hands away from his face, looking down at Viktor.

“V, please, man, please just tell me what’s going on.” Jayce begged, “No one is upset with you. Either of you. We just want you to be okay.”

Viktor let out a shaky breath, trying to keep himself from crying again. The way Jayce looked down at him was heartbreaking. He hadn’t seen that look since they were both teenagers. Since the last time Viktor had a complete and total breakdown. Since the first time Jayce was worried what Viktor would do to himself.

“Jayce,” He choked out his name, “J, I really fucked up, man.”

-----

Hours after you left campus, the headlights of your truck finally swung across the front of your childhood home. Wet gravel crunched under your tires as you pulled into the vacant spot beside your dad’s truck. When you shut the truck off, you sat for a moment in the dark. It was a concerningly warm November; instead of snow falling softly against the roof of the cab, it was rain. Tapping, even and gentle, against the metal. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut as you told yourself this was the right thing to do. That space was what you needed. That space would fix this.

Without letting yourself spare a glance at the stolen jacket next to you, you slipped out of the truck. Hauling your bag over your shoulder and moving quickly through the cold rain to the front door. As you stuck the key into the lock, a recurring nightmare from your first year of college came flooding back to you. One where you’d come home at some random time of day to find your dad's truck gone and your key not matching the locks on the door. 

Luckily, this was a different kind of nightmare. So your key worked, letting you into the home that was so familiar that its unfamiliarity made your chest ache. You closed the door, holding the latch to keep it from clicking loudly into place, and toed off your wet boots. Despite your attempt at stealth, a muffled woof came from the back of the house. You froze, cringing as you waited for the dog to hopefully fall back asleep. No luck. After another soft bark, the door to your father's bedroom creaked open, followed by the sound of nails clicking against the hardwood floors. 

The big long-haired mutt came bounding up to you in the dark. Tail wagging so hard it pulled her hips back and forth. She turned, leaning her heavy body against your legs. 

“Hi Sadie,” you whispered, hands in her fur as she bounced around, “good girl, I missed you too.”

Your dad’s voice was filled with sleep and confusion as he spoke your name from the dark. You looked up at him, barely able to make out his broad form.

“Hey,” you said, voice shaking as a fresh round of tears threatened to spill, “I’m sorry, I should have called.”

“No, Buddy, don’t apologize,” he said, walking over and wrapping you up in his arms without hesitation, “what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

That question was enough to tip the tears over the edge. A sob tore itself from your throat as you buried yourself against your dad's chest. You felt like a kid again. Small with big feelings. Running back to your dad, unable to get words out amidst the tears.

He rubbed a hand over your back, holding you close like he did back then. Gently, he ushered you towards the couch. Helping you sit and settled himself next to you. He pulled away, smoothing your hair out, the other hand on your tired face, wiping away tears.

“Shh, baby, please,” He hushed, “can you tell me what's happening? You’re scaring me a little bit.”

Sadie hopped up onto the couch next to you, settling her head against your thigh with a gentle whine.

“See, Bud, even Sadie’s worried about ya.” He told you, hands moving up and down your arms.

“I-” You tried, clearing your throat when the words stuck, “I fucked up so bad, dad, I really did.”

He sat back more, hands cupping your jaw and looking in your eyes. Your eyes that were his.

“Is someone dead?” He asked.

You blinked at him, taking in a shaky breath and shaking your head ‘no’.

“Okay, good, are the police after you?” He asked, hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

You sniffed, shaking your head, “No.”

“Okay, good, that’s good.” He nodded, then paused, a nervous look crossing his face. He pulled in a slow breath through his nose, blinking once before asking with a cautious voice, “Are you pregnant?”

You let out a wet laugh, dropping your head against his shoulder, “God, no.”

He sighed in relief, hand coming to the back of your head, “Thank god. See, everything else we can handle. Honestly, we could handle all of those, too.”

“You could handle me being pregnant?” You teased, not a doubt in your mind that he would.

“Of course, Buddy,” He assured, “it wouldn’t be ideal, but I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“Good to know,” You sniffled again.

“That isn’t an encouragement to get pregnant, by the way,” he said, head resting on your chin. You laughed, eyelids getting heavy with sleep, “I’m too young to be a grandfather, give me another five years at least.”

“Only five years?” You laughed.

“Don’t want to be too old,” he said, “someone’s gotta teach them to fish, and Lord knows you couldn’t teach a dog to dig.”

“Rude.” You said around a yawn.

“It’s two AM, buddy,” he told you, “you wanna get some sleep? You can explain what the hell is going on in the morning.”

“Yes, please.” You nodded as he stood, hands outstretched for him to haul you off the couch.

“Want Sadie?” He asked, leading you down the hall, the big dog trailing behind.

“Sure,” You stepped into your room, exactly as you left it months ago, only colder and staler. 

“‘Kay, Buddy,” he held the door open for Sadie, who trotted in and hopped up on the foot of your bed, “sleep tight, love you.”

You nodded, “Love you.”

He closed the door behind him. You didn’t waste a second in stripping off your jeans and old socks, your bra pulled from under your t-shirt. As soon as you climbed into bed, Sadie crawled up closer. Chasing away the cold and letting you hold onto her as you fell into a restless sleep.

-----

Jayce sat quietly as the doctor broke the news that Viktor was anemic. The disease, on top of the anxiety, alcohol, and panic Viktor had experienced, caused him to faint. Luckily, it was mild. Nothing supplements and attention couldn’t handle. When the doctor dubbed Viktor good to go after some paperwork was filled out, Jayce stopped being quiet.

Viktor sighed as Jayce asked again, “What’s going on?”

“You heard him,” Viktor deflected, frowning down at the pages stacked on a clipboard, what seemed like a hundred empty boxes begging to be filled in, “I’m anemic.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Jayce said.

“How are we getting home?” Viktor asked, scribbling his information into the boxes, using his regular swooping handwriting in protest of having to fill it out at all.

“Mel and Cait dropped off my car.” He said.

“I’ll tell you on the way home,” he said, looking up and around the room, “can we just get out of here first?”

“Fine,” Jayce huffed, then stood and grabbed the clipboard from Viktor. He separated out half the stack of papers and gave the rest back to him, “Let me help. Damn thing needs the same information a hundred times over. I know your name, we live at the same address, and I have your phone number memorized.”

Jayce began rifling through the drawers built into the wall. Searching until he found an extra pen to fill out the papers with. 

“You have my number memorized?” Viktor asked, pen stalling on his page.

“Of course I do,” Jayce shrugged, not looking up from the papers, “yours, Mels, and my mom's.”

Viktor hummed to himself, drugged up and overwhelmed with emotions and doing his best not to let the small fact make him cry again. He made a mental note to thank Jayce for being a good friend. He was sure he didn’t do it enough.

With Jayce’s help, the paperwork was wrapped up, and they were on the road home before three. In the car, Viktor spilled his guts - metaphorically this time. He told Jayce everything. That first night in the garage. The lack of a proper introduction. You showing up in his class. You turning him down. All the moments since then. His long-term plan to ask you out as soon as classes were done. How he was sure he fucked it all up tonight. How he felt like he was being sucked through a black hole when he made you cry.

For the first time, probably in his life, Jayce sat in silence. Viktor watched his face as he finished speaking, trying to understand what he might be thinking. Jayce opened his mouth, words poised on his tongue, before his jaw snapped shut. He took another breath, blinking ahead at the road.

“So, are you…” Jayce said nervously, afraid to say it, “Do you think you’re…”

Viktor dropped his face into his hands, voice muffled as he responded, “Yes. Without a doubt.”

Jayce let out a low whistle, “Fuck, man.”

Viktor groaned, shaking his head, still buried in his hands.

“Does she…feel the same way?” Jayce asked, still dancing around the terminology.

“I have no idea!” Viktor yelped, voice cracking as he tossed his hands up, “I mean, up until tonight, I’m sure she felt something. Even if it was half of what I felt, it was enough. Now, though? I wouldn’t be surprised if she hates me.”

Jayce scoffed, “She doesn’t hate you. Trust me.”

“How can you be so sure, Jayce?” Viktor huffed, sending a sad look towards Jayce.

“If she hated you, she would’ve hit you.” Jayce assured him, glancing over and catching Viktor’s dubious look, “I’m serious, three years of knowing her and she only hates a handful of people. All of which she made very clear with an impressively solid right hook.”

“So you’re saying I didn’t completely fuck it up?” Viktor asked.

“No, not yet,” He shrugged, “just talk to her. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

Viktor leaned his head against the cold glass of the window, watching the rain slide along the glass. He hoped Jayce was right. That he actually knew you well enough to know that a conversation would fix this.

-----

You were relieved to find that retreating to your hometown wasn’t a horrible idea. Your dad babied you over the weekend, and you let him. He cooked for you, brought you coffee, let you have control of the TV, and most importantly, didn’t pry. He took ‘a fight with a friend’ as a good enough answer over breakfast on Saturday morning. He didn’t question why you had shut your phone off and hid it in the kitchen drawer. He didn’t say anything when you’d get teary and try to hide your face. Instead, he’d just pull you closer, hold you like you were ten again, and let you cry.

Best of all, he knew when to stop babying you. Monday morning, he shook you awake, asking for an extra pair of hands out on the boat. You didn’t waste a second in falling into the familiar routine. Dressed in warm clothes with bitter coffee, swaying sleepily in the passenger seat of your dad's truck on the way to the harbour. The overexcited greeting from the crew that had known you since you were an infant. The less enthusiastic greetings from the rookies who were wary of a young girl they hadn’t met. 

It came so naturally, the work you’d been doing since you were a teen. It felt like slamming the reset button. Final papers and relationship status, and designated drivers all fell to the wayside. Instead, it was about hauling lines and sorting fish and proving going away to university hadn’t made you soft. Most importantly, you were completely cut off from anything on land. Cell service was non-existent this far out. You didn’t even bother to bring your phone. 

You had sent a cursory well-being text to Mel, assuring her that you had made it home safe and would be back in Piltover on Monday. She had tried to ask for details of what happened, you pretended not to see the text. Just like you pretended not to see the several missed calls from Viktor. Your brain couldn't land on what to feel, so you did your best to feel nothing. 

It was easy, in the stress and work of the boat, to forget about him. Easy until crew members you hadn’t seen in months asked if you had a boyfriend. Easy, until the young bucks who didn’t catch on that their captain was your father started hitting on you. Easy until one of the girls you went to high school with brought Viktor up. 

“Is that the new guy you post your boyfriend or what?” She had asked, tone playful and teasing. She flinched when you snapped a harsh no and stormed off. Luckily, she accepted the embarrassed apology you offered during downtime.

When the day was done, your dad made up plans as everyone packed up to head to the bar. Insisting you go on ahead and catch up with everyone. That he’d see you at home. You had been to the bar after work with your dad plenty of times, but he wasn’t dumb. He knew you were freer without him hovering around. That you’d drink more, dance more, probably flirt more, too, when he wasn’t around. He trusted the others to keep you safe and in line. 

You hesitated when one of the young bucks, who introduced himself as Charlie, offered you a ride to the bar. You stood to the side as he threw clutter from the front seat of his shitty Toyota Corolla to the back. During the ride, you came to several conclusions about Charlie. He was sweet. He was handsome. He was boring. He would suffice. You let him buy you drinks and pull you into swing dances out on the floor. You smoked a cigarette with him in the parking lot, let his hands slide down your back. You let your blood fill with enough alcohol to make all decisions seem like good decisions. You let Charlie press you to the cold bricks of the outside of the bar. You let him kiss you, and you let yourself imagine you were kissing someone else. You let him go as far as a hand under your sweater. When he pressed his thigh - too wide to belong to the man you were imagining was kissing you - between your legs, you gently pushed him away. Some comment about it being late slipping past your lips.

When he drove you home, he didn’t get the door for you. Instead, he leaned in for a kiss that you pretended not to notice. 

“Goodnight, Charlie.” You said opening the passenger side door.

“Goodnight,” he said steal leaning towards you, then he sighed and said your name.

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I gotta know, who’s Viktor?”

Your heart seized up. Without responding, you stepped out of his car and shut the door behind you. Not looking back as you walked up the drive. You hadn’t made it to the door before you heard tires crunch over gravel as he pulled away.

That was the only day you worked on the boat that week.

-----

On Monday, when the time came for Viktor to drop off Jayce and Mel for their trip to visit Ximena, whatever semblance of composure he had was beginning to crack. It had been over forty-eight hours since he had heard from you. Over thirty-six since you apparently told Mel you were home safe in Winter Harbour. Jayce asked repeatedly if Viktor wanted to join them in Texas. ‘Mom would love to see you’ is what he kept saying, and as much as Viktor would also love to see Ximena. The idea of anyone seeing him in the state he was in made him want to bury himself.

The last time he slept for more than two hours straight was in the hospital after fainting. It would be easier without Jayce home. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be okay. Alone, he could wallow in peace. No one would be there to ask if he’d taken his meds or had water today. As much as he appreciated the concern, right now all he wanted to do was wallow in peace. So, when Viktor idled in the departure lane at the Boston Logan International Airport, he had no problem lying to Jayce about his well-being. He’d be fine. He just needed a couple days of not being fine, first.

Instead of heading North on the 95, Viktor detoured south. You always told him how bad Boston traffic was, how you’d prefer to spend money and wait for the bus rather than drive. Viktor never found that to be a problem. He didn’t mind traffic, never had. He found it soothing in a way. Having something to focus on, like roundabouts and one-way streets. He had always pictured that a drive through Boston would include you in the passenger seat. Instead, it was just him, a tab of molly, and a ticket to the Museum of Fine Art.

The cold November Monday wasn’t particularly busy, still, he popped the tab in the safety of his car. He timed the onset of the high, only starting to feel the effects once he was well into the gallery. He took slow steps, finding himself admiring the intricate frames more so than the paintings within. He had to hold back a laugh when he came face to face with John Brewster, Jr’s Child with a Peach. The figure's blue eyes seemed too intelligent for the composition. He stared at the painting, amused at the uncanniness of it. He could imagine you next to him, a soft elbow into his ribs as you held back a laugh. Your quiet voice telling him to get it together as your teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek. 

Imagining you in that moment was a mistake. Once the vision of you was in his head, you wouldn’t go away. He began to see you everywhere. In the casual lean of the figure in John Singer Sargeant’s A Capriote, in the deep, cold colors of Edward Steichen’s Moonlit Landscape, and the curved body in William Merritt Chase’s A Modern Magdalen. The woman’s bare figure drew him in. The tired rest of her head against the back of her hand. The way she curled in on herself. Bare and bold and yet still hiding yourself away. Shielding yourself from… whatever it was that you were so afraid of. 

He let himself view you in her figure. Let himself think about you. The exposed back of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, the swell of her breast. All the way down to the delicate shape of feet. One ankle hooked over the other. His fingers twitched, the desire to touch burning over his nerves. He wanted to feel your skin under his hands. The fascia ligament, taut under the skin of your soles. The ball of your ankle. The soft skin behind your knee. He wondered if you’d flinch and laugh if he touched you there. He wondered if he’d ever get the opportunity to find out. He pictured dragging his fingers up the sides of your legs, pressing his face against your hip. He imagined the blush across your body as he nosed against the crease of your thigh, breathing in the scent of you. 

The sharp smack of an object hitting the floor broke him from the daydream. He looked behind him to find a woman on the other side of the room, sheepishly picking up her cellphone that had slipped from her hand. With his focus broken from the painting, he became aware of how tight the denim of his jeans suddenly felt. Doing his best not to panic, he carefully moved his cane, holding it in front of him with both hands against the pommel. He evened his breathing, trying to look casual as he glanced around the room. Luckily, it only took a few moments for the small crowd to move to the next room. With only the security guard present, and the poorly timed hard on giving now signs of going away, he shuffled awkwardly toward the restroom. He used his cane and an exaggerated step to hide the real reason for his stiff movements. 

He locked himself in an accessible bathroom. Grateful for the privacy. He leaned against the sink, hands braced behind him as he tried to will the blood back into any other part of his body. Every thought circled back to you. To your body. Your voice. Your taste. He couldn’t help the pathetic sound that slipped past his lips as the restriction of his jeans became painful. 

He sucked in a sharp breath, undoing his jeans and pushing them down, boxers going with. He was leaking already, hard against his stomach, “Ah, fucking molly.”

He gasped as he wrapped a hand around himself, the other still braced against the counter. He couldn’t believe how much of a mess you made him. Just the thought of you and he was rubbing one out in public. God, how he wished you were here. Bent over the sink or on your knees in front of him. He wanted you. Your mouth. Your hands. Your cunt. He whimpered, teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as he dragged his fist up and down his length. Moving his other hand down his torso, cupping his balls, and making himself shudder. He swiped his thumb over his tip, imagining it was your tongue gathering precum. His hips gave an involuntary buck as he sped up the movements. The drugs in his system wanted him to go slow, to think about you, laid out in front of him. To think about you keening for him, writhing in his sheets, begging him to fuck you. The Fine Arts Museum bathroom wasn’t the place for that, though. He sped himself up, curling over himself and breathing heavy as he fucked his fist. Your name filled his lungs, choking him as he came. He barely had time to rip a paper towel from the dispenser and save his clothing from cum stains. His shoulders trembled as he tried to regain composure. 

When he was sure he’d be able to stand without tipping, he tucked himself away. Tossing the evidence into the bin and turning around to face himself in the mirror. He was barely able to make eye contact with himself as he washed his hands. He was paler than normal, even with the flush across his neck and cheeks. The circles under his eyes had become severe over the weekend. He looked tired. 

-----

Every year during the holidays, you learned more and more how bittersweet growing up was. When you were a kid, the worst part of holidays was the stuffy dresses your mother would shove you into. Now you had responsibilities. Make sure the windows and floors were clean. Make sure you had everything needed to avoid a stressful last-minute grocery run. Make sure the dog was out of counter-surfing range. 

It wasn’t all horrible, though. Along with the responsibilities came the feeling of being a part of things. You had forever been the only kid in the family, which meant no kids' table to be banished to. Instead, you were crammed between your mother and father, stuck between them while they argued and pretended to love each other. No voice of your own allowed unless it was asked for. By the time the divorce was finalized, you were old enough to really help out. 

Your dad handled turkey and pie, an odd combination that required the type of patience he had perfected. You handled sides and table settings. Your grandparents - Rose and Mark - would arrive early with wine and homemade bread. Your uncle - Kris - would arrive late with whiskey, a board game, and work stories. These things all fell into place when your father deemed you old enough to drink. It was a funny thing, how the ability to hold the stem of a wine glass in your hand suddenly made you an adult. Tonight, you wielded that wine glass like a weapon. 

Luckily, your uncle managed to be the center of attention tonight. He had moved to New York City the past year and had plenty of stories. All of which your grandparents ate up. You were grateful to be spared the questions. Perfectly happy to eat and get drunk on rosé and listen to your grandparents grill your uncle about his new life in the city. Main plates were cleared, and pies were cut by the time the real attention turned to you.

“How has school been?” Your grandmother asked, passing the sweating bottle across the table to you.

“Good,” You told her, filling your glass, “super busy, this year. I have a STEM-heavy schedule. Lots of labs, lots of homework.”

“That’s good to hear,” She told you, “have you decided what you’re majoring in?”

That was something you had told her plenty of times. A decision that was made before college even started. You caught the warning look from your father, reading ‘I know, just drop it.’.

“Marine bio,” You told her, keeping yourself pleasant, “the U of P program is small, but has good connections.”

“Piltover’s a good school.” Your grandfather chimed in around a bite of pecan pie, then gestured to his eldest son with his fork, “Shame never graduated from there, Erik.”

“Mark,” Your grandmother scolded.

“Ma, it’s fine,” Your dad waved her off, “I don’t think it’s a shame at all, actually. I own a business, I own my house, have no debt, and a perfect daughter. Did it all without a degree from the University of Piltover. Graduating wasn’t necessary.”

He leveled your grandfather with a look. Old enough not to be bullied by his father anymore. Then he turned to you, finger and eyebrow raised.

“Except for you,” He said pointedly, “you don’t graduate and your ass is grass, ya hear?”

“What the fuck?” You laughed, “How’s that fair?”

“Because I said so.” He said, holding back his own laugh at the same time as your grandmother scolded you for your language at the table.

“Rest assured, I’ve put in too much work to quit now,” you snorted, taking another sip of your wine.

“Well, sometimes it’s not a choice,” your grandmother said, sipping at her water and glancing away, “sure wasn’t for your father.”

“Come on now,” Your father scolded, “might not have been a choice, but I wouldn't change a thing.”

“I’m just saying!” She defended, throwing her hands up, “Not like she can keep going to school if she gets pregnant.”

You gasped, “Jesus Christ."

“Mom,” your father snapped, “stop.”

“Oh please,” She scoffed, “it’s something every parent worries about, don’t pretend it isn’t.” She turned to look at you, “The only way to not get pregnant is to not have sex, you know that, right?” She whipped towards him, “You told her, right?”

“Oh my god, mom.” Your dad covered his eyes with a hand, “Yes, I’ve had safe-sex discussions with my child. Now, can we please stop talking about my daughter having sex at the dinner table?”

“I’m killing myself,” You muttered, dropping your head into your hands, elbows pressed firmly into the table.

You heard the telltale pop of a bottle uncorking and peeked through your fingers to find your uncle and grandfather tipping whiskey into their glasses. Silently, you picked up your own empty glass, extending it down the table towards them. The glass dipped with the weight of the drink. 

“I’m sorry!” She said, shrugging, “But things happen, okay. You can’t control God’s plan, but you can control what you do with your body.”

You tossed back the shot, brain lighting up at her words. Immediately forming the perfect ‘political fight at Thanksgiving’ starter response. You were milliseconds away from dropping your well-rehearsed ‘my body, my choice’ speech when your father's hand came down hard on the table.

“Mouth. Closed. Now.” He said, stern look on his face. He knew you too well. Your jaw snapped shut with an audible click. 

A beat, and then, “Man, this pie is great!” Kris said into the awkward silence, fighting back a laugh, “You should start a bakery as a side business, Erik. Call it Fish n’ Pie or something.”

“Fish and Pie?” You scoffed, “That’s so uncreative.”

“Well, college girl, you got a better idea?” He asked, jabbing a forkful of apple pie at you.

You thought for a moment, narrowing your eyes at him, “Not yet, but it will come to me.”

“Sure,” His voice muffled with a mouthful of food.

It was enough to break the tension and move the evening along. In no time, you were armed with a third glass of wine and a tiny pewter cat. You were losing, consistently stuck in jail, and only 3 lots to your name. Your dad and grandfather were, like always, being far too competitive. Your grandmother and uncle took turns throwing cheater allegations. 

You were idling in jail when your phone began to buzz in your pocket. The do-not-disturb timer had apparently come to an end, allowing your notifications to come through. It was Jinx mostly, spamming you to answer her. You cringed as you read the messages under the table. You hadn’t done your section of the lab, and Jinx was rightfully pissed about it. You sent her a text apologising and promising that you’d head back to campus tomorrow to finish the work over the weekend. That it would be done when it was due. She replied immediately.

I was straight up about to track down your house phone number if you didn’t text me back.

You snorted a laugh at her dramatics. Rolling your eyes and tapping out a quick reply.

Dude, what is 2008? We don’t have a landline.

Before you could see her response, Kris was nudging your foot under the table. You glanced up, eyebrow raised. He inclined his chin, nodding towards your hidden phone and smirking.

“Who ya texting?” He asked.

“A friend,” you rolled your eyes. Clicking the phone closed and sliding it into your pocket.

“A friend?” He asked, eyes narrowing, “Sure it’s not your boyfriend?”

Your heart sank. Of course, someone would have to say the fucking word. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Sure you do,” he scoffed. The rest of the table had gone silent, watching the exchange, “that skinny guy you’re always posting with.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you insisted through clamped teeth, nails digging into your palm. The only person in your family to have social media, and he had to bring it up.

“Ha! Yeah, right!” He continued, “You two did that couple clown costume for Halloween. Super cute, by the way.”

“See, I told you,” your grandmother said, chin lifted at your father, “things happen.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor a you stood. Hands in fists at your side. You didn’t say anything as you turned and walked away, ignoring the appalled protests from your grandparents as you left. You stormed out the front of the house, yanking the door of your truck open and scrambling inside. You didn’t have the keys. You weren't sure you’d go anywhere even if you did. 

You looked down into the passenger seat. Viktor’s coat was still there, crumpled and cold. Your bottom lip began to tremble, threatening you. You reached out, grabbing it and pulling it into your lap. You half expected it to be warm. You’d never felt it cold before. Always warmed by him before being handed over. You leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, pulling the coat to your chest as tears began to silently drip down your face. Even after sitting for nearly a week, cold and abandoned in your truck, it still smelled like Viktor. You pressed your face to the collar, cheek against the red thread of his name. You jumped when the passenger door cracked up. Sitting up, you found your father standing in the open door.

“Can I come in?” he asked, as if the truck were your bedroom.

You sniffed and nodded. He slid in, keys jangling in his hand as he reached over and jammed them into the ignition. Instinctively, you pressed your foot to the brake as he started up the truck. He adjusted the heaters.

“I’m sorry I walked out.” You said, testing your voice.

“Don’t be.” He said, leaning back in the seat, “The way I see it, it’s better to walk out than freak out.”

“I guess.” You hummed, hands tightening on the jacket.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Not really.” You admitted, pouting.

“This guy is he…” Your dad asked, unsure.

“Viktor isn’t my boyfriend.” You told him, you barely believed yourself.

“Ah, Viktor,” he said his name, clicking his tongue, “your…friend.”

“Don’t say it like that.” You snapped.

“Like what?” He asked, hands up in defence.

“Like you don’t believe me,” you sniffed again, fighting more tears, “everyone says it like that. Like I’m lying.”

“I’m sorry, Buddy,” he cringed, “you’re right. That’s not fair.”

You huffed in response, turning to look out the window.

“But he is the reason, right?” He asked slowly, “that you came home early. That you’ve been so upset.”

You could hear him trying to hide that protective anger you were so used to.

“Yes.” You said firmly.

“What is he to you, then, to make you feel like this?” The dad voice mixed with that old therapist voice he never got to put into practice.

“He’s…I don’t know.” You shrugged, unsure how to explain the fucked up situation, “He’s my friend. Sometimes I acted like he was more than a friend…and sometimes I didn’t. Which is,” your voice cracked, “really fucked up.”

“Do you want him to be more than a friend?” 

“Yes,” you admitted, holding his jacket closer, voice shaking, “I really, really want him to be more than a friend.”

“Do you know…how he feels about you?” He asked, hesitant about what the question would bring up.

“I know he wanted to…go out with me.” You said, the use of wanted instead of wants made your chest ache, “he asked me out forever ago.”

“And?” He urged.

“I told him no,” you said, thinking about the dry heat that day. It felt like so much longer ago than just a couple of months, “I told him to ask me again at the end of the semester.”

“Why?” He was trying to fit the pieces together.

“Because we have a class together.”

“Ah, I see. You’re still doing that?”

“Yes, and there's a reason I do it.” You huffed, frowning at your hands, “He said he’d wait, but I think…I think I became impatient, which made him impatient. I started to forget why I was doing it in the first place, then I…” You choked on a sob as you saw your ex’s face in your mind again.

“Take your time, Buddy, what happened?” He grabbed your hand, squeezing your palm.

“I saw Aaron. It was like tearing open stitches.” You gasped, eyes wide as you looked at your father, “God, seeing him hurt so bad. I freaked out. I pushed Viktor away. I was so mean.”

“Take a breath,”  He rubbed his other hand across your back.

“He said,” you hiccuped a sob, sniffing as you tried to speak, “he thinks I only care about him when I’m drinking. That I’ve been hypocritical.”

“Why would he think that?” Your father shook his head, watching you.

“It’s my fault. I’m more…affectionate, I guess, when I drink.” You told him, more heat rising to your already red face.

“Oh.” 

“Not like that.” A half lie, but your father didn’t need to know that, “I just forget to care about all the stuff that I think I’m supposed to care about. So I drink and I forget this rule I’ve made and I let myself do what I want. I let myself be closer to him.”

“But when you’re sober?”

“I mean, lately I’ve been close to him sober, too.” You thought about the past school week. Waking up to him in your bed, head resting on your shoulder, lines of his face smoothed out as he breathed softly. “Wherever we are, we’re sitting next to each other. And he…he does this thing with my hair and… oh my god, dad, I miss him so much.”

 “Have you talked to him?”

“No…but he’s called a few times,” you admitted, looking away shamefully, “I couldn't pick up. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t.”

“Well. What do you want to come of this?” He asked, always the logical one between the two of you.

“I want to say sorry without having to admit I did something wrong.” You huffed, rubbing the cuff of his jacket sleeve between your fingers.

“Not how it works, Buddy,” he said softly, offering a sad smile.

“I know, it sucks.” You scoffed a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“You want to know what I think you should do?” He raised an eyebrow, face gentle as he asked.

“Well, you’re gonna tell me either way, right?” You squinted at him, lips pursed.

“I think you should start by deciding if you want to stick to this rule or not.” He said point-blank, ignoring your sarcasm, “If it’s what you want. Either tell him he will have to wait for you, or tell him he doesn’t. There isn’t a right answer. 

“What if he doesn’t want to wait for me anymore?” Your heart seized at the thought, “or fucking worse. I tell him I don’t want to wait any more, and he still doesn’t want me.”

“Then you have to be okay with letting him go.” He squeezed your hand as he told you this.

“I can’t.” You shook your head, looking to your dad as panic rose in your chest, “I can’t, Dad. I can’t lose him. It’s more than just wanting to be with him. I can’t even explain it. It’s like, when he’s around, everything is just… right. All the noise and clutter in my brain just…goes away, like dust settling.”

“Oh, Buddy,” your dad sighed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You felt him lay his cheek on the top of your head, “you know I love you more than anything in the universe, but you’re going to have to figure this one out on your own.”

-----

Without the adrenaline that had propelled you forward Friday night, the drive back to campus was borderline painful. Your dad had made you breakfast and coffee. You sat with him for an hour, almost two, slowly sipping and asking him about anything and everything to drag out your time at home. It wasn’t until he finally called you out on your procrastination, hugging you tightly and shooing you out the door, did you finally leave. 

You were halfway through the drive, the solitary confinement of your truck sending you up the wall. You tried distracting yourself with music, cranking the volume of your stereo as loud as it would go, to no avail. Instead of singing along or thinking about the chords of your favorite guitar lines, your thoughts pulled elsewhere. You didn’t realize how much you were dreading going back to campus until it was actually happening. You kept thinking about the scene you made. Crying in front of your friends. Running away from Viktor. Packing up and fleeing home without a word about it. You regretted the dramatics of it. You began to wonder how much people knew. You didn’t tell anyone about running into Aaron. Not even Lest. You weren't sure she even knew you went home.  You had barely looked at your phone over break, but you knew there were plenty of missed calls and messages waiting for you. Carefully, you opened your phone and clicked on the voicemail box.

“You have seven new voice messages,” The automated voice told you through the Bluetooth rigged up to your stereo. You waited as it began to play.

“New Message: Hey Honey, It’s Mel. I saw A- I saw him here. I’m so sorry, baby. Please call or text me when you're safe. It looks like you’re driving up to Winter Harbour. I really wish you’d just stop and stay somewhere for the night. I’ll pay for a hotel for you or something if you need. Call me if you can, or text me. Drive safe, I love you.”

“New Message: Hey, babe, it’s Lest. I just woke up to, like, a hundred texts from Mel about you leaving and Viktor making you cry. What happened? Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to god, I will kill him. I have your location, but if you could call me or text me or something.”

You sighed as guilt began to shimmy itself in next to embarrassment. It wasn’t fair of you to let your friends worry about over their break. You marked the message for deletion, making note to yourself to call her back.

 “New Message: Hey. It’s Lest again. I know you’re home, but I’m still worried about you. Please call me or text me or something. A sign of life would be nice. You know how I get. Love you, bye.” There was a beat of silence and then, “And if you still want me to kill him, I will.”

You cursed to yourself. Carefully, you pulled your phone off its hook, holding it in your lap as you sent a quick text to Lest - Driving, will call when @ UoP. Sorry. Love you. It was sufficient enough for now. 

“New Message: Mila, I’m so sorry. I can’t even say how sorry I am. Please call me.”

You froze as Viktor’s voice bloomed around you. Hands tight on the steering wheel and vision blurring with tears. You sucked in a harsh breath, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“New Message: Please, Mila, please call me back. I was a fucking dick, and I’m so sorry. I should never have said that to you. I’m so sorry. Please, Mila.”

You pulled the truck over onto the shoulder. Leaning your head against the steering wheel and trying to slow your breathing as the next message played. 

“New Message: Mila, please…” His voice was slurred and heavy, “Please, I’m at a fucking loss. This is killing me. I need you to call me. Please, Mila, please.”

You clenched your teeth, holding back a sob at the way his voice sounded. You let tears roll down your face as the most recent message played.

-----

“Moje láska,” Viktor breathed, eyes closed as he lay in his bed, fist held tight around the first gift you gave him, “… I’m sorry.”

He hung up, dropping his phone onto the sheets next to him. He held the pearl over his face, rolling its asymmetrical form between his fingers. Gray and pink, and just as beautiful as the day you gave it to him. He closed his eyes, bringing the pearl to the line of his lips. He could practically feel how that day felt. The sun and the water and you… Your hands on his face on the boat. Your chest to his in the cave. Your lips, fleeting, against his cheek just after you gave him the pearl. He’d give anything to live that day a hundred times over again. 

He flinched as his phone began to ring. His fist closed tight around the pearl as he lurched up, brain lighting up with hopes of you. You. You. Hopes that were dashed as soon as he saw ‘JINXXXX’ as the caller ID. He groaned, declining the call only for it to instantly begin ringing again. He groaned, deciding to answer only because he knew she wouldn’t stop until he did.

“What?” he snapped down the line.

“Whoa, first of all, watch your tone,” Jinx said. He could practically see the look on her face, “and second, out of curiosity, have you done even a second of work on our project that's due Monday? Huh?” When Viktor remained silent, she continued, “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, Jinx,” He found himself apologising a lot recently, “I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Bullshit,” She snapped, “You have one thing going on. Just because you and Lovergirl are going through a divorce doesn’t mean you can risk my fucking GPA, got it?”

“We’re not-” Viktor cut himself off, coming to terms that arguing with Jinx was a losing fight, “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

“Yeah, I fucking know,” she told him, “I need you to get this shit done, Viktor. You have three days to do a week's worth of work. Get to the lab. Right. Now.”

She didn’t wait for a response before hanging up. Viktor dropped his phone next to him. She was right. He knew she was right. He needed to get it together. He groaned, sitting up and placing the pearl back into the dish that lived on his bedside table. It clinked softly against the ceramic, settling between his rosary and grandfather's watch. 

-----

Stolen jacket clutched to your chest and shoes dripping snow, you stood outside the door to the lab. Your heart was pounding, telling you to run rather than face this. Your dad's voice told you something else. Lest’s told you a whole other thing. 

There was no right answer but yours. 

No right answer but yours.

You pushed open the door, trying to still the shake in your hands. He was there. Like you knew he would be. Like his cellphone location told you. Crisp lab coat smoothed to his shoulders. Half leaning, half standing against a tall stool. Head bowed to the lens of a microscope. Wired earbuds, tucked down the back of his shirt. Ends of his dark hair pulled in odd directions by his fidgeting hands. The door closed heavily behind you, making him still. 

You watched as he pulled an earbud out, head tilting as he listened. Slowly, he turned his head, hesitant as if he was afraid to look. His eyebrows furrowed, the saddest look you’d ever seen on a man gracing his face. Still so beautiful, despite the lack of sleep and apparent torment you’d been causing him.

“Hi,” was all you could think to say, watching as he reached for his crutch and stood on shaky legs.

He opened his mouth to speak, closing it. His hesitation broke your heart. You took a step closer to him.

“Viktor…” You shook your head, lips parted as you tried to come up with anything to say.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally said, taking a step closer, hands raised slightly, “I’m so so sorry.”

“Vik,” You shook your head, matching his step, “I’ve been awful.”

Your voice broke on the last words, tears threatening to fall.

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you,” He blurted out, eyes wide as panic rose to the surface, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I ever spoke to you the way I did. I am so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You were right, Viktor.” You told him, moving closer again, “You were fucking right. I was being horrible. I was being hypocritical. It wasn’t fair, but I… Vik, I… I care about you so much. I’m sorry I did anything to make you feel otherwise.”

“No,” He shook his head, another step, “It was unfair of me to expect more from you than you were ready for. You told me what you wanted, and I couldn’t control myself despite it. I'm so sorry. I’d endure decades of just being your friend as long as it meant I could be around you. It’s not a waste of time. God, Mila, you are never a waste of time. Never.”

He was close enough now to touch. Without thinking, you lurched forward, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your face in his sweater. He smelled like himself. He felt like himself. He made you feel more like yourself. He froze for half a second before responding, arms wrapping around your shoulders and cheek resting against the top of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” He muttered, I’m so sorry, moje laska.”

“I’m sorry that I went so cold,” You said, turning your head to speak, ear pressed to his chest, “It wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry I did it.”

“It’s okay, Mila,” He smoothed a hand over your hair, “It’s fine. It’s over.”

“I…I was going to cut it short.” You admitted.

“What?” He asked.

“The whole ‘not letting you ask me out thing’,” You scoffed, “I wanted to end it.”

“Wanted,” he repeated sadly, “Past tense.”

“Yes, past tense.” You leaned back, looking up at him, “I’d forgotten why I was doing it in the first place. It felt dumb.”

“But?” He encouraged, fingers moving against your face as he brushed your hair back. Just like you knew he would.

“The reason showed up Friday night.” You admitted,  “The reason looked at me like he did nothing wrong. The reason reminded me why I’ve been making us both miserable for the past 3 months.

“I’ve never been miserable because of you,” He assured, though you knew that wasn’t really true, “You’ve never told me about it…Do you want to?”

“Not right now.” You shook your head, “I will, but not now.”

“That’s fine, Mila.” He chewed on the inside of his lip, laughing bitterly, “I imagine this is your way of telling me I still need to wait.”

“One more month,” you said, tilting your head up at him, “not even, actually. Like, two weeks and some change. Think we can manage?”

“Anything for you,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. They laughed softly, “Did Jinx demand you work here today as well?”

“She didn’t explicitly mention bodily harm,” you laughed, pressing your cheek back to his chest, “I wouldn’t be surprised if that gash on your face was from her, honestly.”

“It was a… whole thing,” He scoffed a laugh, thinking about the incident.

“You can tell me about it later.” You assured him, leaning into the way his chest moved under you when he laughed.

“So, should we start working?” He asked, unmoving.

You tightened your arms around him, shaking your head. Not ready to let go, “Yes, just in a minute. If that’s okay.”

Brightly illuminating the chamber, the Hexcore pulsated steadily as a heartbeat. It’s light flickers across Viktor’s sharpened figure, accentuating his newfound divinity.

His lanky, yet sturdy, frame towers above you sprawled in a pitiful heap across the floor. Gilded veins of palpitating energy snaked under his robe, further surrendering your sanity.

Viktor’s metallic hand kept its humanly tender touch as he cradled your weary face, his frigid thumb tracing circles over your bottom lip.

“Do you feel it?” His voice thrummed low, resonant, laced with that strange vibration that reverberated in your chest. “The rhythm, it calls to you. Let it in.”

Between his enchanting voice, and the sickening lull of the core, your thoughts begin to escape you.

The words weren’t mere sounds; they were fortified inside you, moving through your very being with each beat of the Core. When his thumb slid into your mouth, your body answered before your mind did— lips accepting, tongue curling around the digit automatically. A meager sound escaped your throat as you closed your mouth around the slick metal.

“That's it, my dear. Taste what you will become.”

Your faltering mind pays little attention to this utterance. Instead, your body accepts the replacement of his thumb for two longer digits poking and prodding your agape mouth. You couldn't help but choke on the sheer length and weight of his index and middle fingers, lips dripping from drool.

Viktor’s free hand slid down your spine, pulling you against the hard plane of his body until you could feel the heat of his arousal under his robe. “Delectable,” he whispered, velvety voice curling around the word. “Such devotion… such hunger. Show it to me.”

Your mind reeled as his fingers gained pace, metal pumping against tonsils, with a guiding hand to stabilize you. Flattening his fingers on your tongue, he utilizes his free hand to seize your drool-covered chin.

“Open, and stay.”

Willingly, with eyes transfixed on this divine being, you oblige.

As a delicate command, Viktor declared, “On your knees. Show me how deep your devotion truly runs.”

Body trembling, you adjusted your feeble frame to balance on the cold stone floor. The violent hum of the Hexcore sent viscous vibrations between your thighs. Viktor inched close, his unrelenting grasp on your chin driving you wild in anticipation. “Kneeling suits you, my dear. You look nearly holy,” he purred.

With no control over your own thoughts, your vessel fully surrenders to your savior.

The last coherent memory you have is of your metallic messiah’s eager words, “Are you ready? Ready to rise. To serve and worship me as you were meant to.”

His clothing shifted; beneath them, the hard press of his arousal brushed your lips, the heat of him stark against the cool metal.

“Open,” Viktor commanded, voice almost gentle, almost cruel. “Show me your devotion.”

The Hexcore pulsed once, bright and slow, and with your eyes fixed on his glowing ones, you opened your mouth for him through blind allegiance. He cupped the back of your head, guiding you forward until the head of him rested against your lips.

“That’s it…” he whispered, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth as he eased himself inside, the taste of him salt and heat and power. “My clever little devotee. Every inch, every sound… all surrendered to me.”

The Core flared again, and your mind blurred with it, your body moving on instinct as Viktor’s voice poured over you like a hymn, coaxing: “Good… good… You belong. You ascend.”

Your heartbeat, in sync with the core, pulsated at a terrifying speed.

“Breathe… take it…” he murmured, his accent a low hymn. “With every breath, you draw in more of me. With every swallow, you rise closer to divinity.”

Your vision blurred at the edges. His voice no longer felt like sound but like instructions seared directly into your nerves. The world outside the chamber dissolved until there was only him— his scent, his taste, the Core’s glow behind your eyelids. When he pulled out, slick and glistening, he sent an invitation to your form.

Viktor guided you up by the throat, thumb brushing away the mess from your mouth. “Stand,” he commanded softly. “You have tasted. Now you will ascend.”

Your legs wobbled, but the power in his voice was a tether, pulling you upright. The Core’s glow wrapped around you like a mantle, the energy under your skin prickling. Viktor stepped behind you, his chest against your back, his metallic arm sliding around your waist until his palm rested flat on your belly.

“Feel it,” he whispered at your ear, lips barely grazing the shell. “My current in your veins. My will in your breath.” His hips pressed against you, the hard length of him rubbing against the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of his robes. “One last surrender, my dear, and you will never be lost again.”

You tilted your head back onto his shoulder as he bent you slightly forward, guiding you until your palms rested on the altar-like plinth where the Hexcore floated. Its light seared through your fingers, warm and tingling. Viktor’s voice dropped to a murmur, almost prayerful:

“By the Core’s pulse, by my hand, you are claimed, you are remade. In flesh and thought, you are mine.”

His metal hand slid lower, between your thighs, spreading you open while his other hand undid the remaining barriers between you. You gasped as he pressed himself inside, a claiming motion more than a thrust. The Core’s glow flared, matching the low moan that escaped you.

“That’s it…” he groaned softly, hips rolling with the rhythm of the Core. “Every sound you make, every tremor, feeds the ascension. My clever one. My beloved.”

He moved with long, unhurried strokes, the buzz of his power climbing with each push until you could feel it vibrating through your skin, pooling low in your abdomen. He murmured mantras against your ear— belong, rise, worship, ascend— each one punctuated by a thrust, each one another way to scramble your mind.

Your fingers dug into his non-human flesh as pleasure crested, the Core’s light enveloping you both. Viktor’s arms tightened around you, metal and flesh locking you in place as he whispered his final command:

“Now… offer yourself. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “I belong to you.”

“Yes…” he growled softly, teeth teasing your neck. “Mine. Devoted. Ascended.”

As you reached the edge under his guidance, the Core’s pulse erupted into a blinding flare; Viktor’s climax and yours peaking together, sealing the ritual. His hands held you there, trembling, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

He clawed at them too, refusing to be restrained. He was smaller, sure, but the shimmer and mating frenzy gave him strength and he was hellbent on tasting more blood. And it would turn into a bloodbath if not for Forbis.

“Easy there, buddy.”

A pale grey hand wrapped around his whole torso, claws resting under his chin like a blade. To the Deepstrider, Viktor was nothing but a child. He struggled, biting and clawing, nails sinking into thick skin.

“Easy,” the giant cooed, grip tightening. He was so large that his single eye was the size of Viktor's whole head. A claw dragged along a yellow Undine jaw in warning. “We have all been there. Calm down now. No one is taking your mate.”

But he couldn’t. The shimmer burned through him, his hearts hammered unnaturally fast, struggling to keep up. Thudding one after the other, out of sync. 

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Then came the squeeze in his chest, a pain so sharp he froze, eyes wide, vision tunneling. But wasn’t his hearts, even as they raced and pushed the purple in his veins. 

It was his lungs. 

His body twisted, and blood poured from his mouth in a rising cloud, like smoke billowing in the water.

The grip around him loosened. A massive face tilted toward him. Somewhere behind it, he smelled her panic, sour and tingly, mixing with the metalness of all the blood around them. Fighting the currents to reach him. The Deepstrider cupped Viktor in one palm, steadying his weight, but Viktor’s eyes were locked on the small human struggling toward him. Another grey hand extended, one clawed finger guiding her upward.  

Viktor flared the spikes along his spine involuntarily, ready to fight even though he knew he had no chance.

“Just helping her up, see?” Forbis said, his voice low and careful, quiet enough not to shatter the fragile human ears around the commune.

He guided her closer. She kicked hard against the water, trembling in the presence of such a massive Undine, yet still she pushed through. For him.

Her arms outstretched and Viktor surged forward with such force it sent her tumbling back, spiraling them together. His tail coiled around her legs, his gills fluttering wildly, his body glowing in frantic bursts of light. He crushed her against his chest, burying his face into the soft place where her neck met her shoulder, dragging in desperate lungfuls of her scent. It hurt, every breath sharp as a knife, but he held on.

“I have missed you,” he exhaled, voice breaking. He pressed closer, nuzzling deeper, rubbing his scent into her skin to erase the trace of the other Undine. “I am sorry… for not coming faster.”

Another lance of pain shot through his lungs and he clamped down tighter, almost suffocating her in the process. His body shook with the effort of holding on, claws pricking against her back. He couldn’t stop himself — the shimmer still burned in his veins, the frenzy urging him to claim, to mark, to make her his before anyone could rip her away. His lungs burned, his head spinned. He tried taking deeper breaths but he couldn’t, blocked by a blade that lodged itself in the right side of his chest.

And yet she didn’t fight him. Her hands moved in steady circles across his spine, small and fragile compared to his claws, but enough to seep through the haze. His breathing slowed. The violent tremors in his body softened into shivers, and the crushing embrace loosened just enough to let her move against him. She held him close, her cheek pressed to the curve of his jaw, letting him settle.

──────────────────────────────────────────

You managed to get him to the pool doors. 

As the shimmer wore off, Viktor struggled to breathe underwater. Mira did her best with what they had on hand, but it took him expelling the water from his lungs and switching to his land set before he could draw a few deep breaths. You caressed his back through it all, helpless to do more. He was scratched and bruised, his side fins torn — but still in far better shape than Aric. You would feel bad for the other Undine later. For now, every scrap of worry you had belonged to Viktor.

They wisely chose to tend to Aric in the underwater wing of the commune. You doubted the men would keep their composure if both of them were in the same room. Instead, you sat on the metal floor, Viktor’s large face pillowed in your lap as humans fussed over his wounds. Droids scanned him, injected him, stitched him back together. He didn’t flinch once, half-lidded eyes watching you cry onto his cheeks.

He lifted a clawed hand, caught one of your tears, and smiled at you stupidly. You threaded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly, trying to distract him from what was happening.

“It’s time to sleep, Vik,” you cooed softly. His absence was forgiven the moment you saw him bleeding out on the floor. “Rest now, hmm?”

He hummed in reply, eyes shutting. “Just for a while.”

— 

It was longer than a while.

 The droids put him under with an injection, his sea lungs still raw. He remained half-submerged in the pool, no bed large enough to fit his whole body. His head had been pressing into your thighs until pins and needles forced you to slide a pillow beneath him. His hair had dried into a wild puff, sticking out in every direction, a halo around his face as he slept.

You did everything you could to make him comfortable. Rough blankets from the commune, a sponge every few hours to keep his skin from drying out. They told you he would need to rest until the medicine cleared the shimmer from his system, until he could breathe underwater again.

You started with his face, dabbing a sponge across his cheeks, pausing only to kiss them softly. You had missed him terribly. There would be a time for explanations later, but now all you wanted was to care for him. You traced the crook of his neck, near his closed gills, careful not to linger too long where the skin was sensitive. You cleaned his claws of blood, dabbed his arms and chest, and ran the water down the pale plane of his stomach — softer than you remembered, dipping down and rising with steady breaths.

Then you let the water trickle over the exposed part of his tail. One scale caught your eye, half-loosened, sharp and translucent like a shard of glass. You leaned in, running your finger over it to check if there was blood.

“Stripping me of my scales already?” His voice was hoarse, sleepy. A warm hand rested clumsily on your leg.

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just checking it wasn’t bleeding. I wasn’t going to take it— ”

He smiled with eyes still shut, hummed, and drifted back to sleep. You threaded your fingers with his and stayed like that, unwilling to move.

— 

“You’ll hurt your back if you sleep like that,” Arges muttered, nudging your foot. You blinked awake, realizing you had curled yourself alongside Viktor’s body, head near his shoulder, one leg stretched toward the pool. Your hand still rested on his chest, trapped under his. Embarrassed, you sat up quickly, releasing it.

“Give him a few more days,” Arges said, throwing a woven kelp bag on the floor. “I brought food for when he wakes. He won’t swim for a while. Shimmer’s nasty stuff, but he already had some issues. Probably never knew. They’re confident about the treatment, though.” He scratched his chin awkwardly. 

“Thank you,” you said, pulling your foot away as the fish inside jumped.

“Just don’t tell him it’s from me. He’ll be weird about other males until you mate. I’d rather not end up like Aric.” He snorted at your burning cheeks.

“Is… he alright?” you asked softly.

“He’ll live. One of his fins was almost ripped clean off, and they had to stitch his shoulder.” Arges caught your pale face and added with another snort, “That’s fairly normal. Don’t bother yourself too much. I almost killed my brother during my frenzy. We don’t think straight for a while.”

“That sounds… excessive.”

“You forget. We are not human.”

You scratched your neck, glancing down. “Right.” A pause. Then, quieter: “Speaking of which… can I ask you something potentialy…invasive? You don’t have to answer, you can just swim away.”

Arges grinned, stupidly amused.

You glanced quickly toward Viktor to make sure he was still asleep, then took a deep breath.

“Ask away, little human. I’ll be happy to help put him out of his misery.”

_

He stirred at last, lids fluttering open, and for a heartbeat you thought you were imagining it. His eyes unfocused, then fixed on you, and his whole expression softened like sunlight breaking through water.

“You are still here,” he rasped. His voice was low, still frayed from exhaustion, but there was joy in it that nearly broke you. His clawed hand searched for yours and you gave it instantly, pressing your palm into his.

“Of course I am,” you whispered.

His smile faltered, regret washing across his features. “I should have come sooner. I let her take you away I— ” His throat worked, guilt tightening his voice. “I am sorry.”

You shook your head, blinking fast. “Don’t. You’re here now. That’s what matters. Focus on getting better first, then we can talk, okay?”

He wanted to argue, you could see it in the way his jaw flexed, but instead he closed his eyes and brought your hand to his lips, brushing the backs of your fingers with the barest kiss. The gesture made your heart melt.

The days bled together after that.

You tended to him as he healed. Damp sponge, more kisses and hesitant touches.

Sometimes you simply talked, your voices soft in the common room, creating your own bubble every time someone passed. He told you about what had happened when he awoke in the sand and what he had to do to come here. You told him of your dull recovery and tried to omit talking about Aric. He noticed, of course he did but didn’t prob. Pursed lips and tail flicks gave away his annoyance. You offered memories from your past to distract him, he shared scraps of stories from his youth — he had no one he missed anymore, no parents, no siblings. A silent ‘besides you’ hung in the air.

Mira inspected his swimming aid and hummed approvingly. “That’s some nice work right there” at which Viktor lights lit up. You shot him a surprise look and he just dropped his fins down and looked away, embarrassed. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks I..ehh we..Jayce and I… spent some time making it. I wish I had better tools at hand to make it more comfortable”.

You opened up your mouth to ask Mira, but she was faster, grinning already. “That could be arranged. I could use someone to help construct stuff around here. Especially since Jayce is gone for a while. Well, that's it, if you want of course” He blinked a few times, surprised.

“I would be honored. But — “ He lifted his claws up. 

“Mmm she or I can help you out with details for now…but I bet we could make something to aid you…”

“Something like a mechanical hand…” He whispered to himself, eyes glittering. “…or..or mechanical arm? A claw?” Mira almost squealed at that.

“Hold that thought I will be right back with something to write!” She ran out of the room and you chuckled. He was already watching you, eyes round and careful, afraid to ask what he wanted. You cupped his cheek and lowered your forehead to his. “I told you she would teach you”

──────────────────────────────────────────

The nights felt different.

The sweetness of the days was gaining weight, soaking up water, collecting want.

When the lights in the bubble dimmed and the last footsteps receded to their owners’ beds, you were left to yourselves. It was false privacy, of course. At any moment an Undine could swim past below, or a human could walk through the exit room on their way to another corridor.

So you behaved.

You sneaked touches that could be explained—wrapping your arms close to your body and pressing your head against where his gills lay flat. They couldn’t flutter while he breathed through his land lungs, but you knew they were still sensitive to your touch. He let his breaths shallow, pretending to sleep, while you inched closer and hooked one leg around his tail.

He allowed it, of course, drawing you nearer and pressing his lips to your forehead to subdue you.

You stilled.

For a while.

When his guard slipped again, you ghosted your lips over the silky ribbons, and he hissed softly to let you know he was onto you.

You played variations of this dance each night.

Sometimes it was you who began, sometimes him. Your lips parted and you exhaled teasing breaths, warming the skin of his neck. His tail twitched, his grip tightened, claws pressing into the flesh of your arm. You ran your tongue along the seam and felt the shiver reach the tips of his fins. He tilted his neck to give you better access, the fight lost, and you smiled against his skin.

Got you, you thought.

He would have let you eat him whole if you wished, only to be held like that again the next night. He hummed, his throat working as he swallowed while you made space across his skin. His neck would not bruise, but you tried anyway—kissing, sucking, scraping your teeth until he went soft in your arms.

He was not completely innocent. He let you press closer as you worked him up, at least until one of your legs rode higher. Then he moved—a small roll of muscle, the spikes on his back prickling up though you did not notice. He moved, feeling the heat of your core, making sure each shift teased you as much as you teased him. And it worked. Your breaths came in warm huffs against his skin, already damp from your mouth, making goosebumps. His cocks hidden from sight pressed on to be released. 

He knew you knew where they were now, a slit in his tail bulging every time, begging to finally be seen, but he didn’t want to scare you off. He had never had the opportunity to explain, and in the light of day—even artificial light—he had no courage to bring it up, especially not here.

And he burned. His insides swirled, sticky heat, threatening to boil him from the inside with no release. The furthest you both had gone was grinding against each other, him swallowing your breaths so no one would hear you. But no matter how much you teased, he never let himself go entirely.

Today was no different. As you reached to touch where he desperately wanted you, he caught your wrist and brought your hand to his lips to kiss it. 

“Shameless creature. Not here” he rasped, voice low so no one could hear.

You huffed in frustration, because you knew the days of making out and stolen touches had left you both constantly on edge. And tonight, you’d had enough.

“Yes. Here,” you whispered against his lips. He didn’t answer, only rolled his tail again, rubbing you just the right way. You made sure the sound that escaped you was close to his ear. He liked being tortured, just a little.

Before he could do it again, you slipped away from him, and he exhaled sharply, like he wanted to protest, propping himself up on his forearms. You took a few steps toward one of the metal doors and pulled the lever. Then the other. And finally, as you reached the pool exit, you pressed a button.

He watched you, one brow arched, as all the doors closed with a solid click. The pool divided and slid shut, leaving only a shallow tub with his tail submerged, the rest blocked from view.

“Where were we?” you purred, settling yourself astride his tail. Realistically, no one was wandering around at this hour of the night—but now, with the flood blockade pulled, you were left entirely to yourselves.

You both knew you couldn’t yet explore that pull between you fully—not until he was healed, and not until the water could cradle you both. You’d had an earful from Arges about how Undines mated, and you wanted to make it right by Viktor. But waiting only sharpened the ache. Each day, as you tended to him, the air between you grew thicker, charged when his gaze lingered as your fingers brushed over him. And you still owned him, surely a small taste would not ruin your appetite before the dinner.

He tilted his head and lifted one finned brow.

“What did you do?”

“Locked the doors.”

“Oh,” he managed, just as you nipped at his neck. He shifted his jaw slightly to accommodate you.

Your hands explored his torso, drawing a low hum of approval from him. You trailed kisses where you found moles, below his collarbone, along his right shoulder, down to where the softness of his stomach began, and lower still, where scales clustered over his hip bones. Then lower—

His fins flared, trembling just a little.

“Wait, I—” You stopped, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Hmm?”

“I have to tell you something first, and you may not like it.” He swallowed thickly.

A small chuckle escaped your lips. He was so sweet like that, considerate, a little scared of your reaction. But oh, you were ready for it.

“I know you have two. It’s okay.” You licked along one of his rib gills “I only wish to see them.” You cooed.

“Oh, well, I—” he said again as your hand slid down, searching. He arched into the touch right where your palm found a slit, hidden neatly beneath the scales. You could feel something waiting inside that spot, something you meant to tease out.

“How—” he started, but you were already sliding lower, making sure your breasts pressed against him as you did so. Females of his kind lacked softness, and you wanted him to remember that it was human doing this. You were on a mission, and you would find what you were looking for.

You had expected his scales to be off-putting—slimy, perhaps—but instead he was warm, almost like skin, textured but not unpleasant. It felt good under your fingers, tactile. The muscles of his tail tensed in anticipation as you ran your fingertips across the slit. You didn’t yet know how to make them come out, but you would find out.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you smirked and licked the seam that concealed him. His breath hitched, and he shuddered.

“Undines don’t do that?” Your tongue dragged in a long, slow flick. “I’m only returning the favor.”

His hands clenched into fists as you finally coaxed him open. It was sleek, like lips, and you wondered if he would drip for you once you worked him hard enough.

You could see he was still holding back, eyeing you from above. Lids half closed over pitch black, sparkling. You felt both like prey and like a predator. His gaze flicked toward the doors, making sure they were closed.

“I told you, ah—”

You pushed one finger in. It slid smoothly. It was hot and moist and so, so soft. His tail twitched in the water.

“—my people mate brutally—” he managed, but his words broke as you pushed another finger inside, exploring.

Oh, and soon, when you pressed along the seam from within and curled your fingers—he was dripping. Self-lubricating, for mating underwater: thick, slightly salty, but not unpleasant. It spilled from the seam onto his scales in a single shimmering tear.

It made you feel so fucking proud, that you had caused that. An Undine, writhing beneath you, when you hadn’t even touched his cocks.

And then, when you pushed your fingers further bingo. 

You found it. 

Like a tongue, only larger, firmer, and so very wet, waiting for you. Smirking, you lowered your mouth to his entrance and slipped your own tongue inside, swirling it around the hot, wet cockhead.

He hissed, surprised, his head dropping back. Pointed teeth bared, a blissed-out look already on his face. From where you were, you had a lovely view of his neck—pale and peppered with moles like little kisses. It shifted as he swallowed thickly. You fingered and licked him, listening to the sweet gasps he let out as the last of his restraint slipped away. Finally, he gave in. You had won. You felt it before you saw it—swelling deeper into your mouth, sliding free of the slit that had hidden it, until at last, both of his cocks extruded for you.

It was one thing to know, and another to see. 

And you pulled back to take in the sight.

They were much larger than what you were used to, lying right on top of each other—long and tapered, the tops smooth and thin, gradually widening at the base. They glistened with the slick you had coaxed out, pinking at the tips, ripe for tasting.

But you had only one mouth, and a very nervous, very aroused Undine lying beneath you. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, thin lips parted. He must have been holding his breath for a while; he looked so beautiful like that, waiting for your next move. His fins twitched, and you could see he was fighting not to flutter his gills. 

You paused, thinking—it must have been a little frightening for him. Maybe he was afraid you’d bite him, the way an Undine would. A pang of guilt washed over you.

“Want me to stop?” you asked softly, making sure he was alright.

“Absolutely not.” His voice was rough, fraying at the edges, thick with that Waverider’s accent.

A chuckle escaped you. It would have been sweet, seeing him like this—so eager—if not for the overwhelming need to make him squirm. You wanted to be good for him, to make him want only you, to think of all the other things you could do later, how you would fit together.

And oh, you had so many ideas of how to take him.

You leaned in, giving a very slow, teasing lick to his bottom cock. A sharp breath left his lungs.

“You sure?” you asked.

No reply, just his black, glittering eyes fixed on you. His ribcage expanded fast with each quick breath, like he was only now remembering how to use his lungs.

So you flattened your tongue against the base of his other one, dragging it all the way up to the sweet, leaking tip. He tasted like honey with sea salt. When he still didn’t answer, you sealed your lips around the head and drew it into your hot, wet mouth.

Viktor hissed, his claws raking pleasantly over your scalp as he gripped your hair. You moaned around him, taking him in deeper. He sat perfectly along your tongue, as though made to nest there. The shape, the taper and the sweet and salty slickness of him would make it rather easy to take, you thought. And so, to test your theory, you let your throat take him deeper.

He stood no chance like this. You twirled your tongue, sucked at his tip, and worked him further in each time. As much as you could, since he was thicker the lower you went.

He called your name once. Then again. 

You worked his other cock with your hand. Your jaw hurt, but you were not giving up now. Not when he moaned so sweetly as you sucked him off.

As you went up his length, you thumbed the wetness at the top. 

Leaking for you so much. 

Soft gasps escaped him, despite his best efforts. He was close, and you wanted to see how he fell apart. 

Just a little push. 

Would anyone else be able to make him into this mess? You doubted it.

He pulled at your hair, claws threading into the strands, prickling your scalp. It hurt a little, but the sting only spurred you on. You were nothing if not determined—your thighs pressed to either side of his tail, rubbing against the scales for the slightest relief, even though he was rather prickly. Both your underwear and your shorts were soaked. If only he knew how it was affecting you…but it was not about you now. 

You swapped cocks, taking the other in, sucking it good just for him. 

As you poked your hot tongue out and rested the tip on it, you made sure to look at him. You wanted him to see what a treat he was, and that you were ready to devour him, just as he had done for you. And oh, it worked. Tops reddening, his cocks felt so heavy, so ready to explode. He called your name again.

“I’m going to—” His tail rolled in such a delicious way it made you positively feral. Oh, you will have your way with him later for that. You will take him in, all the way to the thick base, both ways. Ride him until you both moan into each other mouths until — 

He tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t have been ready anyway.

His head fell back, claws tugging harder, and a raw, unrestrained moan escaped his lips as he spilled into your mouth and over your palm. It was a lot—more than you could take at once, dripping down your chin. Salty and musky, just a stronger version of what he had been giving you before. You worked him through it, riding his orgasm as long as he could handle. When his stomach twitched and he let a quiet hiss, you knew he was getting overstimulated. With a pop, you released him, looking at him as you licked your hand clean. He watched you— milked stupid, black eyes glossed.

“Did you like it?” Truth be told, it had been a workout,but to see that face again? Worth it.

You climbed higher, leaving a trail of kisses, the last one pressed to his gills as you cradled his head in your hands. After a while, he cleared his throat.

“I am utterly speechless… is this how humans mate?”

There it was again—that swell of pride. 

His praise did something to you. 

You nuzzled against the soft seams of his gills, kissed them, and he let you. 

“I feel like you just sucked my brain right through my cocks” He was breathless now, extra quiet, as if it could somehow make up for that raw moan he had given you just a moment ago. Like he was embarrassed someone might hear. You knew how thick those doors were, but he didn’t.

You snorted.

“This much?” A small nib. You were still painfully turned on. He seemed to understand what you were hoping for, your hips betraying you, rolling against his tail from time to time. He stiffened slightly. 

No. 

“As much as it pains me, you know what I am about to say, no?” 

Like fuck you will.

“No, you won’t. No. Nuh-uh” He won’t do it again, he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry” He kissed your forehead, taking you into a hug and stilling your hips.

“No” You repeated.

“I have to get the treasure for you first”

You groaned. 

Unbelievable. 

“I know you want my cocks.” He said, chin above your head. 

Oh.

Your pulse quickened. His mouth was close to your ear. Hot breaths teasing your moist skin.

“You wanted them for a while, no?” 

Smug for someone who just moaned so raw for you. Bastard.

“…and you want them even more now” His claw made its ascent up your inner tight. Scratching just right to make you shiver. Going higher and higher and…Oh.

You wanted to whimper, is how badly you wanted his fingers inside. But the claws would not make it possible, and he would not make it easy on you either. Tease.

“I can feel exactly how wet you are for me, human.” His black, ribbed tongue slid out of his mouth and licked around the shell of your ear. “…you will have them, I promise. Just wait a little longer, hmmm? Will you be patient now?”

You huffed. 

No. Was your true answer, but he wouldn’t have it.

You nodded, against him.

“So good for me”

──────────────────────────────────────────

Fucking tease, that’s what he was.

The moment he saw how much you wanted him, it was like a switch turned inside his head.

It would take days before he could come back to water and he was making it increasingly difficult for you. A personal vendetta for making him squirm under you. Or maybe for entertaining Aric, you didn’t know. 

But you knew he felt better already as each night he would coo sweet and nasty things into your ear, and make you beg for any kind of touch. 

“I will lick you clean and make you come on my tongue again” he would say one night, or “I know you will take me well.” like it was your fucking idea to deny him. 

As if.

You were soaked, frustrated, and snappy, already thinking of all the ways you would make him pay for it.

It was day five of frequent swims into the village just to cool off, and of tender but charged cuddling, when Mira finally gave him the green light to breathe underwater again.

“You should be good now,” she said simply, and shortly after that he was already in the pool, taking big gulps through his gills. You gave him a look that could have burned him alive if he hadn’t been underwater, and he had the audacity to smack his fins down sheepishly.

You decided your payback would be sweet. Oh, so sweet.

“I have to, eh… run an errand. Will you wait here for me?” he asked, his head already half submerged, fins fluttering as he adjusted to being back in the water.

There were other people in the room, so all you could do was say, “Sure,” and storm off toward the gardens to dig through freshly potted tomatoes.

So. Sooo sweet.

──────────────────────────────────────────

He had come prepared when he swam here. While waiting for Jayce to repair his swimming aid, he had searched the nearby corals for what he had in mind for her: a rare, perfect pink pearl.

It would be a fitting gift, he thought, and soon enough he had found it. He was still holding it when he arrived at the commune. In his right hand — the pearl. In his left — shimmer. And after downing it, the rest blurred. He would have felt guilty, perhaps, if not for the conviction that the other Undine had deserved what he got. Maybe, at some point, he would apologize. Maybe remorse would come. But now? Ehh.

The metal aid made swimming easier, faster, and a little less bothersome. His sea-lungs felt fresh, almost new, after all the treatments he had endured. He had never realized how hard breathing had been before. As he swam, searching for the pearl he had dropped, he inhaled the mingled scents around him. Many Undines lived here, seemingly in harmony with the humans. He had no reason to suspect the commune wasn’t thriving—small Undines darted comfortably among humans who tinkered with their metal dwellings.

It felt… easy here. Familiar. A place to stay.

And the pearl would be here, somewhere in the sand. He would find it. For her.

──────────────────────────────────────────

“He’s still there.”

“Fucking hell, knock!”

Arges emerged from the pool door just as you were passing by. He tilted his big head at you.

“Knock?” Ah. Right. Undine.

“Never mind.”

“He’s still there,” he repeated.

“I know. Since he’s not here.”

A pause. Then, with irritating calm, he added, “Are you irritable? Did he not mate you well?”

“EXCUSE ME?” Your face burned. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.

“We all saw the pool doors close.”

Shit.

“Yeah, and the latch doors.” Mira appeared, grinning like a shark. “I almost pissed myself waiting for you two to finish. Did you not enjoy the double action? Was he really that bad?”

Before you could gather a retort, she leaned in and pressed a wet kiss to Arges’s mouth. “Hi there, big boy.”

“I’m leaving.” Your face was on fire. Nothing smart came to mind, only the desperate urge to escape.

_

Two days of searching, but he had finally found it. Aside from a short break to hunt, he had spent nearly all that time digging through sand around the area. Two agonizing days of want.

You were in the gardens when he knocked on the glass. He pointed with his claws for you to meet him at the pool doors, then disappeared.

But you didn’t go.

He came back a moment later, knocking on the glass closer to your head. You turned and looked at him as if you had only just now noticed him.

He raised a brow.

You went back to picking vegetables.

His face stayed close, watching yours, daring you to meet his eyes.

You didn’t.

So he swam away.

Some time later, he saw you passing through one of the corridors. He swam the entire length alongside you, but you only smirked at him before ducking into a windowless bubble.

The third time, you were in the pool exit room—the common room, as some called it, but far from the water, reading something Mira had left on her workstation.

Your skin prickled. Someone was watching.

Viktor was. Only his eyes broke the surface of the pool before he called your name.

“You’re avoiding me. Why.” It wasn’t a question.

You just hummed.

“Mmm. I don’t ignore you, I was just… busy.”

“With what?” He lifted himself out of the water, part of his body dragging onto the metal floor.

“Commune stuff.” Your voice was flat. You didn’t give him more than a glance.

“Eh… we both know that’s not true. You’re crossed with me.” For an underwater creature, he managed the best pair of puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“I am not.” Not going to work on me buddy. Nuh-uh. Maybe a bit. But still nuh-uh.

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “Mhm. Then look at me.”

You clicked away on the next page in Mira’s notes, deliberately slow. “I am looking. At words.”

He groaned, low in his throat. “You are just being cruel.”

“I am not,” you shot back, lips twitching into the faintest smile.

His tail flicked the surface behind him, splashing water across the floor. You didn’t even flinch, though he could see droplets sliding down your arm. His fins flared up.

“I got you something” he said, leaning further out of the pool, claws gripping the metal. “Would you look at me finally? It took two days to find.”

“Ohhh, so it’s a guilt trip you’re after? I thought Undines were above that sort of thing.”

His jaw tensed. “Are you mad about the teasing?”

“I am not” You repeated yet again, daring him.

That was the last straw. With a huff, he surged forward, water washing across the metal as his hand shot out and wrapped firmly around your ankle.

“Hey—!” you squeaked, chair scraping as he yanked. In one swift motion, he dragged you toward the pool, tablet dropped to the floor with a clank.

“Viktor!” you half-gasped, half-laughed, trying to maintain your balance. “Stop, I’ll fall—”

“That’s the idea,” he hissed, but there was a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The cold water kissed your face a heartbeat later,  when pulled you right off the edge. You plunged with a yelp that turned into a burst of bubbles.

When you surfaced, sputtering water, hair sticking to you face, he was already circling, eyes gleaming with mischief and annoyance both.

“Still avoiding me?” he asked, far too smug.

You splashed him in the face, water glittering under the room lights. 

“I am—“ 

“I swear if you say it one more time, I will pull you underwater.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks—not just from anger, but from how exposed you were in the now wet dress you had borrowed. Most of the clothes were borrowed. And the way it clung to your body left little to the imagination. He didn’t bother to hide the way his eyes ran over you.

Hand extended, he waited. Hesitant, you placed yours in his. 

Yes you were mad. But also…

He dropped something heavy into your palm. 

Large, pink, opalescent pearl. 

It rolled against the cup of your hand, and you gasped at how beautiful it was. A treasure, at last.

Waiting, his gills fluttered shyly around his head, eyes fixed on your reaction. Your breath escaped in a shaky exhale. You wanted to tease him, oh yes—for all the dirty things he had whispered in your ear—but more than that, you were simply tired of waiting. The little game you had set between you? Over.

You reached for his face, cupping the broad planes of it, and pressed a kiss to one cheek, then the other. His eyelids lowered, his body trembling with the softest of exhales.

“Thank you,” you whispered, kissing the tip of his nose. He scrunched it.

“Do you…eh…for lack of a better word…accept?”

You knew he wasn’t asking about the pearl.

Do you accept me?

“Yes.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

Plenty of grottos and hidden caves with small pockets of air dotted the commune. They were places humans often sought out with their Undines. You had seen it before—tangled limbs and tails in the kelp forests, couples slipping into caverns or disappearing along the ocean floor. Each time, heat rose to your cheeks. It had always seemed reckless to you, shameless even, to not care who might see. How could they go at it with only swaying ribbons of kelp for cover?

But now, connected to him by the breathing tube, lips brushing as you kissed your way into one of those caves—you understood. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Fucking finally.

The long build-up had wound a tight, burning knot low in your stomach. And by the way he nipped at your bottom lip, you knew he felt the same fire.

The cave was smaller than the first grotto. A flat rock halfway in the water made it easier. As he deposited you down, your legs were already wrapped around his tail, and you were grinding yourself over him. He hissed against your lips as you traced the inside of his mouth with your tongue. His was long, so long it felt like he was devouring you just with this kiss.

He hummed as your hands roamed his body, letting you trail greedy kisses across him. You tried to leave hickeys you knew wouldn’t bloom, but that didn’t stop you. You kissed every mole, bit, licked, and pressed into his skin so he could feel the weight of your need in your stomach. You wanted to mark him, just as he wanted to leave his mark on you.

His gills fluttered wildly around his head, and your hand traveled there, burying your fingers in the buttery soft flesh. Slowly, you scraped upward into his hair, tugging lightly. Soft sighs slipped from his lips as you pressed kisses there, taking the delicate skin of his gills into your mouth.

He rolled his hips against you, needy, his cocks already half-extruded. There was wet, and then there was wet—and you were the second. Halfway wasn’t good enough; you wanted to see them fully, to feel them fully inside of you. You wanted to hear him moan, the muscles of his lower abdomen tensing as you took him into your mouth again. 

Teasing. Tasting.

You wouldn’t be cruel, no…but you wanted to see him blissed-out, big as he was, soft and hard for you at the same time. Closing his eyes shut as pleasure took him. A gasp escaped you as he moved at the right angle, giving a sliver of relief to the throbbing tension you felt.

You moved one hand down, and down—and—

“Wait,” he hissed straight into your lips. You stilled. “I want to take you underwater.”

It could have a double meaning. It did.

You eyed the water behind him, his tail twitching.

He leaned closer to your ear. “It’s warm there, and you shiver.”

You did. Sure—but not for the reason he thought.

Before you could change your mind, you nodded.

And as you sank down, so did the feeling in your stomach. Slowly, he pulled you flush against him and swam beneath, into a corridor completely enclosed. The realization of what he was offering only then dawned on you. You would be underwater, connected by the breathing appendage—him breathing for you as your bodies joined in yet another way. He would control your breath as he saw fit. He would play with your body as he pleased. He would be inside you in every possible way you could imagine. In your lungs. In your mouth. In between your legs.

Something bright and hot bubbled from beneath the rocks at the bottom. It lit the space in warm, golden hues, and limb by limb your body relaxed as the water softened your muscles. It felt pleasant, like you were inside a beating heart. Currents curled against your skin. Currents and fins. Currents and claws. Currents and lips.

The tension bled out of you as you looked at him again—and found his black eyes fixed on you, hungry. He coiled his tail around your legs, nuzzling into your neck before dragging his tongue slowly from the tendon there to the shell of your ear. Your dress slipped away beneath his claws, billowing as it sank, but you didn’t see where it landed. His mouth was already crashing back against yours. Hungry, needy, ready. Here. Please. Yes.

He trembled slightly, but so did you.

You wanted to speak—and you could, connected as you were by the tube—but it still felt too scary. The hot water felt syrupy, like you might melt into it, into his embrace, his body. Transform into a bubble and pop.

Your breaths came heavy, chest arching toward his touch, toward his kisses, toward his tongue. He dragged it lazily around your nipples, teasing, before finally taking one into his mouth and sucking. The sharp sound you made earned a pleased hum. Your hands found his gills again, tugging gently, and he answered with bites—sharp, but not unpleasant—as you pressed closer. Closer.

It was rough against your core, but good. He rolled his hips in just the right way, enough to make you crave more. 

Oh and his cocks did extrude fully, as you continued to rub over him, and the top one was grinding over you just right, just there just — 

He lifted you, settling your knees over his shoulders before diving in.

One long lick. Every ridge and bump of his tongue felt cruel, unfair, teasing you with what you knew it could do inside you. But no. He wanted to take his time.

You felt his smile curve against the skin of your thighs, his gills fluttering there, tickling like soft little licks over your clit as he leaned in. 

He sucked it into his mouth and—oh. He was delicate at first, you’d give him that. Eager, yes, but compared to the last time he had you, he built the pleasure slowly, rolling his tongue over you, playing with you like he had nothing better to do.

It still felt unfair when he only dipped the very tip into you, moving it in and out, then switching back to suck at you again, laughing quietly at your frustrated sighs. Each time you drew close, muscles tightening, ready to snap— then he would stop, nibble at your thighs, and look up at you.

Close?

His brows shot up, studying your face—and it was nearly impossible to keep a straight one while he did all that, over and over and over again.

That’s it, big boy.

You moved as much as you could, and before he could react, you turned around, pushing yourself against the water with your hands, face down, ass up, mouth on his top cock. He hissed. There we go.

He twitched his tail, clearly wanting to coil it around you, but thought better of it and instead let you both fall onto the sandy patch of the sea floor. It was hotter here, heavier, but he couldn’t hold you both afloat—not when you took him deeper and deeper down your throat. He moaned around you, keeping his tongue inside, but now, with you turned around, he had a better idea.

Bubbles floated as you nearly choked on him when he probed at your other hole. He seemed curious—or maybe lost?

No, definitely curious.

He touched you with the side of his claw and you flinched. You could feel his chuckle all the way down his cock, when it shook his body. He had found a new sort of reaction, and he intended to make full use of his study subject. His tongue was still curled inside you, moving in ways that made you want to ride it, but now, on top of that, he pressed his knuckle into your other entrance. 

Fuck.

He was giving you a taste of what you were planning to do with him later, and fuck, fucking hell you didn’t want to give it but —

It started at the base of your spine and traveled through you as you clamped down on his tongue and his knuckle, both working you through it. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t stop—not until you couldn’t take it anymore, not until he squeezed every last drop out of your orgasm out of you.

Big bubbles left your mouth as you moaned.

He didn’t let you spin around, floating down instead so he lay on the sandy floor as you tried to squirm away. You chomped on his side, which did nothing more than tickle. His stomach sucked in, and finally—finally—Viktor let you turn around.

You needed a moment, but the moment you saw his face, you knew you were in trouble. If this was how he looked at his prey…

But he was your Undine. Your Viktor.

You sought kisses, as he sought touch—more and more of your body mapped by his hands, scratched with his claws, not to leave a mark but to send shivers down and down and down. Your legs found his tail, one knee on each side of him, and as soon as you kissed, you were grinding on top of him again.

His poor bottom cock laid neglected, so you reached for it, giving it a few slow strokes. It was slick, gooey, coated in its own substance, and oh—you remembered your idea, about what you had planned to do with him. 

You guided it to your bottom and teased a small tip in. Just a bit. He bared his teeth at you, but you shushed him with another kiss. He was tapered, the top barely bigger than his knuckle, and you took your time, working yourself open for it, preparing to take the other one. His hand found your clit and circled it with the pad of his finger. You sucked in all the air from both of your lungs. He was still breathing for you, pacing the air slower now, helping you adjust and relax. Because soon… of course, he understood what you wanted to do.

So smart.

Eager, he stopped circling you and pressed the pinking tip of his other cock to your cunt. Asking.

“Is that what you want, pretty human? Working yourself up to take both of them?”

He sounded smug, but the trembling gave him away. His gills fluttered, yes, but his fins shook as you took both of them now, tips sinking into you inch by inch, down and up. He sighed, bubbles escaping from his gills.

You hugged him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He was so sweet for you. Slowly, you worked yourself lower and lower, getting used to the stretch. The slick covering his length and the taper helped so much, and soon you were stealing every breath he took, making him dizzy.

The water grew scalding hot. His tail wrapped around your ankle, seeking to coil with you like two undines would. Soon, you took him halfway in, gasping—fuck, he was big. He was already throbbing as he stretched you, filling you completely.

His tongue mapped your mouth as you moaned into each other’s mouths. , his cocks in both of your holes, his tail coiled around you like a whip, pushing your legs wider. His arms hugging you, pressing you close, closer, as close to melting in the hot water and into him as posibble. Shallow breaths in your lungs, shallow thrusts of his tail up and inside of you, taking, but taking patiently, as softly as one could.

It felt so good to be so close. He moved your hair, which billowed around your face, and pushed it back with his hands. He kissed you then, shuddering.

“That’s it,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re doing great.” His thumb caressed your back.

Was it more for him or for you? It was hard to tell.

Either way, you started to move more, and it was easier to go up and down now, his warmth and the water relaxing you further. Gradually, you picked up the pace as the knot in your stomach tightened. If not for being in the water, you were sure you would have been a mess—slick between your thighs, tears in your eyes. But you were taking him in the water, and you were taking him well.

He grew thicker, as you sped up, going even lower, below what you felt to be your limit. He was holding you with one arm, angling you down on him just right. Just there, fuck— 

He was losing control. You could feel it in your lungs as the air grew scarce, struggling to grasp a proper breath. His tail coiled tighter around your ankle, and his gasps filled the water. You swallowed them all, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, as his thrusts grew sloppier. He turned you around, pressing your back into the sand, rutting into you now. His tail was rubbing on your swollen clit, harsh but good, and it was just a matter of time who would snap first. 

You — oh fuck, you did.

That knot inside of you, it didn’t just snap it exploded, rippling through you like a wave would. Like a tsunami would, and you fluttered for him too. Clenched over him, as he fucked you stupid through your orgasm. Sand billowed up and around you as you moved.

It was only a moment before he joined you. There, there, right there — with one final snap of his tail he spilled into you, filling you up. The sound he made, oh…that alone would make you ready for another round. He stilled, double hearts beating in sync, chest heaving, throat raw.

Both of you were panting, sharing that little bit of air, rolling onto your sides so he could hold you.

A long moment passed before either of you moved, spoke, or did anything functional. Then…he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You pushed up and nuzzled his nose. You good?

That gesture seemed to ask.

He just smiled at you and gave a little cheeky thumbs-up.

His hand was shaking. 

──────────────────────────────────────────

There were countless caves around the commune, each with its own secrets. Some were warm, others glowed faintly, and a few still carried the husks of abandoned research facilities. But none of that mattered, you didn’t go there to talk. Talking you did plenty of, in the daylight hours, as you worked among the others while he tinkered with Mira’s drones.

He brought you his hunts, bigger fish now, thanks to the strength of his metal aid, grinning with pride at every offering. 

He seemed at peace. 

Sometimes he would hum while he worked, sometimes he’d bicker with Jayce whenever he came around. Eventually, he claimed as his own the first cave you had ever explored together, moving his things there just to be close to you. For someone who used to prefer solitude, he had grown awfully clingy.

The commune itself was changing, too. More glass and metal domes rose, swelling to hold new residents. And at last, you were able to make art the way you had always dreamed of. Undines brought you shells and plants, Sky grew materials for you, and with their help you managed something you had only ever read about before—paints. It took time to perfect the recipe, but soon colors bloomed across the inside of the domes. Flowers, skies, and distant landscapes spread over the glass walls, and the other residents adored them.

You painted for them, yes—but also for him. Always for him. So that when he swam past, he would see your world too. At least what it was supposed to be.

Life was peaceful then. And it swam ahead.

Purple prose, again. You crouch against a lamppost and focus on crying. The moment Viktor disappeared inside to retrieve the food, you ran. Discreetly, of course: the semi-fight, semi-telenovela confession scene had drawn enough attention. Your feet started moving in a quick walk, then faster, then stomped on the sidewalk in a proper jog after turning the corner. Do you care about the wreckage? You sob against your knees like a child after a temper tantrum. 

Everything is dizzy and not even about Viktor. Time is passing, Mel and Jayce are waiting; your brain slaps itself awake: you can’t make a scene during dinner, can’t ruin the vacation and, most importantly, can’t talk to Viktor before having to sit down at a table with him and those poor, caring souls who still put up with all of this. Even if you did talk to him, the brain hasn’t delivered enough self-blows to conjure a response. 

It all feels very numb. All you care about is eating the fucking food, brushing your teeth and slamming against the mattress. Alone. No questions: not from a worried Mel, not from a confused Jayce, not from a desperate Viktor. 

Desperate. So fitting. The way he looked at you, like the confession had tied a tight knot for all these weeks and undoing it was his only salvation. How his eyebrows bent with a frown as he fought back tears – God, the humiliation. Since when are you able to make a man cry? 

The thought is followed by another sob, one of those whiny, pitiful ones that truly make you sound like a child. You eye the steep stairs leading down to the shore and contemplate disappearing in the water and jellyfish. It can’t hurt worse than this. Absently, you check train tickets online to plan a nightly escape, then catch yourself. What the fuck are you doing? We’re pushing 25, you had told Mel, exaggerating as always. Yet you feel anything but like a grown adult – one must act like it, though. 

So, as the brain delivers the last self-hit, you stand back up. The longer route takes ten more minutes. Viktor has definitely waited for you to reappear where he left you and only after a while started heading back. He’s taking the usual, five minute route – you are sure he did: Viktor knows you and you know him. A truth that is terribly painful right now. Still: ten minutes for him and his cane and his despair. 

You walk and let out any lingering tears. Crying in a foreign city is cathartic. Cats, for once, don’t pester you. 

Viktor, somewhere in the distance, is busy in his own walk of shame. The bag of take-out is not heavy, yet feels like a weight trying to drag him on the ground and maybe, maybe, the soil will eat him alive if he falls. It sounds better than whatever awaits him once you face him again – if you will, that is. Viktor wants nothing but to drown in your eyes, your anger, even your sadness. He fears that all you’ll offer will be a painful play of indifference. And Viktor knows you can keep acts up for so very long. 

The moment you regroup at the front door his heart drops at the simple expression on your face. No more tears, not even a trace that they happened in the first place: your eyes are swollen if he focuses, but only if. When you speak, it doesn’t sound unkind – not nice, either. Painful indifference, as he guessed. 

“Let’s not ruin Jayce and Mel’s dinner,” You say, steady, seething. Unsure why you’re seething now that anger melted in sobs. “Can you pretend?”

And Viktor, who has never truly learnt to lie to strangers, let alone his close friends, hesitates a moment too long. You hold your breath, already picturing chaos unfondling until either of you leaves (the living room, the house, the town), until Viktor bobs his head in a little nod.

“I-I can try, yes,” He says, voice raspy and already trembling. Viktor is not very sure he can try. “Or… Or we can tell them I felt sick on the way back and not in the mood for food?” “Jayce will pester you. Mel would clock the lie.”

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Viktor hates panic solely because the whole month has been days of anxiety, of looking around to make sure you weren’t there, of weighing his words and hoping they wouldn’t betray him. His whole face falls with another frown as you take the bag from his fingers with as little contact as possible. It hurts. ‘It’, as he feared, became nothing but a huge nest of hurt. 

He feels nothing and everything at once. “Later,” Viktor starts, heart wobbling as you ring the doorbell, “Later, can we–”

But Jayce opens the door, smiling so bright, and Viktor sucks it up. 

Dinner begins and ends quicker than he imagined. Viktor slips a lie about his leg aching in between conversation to have a way out at the end of the meal and avoid the routine game of cards that follows. He tries his hardest not to stare the moment Mel leans in your ear to murmur something. Since you simply shrug and shake your head, Viktor is sure it’s about him. 

To put it short, dinner is a farce: Viktor watches you tell bullshit to fill the silence, even if it’s not enough for it to be suspicious. He makes up a story of a fisherman arguing with his son while waiting in line and you nod along and add believable details, ever so quick to catch up. Viktor manages to lie for once. Both of you, separately, think the worry was an unnecessary waste of mental energy. 

The lovers are in charge of doing the dishes. Viktor disappears in his room, you in the bathroom and then your own: “I’m too tired tonight,” Is the lie you give to Mel’s pout. Viktor, eavesdropping like the ridiculous man he is, could picture the way you hugged to convince her. “Tomorrow, I promise. I’ll even come in the water with you for a bit.”

Then, poor attempts at falling asleep. Viktor doesn’t want to press, not when he already did and scared you in public of all places. He counts sheep, then plain numbers, resorts to music only for your playlists to mock him in the homepage. Contemplates reading only to find Kafka’s face in his digital library. Viktor believes he’s starting to hate him. 

The wound sizzles. Red flesh, alive: your tears had been lemon droplets to marinate the bloody meal. Offering his heart for you to eat would have been a fitting punishment. He’d live in your chest, just as he dreams of, simply in a different way. Hiding in your ribcage will always remain a wish. Maybe he hid in tight hugs just as much as you did. 

Surrender and twenty minutes of pondering later, the texts arrive. Viktor tells himself it’s to settle things, do one thing to mend for the recent bullshit when in reality, he can’t bear looking at you in the morning and pretend nothing happened. His fingers tremble as he types and Viktor curses every single person who has called him cold and mean and detached. What he’d do to be, right now. 

An hour later, you sit. Both half naked. On the living room’s couch. A fly buzzes annoyingly in the silence – a fly, not even a mosquito. Disgusting. 

You wait for Viktor to start the conversation. Viktor, a breath away, doesn’t know what to do. The house decided to be so hot inside he planned to sleep shirtless, and you picked an old tank top instead of the usual shirts. He wants to press his mouth in the sacred place between your collarbones, the pool they are walls of. He wants to find peace in the crook of your neck and the dips of your hips. Viktor wants to love you, and doesn’t think you will let him. 

His eyes follow each of your movements: he stares, but doesn’t speak. Viktor watches you shift, shy but not uncomfortable, and offer him a way out again. “So,” Your voice starts, quiet and hesitant as an uncertain fawn. “You said you need to talk to me.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Viktor murmurs intelligently. It’s better than being quiet. “The secret is out. The… reason I disappeared.”

“No. It isn’t,” Viktor frowns at your words. A stray lock of hair falls on your face and his fingers flinch with the instinct to tuck it away. Your eyes drift down to them, but don’t comment. Instead, you say: “You told me you fell in love that night in the bar, but the next days were normal–”

Viktor chuckles your name nervously. “I didn’t fall in love that night. I realized I loved you. It’s… It’s different, silly.”

“...Is it?”

“Of course it is. Because I… I think I’ve been in love with you far longer.”

The sweetness dripping from his voice does nothing to ease you, Viktor can tell. He had dreamt of confessing with all these smitten, soft words, of holding your face in his palms and murmuring more in between little kisses: a simple ‘yes’ and he would’ve wrapped around you like a vice. A gentle vice, one that needs to brush pecks all over your face and won’t ask too much back. 

Right now, it doesn’t feel romantic. Two people sitting on a couch – they speak different languages. They know each other but believe different truths. Your lashes flutter shut in a blink. “Vik’, you are… very calm for someone who… uhm, claims that.”

He can only laugh: Viktor feels shaken and almost drunk, yet the words come out so easily. Now that he has told you about it – ‘it’ being his ridiculous heart, nothing else – talking is so much easier. Maybe because he wants to be sane before you reject him officially, so he can remember. Selfishly, one of his palms curls around your jaw. Your eyes follow the movement and don’t push him away. Viktor’s thumb grazes your skin. “You, too, for someone who cried, earlier.”

It isn’t a jab, yet hurts like one. All of him screams adoration, pure and blind adoration: so intense you can’t take it and refuse it. Unbelievable. He left. People who love shouldn’t leave. People who leave, most times, know where to go while you stem in loneliness. “I wasn’t the only one crying,” You try to deflect, but it’s always so hard with Viktor. In fact, he only smiles: a smile between sad and smitten. “No. No, you weren’t.”

This poor excuse of a talk is unfolding differently than you believed. Back to your apartment complex, there was anger on both sides: on yours for being left so easily, on his as a futile attempt to be strong and delude himself he could control it. Outside the take-away place, a fight between exasperation and exhaustion. A heart begging to grow numb and another for a final act of mercy. 

You aren’t sure what is even happening right now. Viktor holds your face like he’s done countless times for a reason or another: to linger after brushing something away – stray hair, crumbs, eyelashes, even tears – or to tease, keep your eyes on his only because he makes you blush so easily and always wants to see it, wants to bear witness to warmth caused by him and only him. Your fingers toy with a scab on a leg, both dragged to your chest, accidentally making you small the way he can’t help but like. Viktor’s touch doesn’t leave fire on your skin: it really is nothing like what romantics say. With him, it never was: it was, and simply being was enough. No grand questions, no grand feelings. Neither asked the other why they lingered and touched and pressed close when together. At this point, you even wonder if it even had a name. 

And you sit still – close and touching as always, trying to speak through eyes instead of words, because words can say nothing while trying to confess everything and another misunderstanding might kill you. You want Viktor back. You want him begging to be let back, on his knees, crying and so wrecked his devoted stares might make sense. You want him to speak. Viktor is waiting for anything to come out of your mouth but the gates of his salvation refuse to open, not when you’re still hurt and confused. 

This staring contest could last until morning and you wouldn’t notice. Maybe Jayce will walk in the room, yawning and stretching clumsily, and get a heart attack at the two of you sitting in silence on the couch. Even then, you wonder who will look away first. 

Less than an inch away from your turmoil, Viktor’s arm is starting to hurt. Lovesickness doesn’t ease the bodily aches – if it did, Viktor might have indulged in it to have some reprieve. He’s waiting: foolish, you can wait thrice as much. Countless times you’ve called yourself impatient yet have been nothing but with him. With anyone. Kind, precious thing, you are, and extremely so with him. How presumptuous of him to think he could leave untouched, that leaving would hurt less than staying, as a friend or more or less. Guilt stains him and Viktor wants to ask if it’s okay for him to wash it away. You’ll decide how. 

And – and, and, and – ‘it’ decides for both of you. Somewhere between the wound on your leg and the ache in his arm, your eyes decided to water – what were you even thinking about? Why are you crying? Stupid, stupid. You don’t want to cry, you think for a moment, right before tears become the only means to be understood without speaking – because you, too, have so much to explain. 

They cascade on your cheeks again, traitorous water accompanied by tight lump in your throat: and now even if you wanted to, you can’t fucking speak. If God is still trying to keep you a saint, He should’ve thought better before sending Viktor as a token of love. You fucking hate him, you– 

Viktor inhales sharply at the sight, both uncertain and mesmerised. His head shakes when you sob something similar to a ‘Please, don’t look at me’ and create a hiding spot in the safety of your knees. Worry blossoms in his chest like the time you’ve swam among jellyfish while he could only stare, already missing you. Viktor shifts closer like moth to flame – maybe it’s the moths in his guts finally being useful. “Ah, please, don’t cry, don’t cry,” Viktor whispers against your temple, voice trembling: lying again, telling you not to cry while crying himself. “I can’t handle it when you cry.”

Poison water drips down your chin as it all comes back to him. The selfishness of his choice. The jealousy, and the anger for being jealous. The need, visceral and primal, to be with you – no matter how: the same couch, the same room, the same place, anywhere as long as Viktor knew your heart was still warm for him. He noses at your cheek, catching tears before their fall, before the declaration slips from his lips like honey: “I’m so terribly in love with you.” And, good lord, you look so beautiful when you cry. 

His words only make you sob again – crying triggers hate again and you don’t want to feel hate, you don’t want to feel anything at all. You cry until something akin to peace overwhelms your senses. You don’t know what happens, but Viktor wraps his arms around you and settles in the curve of your neck, close and tight, and it’s last summer again and you’re playing cards with Mel and Jayce while he pretends to sleep wrapped around your back. For a moment, all that matters is that you are being held, and you don’t hate yourself for it. 

The tears eventually stop. Viktor’s cheek remains against your shoulder, stealing warmth and closeness, and you pretend not to hear his sniffles. You pat the arm around your waist at some point. Tired, you are so tired. “Viktor,” Calls a wobbly tongue. “Why did you leave?”

Viktor doesn’t hesitate. “Because I didn’t know how to manage it,” He rasps, sniffling again. “I loved you so much it hurt. And I… I didn’t want to hurt you, too.”

“But why?” You ask. It must be a cute scene. You, sitting with your knees against your chest and him – God, Viktor must look ridiculous. His legs are stretched half off the couch, whole body angled uncomfortably as he holds you. Completely asymmetric and wrapped around a small thing of too many feelings. “Viktor, why did you decide I couldn’t take it? That disappearing was better? I don’t get it.”

Viktor is eternally grateful you don’t get it. Only one heart must hurt. Too scared to be pushed off should he shift but too longing, he tilts his head so his cheek rubs against your skin. “Because I love you so much it hurts.”

“You already said that. Viktor–”

“It’s the easiest way to put it.”

He feels the ‘For fuck’s sake’ hidden in your exasperated sigh, muscles clenching under his arms. He has missed feeling your words and doesn’t want to lose the privilege again. Viktor closes his eyes and, knowing deflecting will upset you again, surrenders his mask to your hands and offers his rotting heart – does what he was supposed to do since the very beginning.

“I couldn’t phantom being away from you. Not physically– distance I could handle. Unhappy, but I can handle. But–But I need you like this,” His arms squeeze you for a moment to make you gasp in reflex. “Voicing your thoughts in shrugs and glares and smiles and fingers tugging at my hair. I wanted to read you in any way you would present yourself.” Adrenaline, a reward for being brave for once, pushes his cheek against yours so his words are breathed right against your mouth. “Everyone could disappear and I wouldn’t care. As long as the world spins for you, as long as there are things that make you smile, nothing else matters to me.”

Viktor feels you grow stiff: he knows you are scared, because as stupid and dramatic his choices have been, there were reasons to believe you’d be terrified. However, Viktor thinks you deserve the whole truth before he’s dumped. “All I could think of was you. Everything seems to be about you, made for you. You, you, you. And I tried silence, to spare you. Earlier I was clinging to any attempt to reach you. I’m sorry for the outburst. I–”

You cut him off. “But why? Why are you in love with me?” 

And Viktor can only chuckle. Chuckle and squeeze you again, press his face into yours – let him indulge in this one last time, he begs, what if he has to leave? “For the same reason the Sun rises everyday and we need oxygen to live. Because you exist beautifully, and there is nothing the world can do so I can’t be smitten for you.”

The fly buzzes in front of you the way annoying bugs do. It’s the world’s way to react after being mentioned, you believe. Viktor lays his chin back on your shoulder, and waits, however long. You’ve waited much longer. 

Like the disgrace to romantics you are, his confession is too sappy for you to understand. Not corny, you don’t want to be mean. But you like Viktor for being concise and realize his first answer was enough. A synapse sparks and tries to rationalize it all. You can only ask him to make sense. “Don’t… don’t you think I get to decide what hurts me and what doesn’t?”

Viktor stiffens. You, sweet and caring angel, whip your head to him and accidentally hit him with your nose. The impact is the best thing of the last few hours. “You can’t protect me from something I don’t know, Vik’.”

“But you hate being hurt.”

“Everyone does,” Viktor thinks he wouldn’t mind pain as long as it involved you, “Don’t decide things for me.”

Guilt comes again. Followed by panic when you shrug him off, lingers even when you sit to face him and hold his hands. Viktor feels so guilty it feels wrong to be forgiven. “I’m sorry for making you cry,” He croaks. His eyes squint and you wonder if he’ll start crying again. “I never wanted to make you cry, I… thought you wouldn’t care.”

“About what? You leaving?” At his nod, you swat his head like in the bar. Viktor yelps as you scold him: “Are you stupid! Of course I care! You think I’ve been pretending to be friends, close friends, for two years? Unbelievable, you are unbelievable!”

Viktor almost misses your honey words from earlier but the sight is what he’s dreamt of. Anger is raw, natural: what comes out when pain turns in anguish and nothing else matters. It’s unfiltered and Viktor wants you naked of your million walls. He winces at another swat. “You already said that.” A little yelp turns in a sad whimper when you tug his hair. “I’m–I’m sorry. Sorry, I’m sorry.”

And your words are the best thing he could ever hear. Familiar, carrying everything with their casualty. “Be sorry! I was worried sick!” You huff, frowning beautifully. Viktor’s eyes focus on it for a moment, wide with love. Saying you’ve never looked more beautiful would be a lie: countless times you have, luckily with no anger involved. Right now is special because you’re his again – Viktor isn’t sure in what way yet, but you don’t flinch when his palms cover the skin that was wet with tears. His thumbs brush your eyelids, where he hopes to be deep in the night, and another ‘I love you’ sits on his parted mouth, uncertain.  

You seem to read his lips: eyes drift down to them and Viktor wets them, self-conscious and stupidly hoping for a kiss, but your gaze comes back to his. “I’ll never completely forgive you,” You murmur. “But I’ll pretend to.”

Viktor mushes your cheek as if to soften the blow, distract himself from how badly he fucked up. “I won’t hurt you like this again. I promise, lásko,” His heart hammers at the slip-up, expecting anger again, but it only earns a slow blink. Not feline, just sleepy. The rotten muscle softens: you must be so tired. “I won’t ever leave you. Unless, eh, you want me to.”

Another swat, harder, “Ah, okay! Okay, sorry.” 

That almost made you upset again. Viktor watches, he is always watching you. Your expression is torn between soft and stiff, as if you’re unsure it’s okay to stop being angry. As much as Viktor wants nothing but being with you again, he knows this has impacted you, somehow. His guilt will not ease until the effects uncurl from your careful mannerism and he’ll have a chance to fix them. Viktor really hopes you will let him. 

Another question, softer, quieter, like it doesn’t want to be asked: “How do I know you won’t do something like this again?”

Doubts. Viktor hates himself for making you doubt him – you’ve loved him so easily until summer, and he let the safety net crumble. Viktor will hate every July forever. “I promised,” He says slowly – slow is better than weak knees against the cold floor, begging for mercy like a freak. “I don’t want to hurt you ever again. I will talk. I’ll tell you everything.” 

He almost adds a forever, courtesy of the moment. You look at him funny when his teeth sink in his lip to stop the word from tumbling out. Viktor squishes your cheeks and smiles shyly, cringing but trying: “What can I do to repent, darling girl?”

You mourn the lightness the phrase carried yesterday. The one thing that could be effective would be turning back in time and sparing you the heartbreak – of course it was a heartbreak. You tried to suppress the ache, to believe it was possible to go back to life before him, but the final thought was terrifying: for the first time, two years seemed everlasting, titanic compared to the rest of your lifetime. Realising how much things blossomed in happiness because of Viktor made you hate him more. Attempt to, at least. 

There are no meows, thankfully, only the ghost of a silent one in your brain: ‘Are you sure you want him back? Will you handle losing this for good, when the time comes? What if it happens earlier than you expect?’

What a dramatic cat. Viktor would have loved her. You hope the ghost never leaves your mind palace. Wordlessly, you guide Viktor’s arms around your neck, tugging him by the wrist in a quiet request to be closer. A playful thrill, empty of actual displeasure, hypocrite! 

When Viktor’s chest presses against yours, two foolish hearts beating into each other, you swear there is a small shadow in a corner of the room. 

It watches. Your phone vibrates with a text from your insomniac Mom who’s been ignored all day. Viktor scoots closer and tries to make your ribs touch. 

You are home again. 

Still eager to be a shadow, Viktor follows to your bedroom as if the hallway connecting the rooms might eat you whole. He wouldn’t blame it. You hesitate on the doorstep. “Did I hurt you? When I hit you,” You murmur, both concerned and looking for an excuse. Viktor smiles because you care, and it feels beautiful. 

“No. I have a dull skull.”

“At least you’re aware.”

That earns you a small chuckle. Viktor is reborn under the familiar banter and he’s never been good at hiding when he can’t keep his hands to himself. Fingers drum on the handle of his cane helplessly. Silence rarely bothered him. Equally rarely did Viktor find people who could make talking interesting one way or another. Quiet made him pout when it came to you: he wanted to be let in your thoughts, be allowed to share his without ending up in boredom. Viktor knew you were bored easily. Now requests sit on his tongue, impatient: he isn’t even sure which to ask first but knows he won’t be invited inside. Revenge, coming from you, is being cornered again and again. 

In fact: you stare expectantly, waiting – Viktor knew you could wait a lifetime just not to ask things first. After a month of refusing to speak, he wonders what your own reason is. 

Bravery rewarded him earlier. Viktor’s fingers thump on his cane’s handle one last time before he bites. “Can I stay the night?”

He’d love to say you got surprised and allowed the teeth to sink, but the answer is a small smirk between satisfied and eager. This is the first one of many corners. You walk backwards and nod earnestly. “Of course,” You chirp, twirling around to hide a grin. “I wouldn’t want you to get lonely.”

Laying next to you is much calmer than what Viktor anticipated, pent up and clumsy. His back sinks in the mattress, much softer than the one in his room, and you hide under a thin sheet. Viktor abhors any kind of warmth during summer nights and that is the sole reason you don’t offer. 

He fears you’ll turn around. He fears you’ll say ‘Goodnight’ and leave him alone again. So, Viktor stretches the moment like it’s dough. “Hey, little otter,” He murmurs under his breath, quiet, as if coaxing you to scoot closer. You don’t. Viktor huffs at your familiarity with his tactics and you snicker. “Why did you even mention otters during lunch?” He tries again. His hands curl in the empty space and the hem of your light blanket. 

You shrug. “They just came to mind. Don’t tell me you don’t like otters. I think they are very cute.” 

It’d be a lie if you said you aren’t enjoying this. Viktor has never been good at hiding things on the spot – which is maybe the real reason his sudden disappearance stung: it was planned – and his lips are doing an awful job at not pouting. You like it when he sulks, but won’t let him win so easily. Your eyes don’t meet his because you’d cave in. 

“Sea otters sleep holding hands.” 

“Do they?”

Viktor inhales sharply. You are a teen all over again – knuckles hide another grin, but the sound is unmistakable. He scoots closer, nudging his knee with yours as you giggle, and pleads. “Please. Don’t make me beg.” Viktor whispers. He smells of sweat and the cologne he’d wear only when you wouldn’t meet: otherwise, the perfume clinging to his skin would be obvious. Viktor misses its sweetness. “Please?”

Playful, you almost point out he is, in fact, begging, but Viktor’s hand slips under the sheet to search for yours. Being searched for, even like this, makes your stomach knot. You don’t want to ask ‘What are we, now? What changes?’ It feels juvenile, ridiculous and needy. He’d ask the question back, because you are the one who hasn't said any ‘I love you’ yet. Words are so serious. 

Viktor offers a meeting ground for the night. “Let me be yours,” He murmurs. His thumb traces lines on your wrist. “Please, love. Can I call you ‘love’?”

That does it. Why are you always caving in first? (You aren’t, Viktor simply doesn’t fight it – he never did before and suffered like a bastard the one time he tried to). Even if he probably wanted to touch you like this, fond of your knuckles, your hand flips and your palm presses against his, fingers locking in place. “Don’t you go beg and plead,” You mumble. Viktor watches your eyes flutter shut the moment his forehead pushes against yours and doesn’t call you out on the escape. He falls asleep counting your breaths. 

In the morning, when temperature rises again, Viktor lets go and prays you don’t notice his absence. You try not to think about what he’s doing in the bathroom. When the bed creaks under his weight again, Viktor brushes a kiss on your damp forehead. You pretend to sleep for a few more minutes.

More kisses greet you once your eyes open, light pecks in the spots he was allowed even before the downfall: forehead, nose, even your temple – no better way to reject intimacy than water down a sacred place. You fake a sleepy chirp as his lips murmur Czech nonsense there. 

“Vik’,” He only hums, busy. “Viktor. ‘M trying to say goodmorning.” 

“It’s still early. Sleep, I’ll wake you for breakfast.”

Your lashes brush his cheek and your fingertips his jaw. Viktor’s mouth opens in a petulant complaint that you stop with a sweaty palm against his face. A thick eyebrow arches, spiteful, and the amber of Viktor’s eyes shines with a familiar mischief. 

A beat. Then a warm tongue presses back and you snicker. “Stay still, V, come on.”

Viktor licks you again. It’s less to be insufferable and more to taste, curious. Part of him hopes for more just to press his face in each crevice of your body. It’s so unfair: why are you so composed, compared to him? Viktor tips his head back to escape your hand. You eye the spit on your palm as he converses with the ceiling. 

“I haven’t kissed you in forever. Be patient with me.”

“It’s not like you did that much, before.”

“One more reason to finally let me.” Viktor shrugs, then turns back to you with a sudden movement, like something snapped in that brain of his. “Unless you mind.”

He receives a sigh. “No, Viktor, I don’t mind. What I do mind is being treated like a fragile thing.” Viktor’s throat bobs as you roll on a side, closer. “What did I say about asking for every thing? Do you want to go back to normal or not?”

There it is: your bad habit of digging your own grave. Something pricks your lower lip and you realize it’s your own teeth. Neither of you wants normal, which is simply intimate friendship, again. Nor something with no name. The serenity that culled you until now disappears. Viktor reaches blindly to tug your nose. “You pick where the line is, little otter.”

“Oh, please don’t call me that,” You cringe but blush all the same. Viktor hooks two fingers in your nostrils like a disgusting child. “Don’t try to play it off, either. I know you don’t want to be friends.”

“Well, neither do you.”

Viktor is funny. At the beginning, you wondered if he struggled to contain his thoughts out of lingering teenage antics or was simply open with them. The truth: it was neither – unless it came to you. A patient man, cunning and observing, stumbling in his words and revealing more than necessary simply because he was talking to you. Viktor would hesitate a moment, then, as if catching up with what he said, and coughed the embarrassment off. With time, he learnt, but remained easy to read all the same. You brushed his obvious crush off at first, a firm believer of ‘he will get over it.’ Clearly, he didn’t. And you aren’t exactly surprised. 

Viktor keeps watching, turning on his side to face you. Again, your brain tries to make sense of it all: every time you believe you understand what exactly happened in your relationship, uncertainty comes back. 

As much as you hate ouroboroi, maybe you’ve been biting your tail since the beginning. Viktor had an obvious crush on you, one that even more obviously never passed. Guilt salutes you. Perhaps you’ve always had the upper hand – or maybe not. Maybe no one did. 

Each time Viktor believes you spare him from something – a confession, a fragile admission – and read his mind and find solutions, he does the same for you. ‘Well, neither do you.’ He has spared you from voicing something again. Why is he talking so easily, now? What changed? You still feel uncertain. 

“No. I don’t, either.” Viktor hums to himself when your eyes focus on his. “But I don’t want to be hurt again. You need to talk to me.”

His voice lowers in a breathy murmur full of affection. “I am, darling.”

The reaction is instant. Your still wet palm presses against his mouth. “Don’t ‘darling’ me!” You shriek at a reasonable volume. Viktor flinches, panicking, wondering if he’s rushing things and you’ll be upset for another reason. He’s already buzzing with an apology before his eyes catch the faint red on your face. It eases him. 

Not you, though. Viktor huffs his amusement against your hand and you hit his foot. “Don’t laugh,” You grumble, regretting everything and turning away. Viktor follows immediately, latching on your back like the leech he’s always been. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you frown.”

“You’ve been calling me all sorts of things in less than a day. Have some mercy.”

“I’ve wanted to for a long time. I suppose it’s hard to repress it now.”

Viktor smiles at your nonconcomital grumble and resumes his murmurs against your temple. “And now you’re shy, mhm?” He breathes, smitten. “I can never seem to figure you out. Do you hide from me, or enjoy seeing me struggle?”

Neither. A bit of the first one, maybe, but not exactly consciously. Viktor rubs his nose against that annoyingly sweet spot on your neck and smiles at your whine. “It’s your fault for liking someone reserved.”

“I’m reserved, sweetness. You are skittish, it’s different.” Warmth rises to your face again. Viktor exhales a little ‘Ah, right’ and the back of his hand presses against your face, checking. His voice softens, losing the insufferable teasing edge even as two bent fingers pinch your cheek. “Too much?”

“A bit. But I won’t ask you to stop. It’s just– Ah, you sound very… fond.”

“Fond?” Viktor echoes with a laugh, teasing your neck again. “I am very fond of you, yes. Terribly so. A lost cause.”

“Viktor.”

“And I’m quite fond of petnames, too. I fear the two things walk together.”

“Do they?” You murmur, shuffling to steal a glance. “I prefer your name. I really like your name.” 

Viktor smiles again. He will never stop cursing his stupidity. How could he give up a month of you? ‘It’ doesn’t feel like choking poison, now, not when he’s on your side of the bed and discussing petnames. Viktor simply prays it still won’t be once jealousy visits again – he dreads the moment. “To each their own,” He concedes, pushing the worry away by focusing on you. “I do really like hearing you say it.”

“More than petnames?”

“Ah, I might melt if you’ll call me one,” Viktor chuckles, almost shy. His heart flutters just at the thought. His arms open in welcome the second you scoot closer. “We’ll figure it out, lásko.”

‘Figure it out’ means starting uncertain, and uncertainty is but a fragile thread. Viktor’s fist wraps around your hair in a loose grip, brushing your nape bare. His thumb stretches to the warmth there. Secretly, he can’t wait for night again: Viktor has dreamt of pressing kisses on the back of your neck for months, of spooning you to sleep for longer. 

You try to notice if he’s tracing something in particular, words he’s unsure to speak. Viktor sticks to circles. He shivers at your sigh against his naked chest, hot breath that tingles his skin. “Will we figure out where the line is, too?” 

Viktor hums absently as the cogs turn slowly: she wants to do this together. His heart eases. “Yes.” 

His abdomen flinches with unspoken words that stop at his throat when someone knocks on the door. Jayce calls both of your names, muffled. “Breakfast!” 

Viktor stiffens and expects you’ll do the same. Instead, you’re limp in his arms, a tad sad his caresses stopped. All you do is comment sleepily. “But you said it was early.”

“It is. I checked the clock.”

“The ugly one above the bed? It’s broken.”

“Oh.”

His hand tangles in your hair as you lean back like he’s trying to win you over with head scratches. It makes you snicker. Viktor observes how your nostrils flare when you try to laugh quietly, hates that you want to be quiet. He pricks you with a nail. “How do we act around Mel and Jayce?”

“Just be yourself,” You shrug with surprisingly disinterest. Viktor frowns, confused, and your fingers tap the crease away. “They can tell when we’re being off. Since Jayce knows you slept with me it’s no use pretending we’re… cross?”

“He’ll pester me,” Viktor murmurs, already in anguish. You press against his forehead as if to reach his brain. It’s your own way to say stop sulking. “I’m serious. Jayce will bullet me with questions. Don’t leave me alone with him.”

“Would you rather we announce it to both of them like two children?”

“Yes, in choir. You speak, I can harmonize.”

“V. Be serious.”

“I am being serious, miss otter.” Before you can tell him to stop bringing up the stupid otters, Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Also, what would we say? It’s not like…”

Like you’re together or he’s sure you love him back. It circles back to that. You don’t want to play it off – because there is a reason he’s been doing all the kissing. 

With a strained smile, you use his own words as a way out. Oh, how have the tables turned. “We’ll figure it out.”

The lovers – who might lose the title very soon, lest confusion arises – perform a nonchalant breakfast decently, even if Jayce smiles knowingly when he notices Viktor’s fingers playing with yours under the table while he passes by to retrieve a forgotten spoon. You try very hard not to blush, always the one to brush things off. 

Hidden under the long hems of the tablecloth, Mel speaks in footsies, grinning behind a cookie dipped in coffee. Her sentences are always preceded by body language. As she passes you by to bring her dirty cutlery to the kitchen, her head dips down to address you. “Let’s smoke a bit.”

Smoking with Mel means insisting on lighting her cigarettes and watching her in the cloud of smoke, all while another song that mentions smoking plays from your phone. Your old habits die hard. Your knees balance the ashtray, feet on Mel’s lap as she tries to sing along a clumsy translation. Stop by my place and let's smoke a little. She is completely off tempo but you giggle all the same. 

“I don’t think he even means cigarettes, honey,” Mel grins before taking another hit, humming around it. Her head tilts away to exhale. 

“Probably not. But little goody two shoes hasn’t ever smoked weed so we’ll pretend he does.”

“Oh, no. I’ll make sure to fix that. Fitting for our friendship anniversary.”

You laugh again, the ashtray wobbling as you do. Mel carefully tips some ash off. “First things first. We have to go grocery shopping since it was pouring yesterday. Good job on coming up with the bread and eggs thing, but I’d rather eat something different today. I was starving until dinner.”

“But what about the pool?” You pout, dramatic. “We could go in the early afternoon.”

“It’s too hot! Late morning is better.”

“It really isn’t.”

“Hush,” Mel huffs, blowing smoke right in your face. Viktor is awful influence. “Also, I was thinking of going with Jayce, actually,” She grins and leans back on her plastic chair. “Leave you and the loverboy an empty house to make up properly.”

The implication is loud and clear. You startle, eyes wide and up to hers. “What? No.” 

Mel doesn’t hide her surprise and you curse the blatant reaction. With an awkward cough, you try to speak: “I mean, he’s not my actual loverboy, you know.” It’s awful. Worse than schoolgirls gushing over crushes at sleepovers. Viktor calls you sweet under every excuse, yet you wince at Mel’s sugarcoated tease. Maybe because by how Viktor has been acting in the last twelve hours, you have the impression he will be much sweeter than you can handle. 

“Didn’t he sleep with you last night?”

“Eh, yes. But literal sleeping. We just made up. Yesterday, after dinner. It’s, uhm, a bit complicated.”

“Ah,” Mel simply says. ‘Complicated’ means a lot of things, coming from you. She holds her cigarette up in the air and the slim thing seems to stare at you as Mel does. Her voice softens, and it bothers you. You don’t like when Mel knows she has to soften. “Well, talking without me and Jayce around might be better, sex or no sex. What’s with the reaction, though? You’re not usually–”

“A prudish little bitch?”

“You can’t be prudish and a bitch.”

“I like oxymorons. Bitch doesn’t just mean slut, anyway.”

Your best friend makes a face. “Vulgar,” She scolds half heartedly, then eyes you curiously. “I didn’t exactly mean prudish. Skittish. You don’t usually dance around it. Remember that guy from freshman year?”

“Unfortunately.”

“We laughed it off, though. And we barely knew each other.”

You shift stiffly on the chair, moving the ashtray on the arm of Mel’s so you can sit more comfortably – it being with your knees to your chest. You glance to the balcony door, the nearby windows, and lower your voice. “Viktor isn’t just a guy, though.”

The knot returns. Maybe the tree rooted in your heart never exactly left. You remember a middle school poem about chopped trees. Mel speaks again before your thoughts can drift, evasive. “How long have you liked him?”

Mel doesn’t mean to tease – when she does, it’s in different settings. She is cunning, coy, but not the type to be with malicious intentions. Like a teen at heart, you’ve learnt when people like to pry to have laughable content for later. Mel’s voice is gentle, understanding. 

You really wish Viktor could read your mind like Mel does. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know,” You murmur, checking door and windows again and whispering just to be sure. “He’s always been pretty. And hot. You know I notice these things at first sight– And thank God he didn’t change. When Jayce joked about growing beards together I was terrified. I just…”

Since when do you like Viktor? Since he started looking at you with dazzled eyes, like you’ve hung the stars just for him? That would mean since the very beginning. Memories are fuzzy: freshman year was a blur of grief and settling in a decent new routine, all soothed by Mel’s presence, and then Jayce and Viktor happened. The lovely smartass blended in your routine so easily and you can’t even remember when platonic turned in romantic. Viktor was glued to your side one way or another – texts and calls replaced face to face talks if you couldn’t meet and you curse both of you for not confessing the obvious until now – and never gave you a reason to doubt his presence. 

Almost like you were already dating. You cancel the ‘almost’ with a scoff. As if you’ve ever invited a man to a platonic, impromptu sleepover. What an avoidant idiot, you are. 

Mel calls your name, ready to play therapist again, and you stop her before your mental cat can feel replaced. “I settled for platonic. Eh, we. We settled for platonic because neither was interested in someone else, so… we were enough for each other, I guess. Christ, I’m so dumb. Half of my days were always about him and I didn’t question it. Why am I like this?”

“Oh, please, I know you. You were waiting for him to confess. I think you’d rather die than do it first.”

She is terribly right. When Viktor mentioned the night at the bar – that fuckass orange bathroom! – the back of your brain almost wanted to ask him why the hell he didn’t confess in that moment, because you had really hoped he would. A goner: Viktor mentioned being jealous with a playful tone and you latched on it. Even felt disappointed when you prodded and he brushed it off. Asshole. Why did he brush it off?

“Viktor said he realized he loved me when we went out drinking in June. Remember? When he threw up and slept over at mine,” You murmur, “Then he got jealous– Don’t ask me of who, he didn’t say, and… decided waiting for it to pass was better.”

“‘It’, what? His crush?”

“Apparently.”

“Wait, are you serious? He’s… he’s definitely liked you since you met. I’m serious, hon.”

You can only shrug. You don’t exactly blame Viktor. There are insecurities under his layers of kindness and intelligence and he’s been more emotional than you on many occasions – especially for this you are unsure what to do. You are aware he’s much more sensitive on these things than you are and that you can’t fully understand it. 

At the same time, the one and sacred truth floats in your brain. “I just can’t take another heartbreak.” You wish telling Viktor would be as easy as telling Mel. But Mel won’t ever toy with your heart, because you’re not offering it fully. Viktor – and what you want with Viktor, especially – demand it. Your fingers drift to the tormented scab from last night. “It’s not like I don’t love him, Mel. But being loved means being exposed. And being at someone's mercy is a risk I don’t know if I can take.”

“Darling, there you go again. You won’t be at his mercy,” Mel reasons softly. She stubs her cigarettes and drags her chair closer, offering a hand around yours. “Relationships are not war.”

Another meow somewhere in your frontal lobe. Hypocrite! This time, you really are. You wonder how much Viktor can tell of you considering his words and reasoning. ‘But you hate being hurt.’ You know what he meant: that he feared being overwhelming, suffocating, a cage of too much. Yet that nagging ghost rubs against imaginary ankles and asks if maybe Viktor meant that he knows he can hurt by leaving again. So you asked and he promised. But what if he lied?

Mel squeezes your wrist. This is the worst ourboros of your life. “I hate knowing why I feel like this and yet letting it take over me.” You give up. Your head thuds on the railing behind with the promise of brain damage. “And I hate how being like this only makes me lonely and bitter, but I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop?”

“Because you don’t want to be hurt again,” Mel says simply. Her fingers wrap around yours, taking them away from your scab, and you can only squeeze her palm. “Look, you know how skeptical I was of dating Jayce. That I wouldn’t be able to be soft again and disappoint him, and all. But it didn’t happen. You say it all the time: you won’t know until you live it.”

Ridiculously – which is the one word fitting for this mess – you almost think of tracking down a tarot reader. It’d be lovely, to be a seer. You groan, dragging your free hand down your face, and call for the guillotine. 

“Alright, whatever. Go grocery shopping with Jay’, but let me have a saying in the list. Worst case scenario I kill him.”

The pool does have stairs, anyway. Even a ladder. 

Viktor, apparently, has a similar conversation with Jayce, although when you ask him he’s too busy staring with eyes blown wide. All you get is a shrug and ‘I did tell you he would bullet me with questions’ before he escapes to change with poorly hidden enthusiasm. You briefly wonder if this is a man or a teen, or someone lost in between. Even more briefly, flustered, you suspect the reason Viktor is being like this is simply you. 

Giddy or not, he’s still playing the guilt ridden martyr: shaky breaths when you scoot closer on the pool’s edge, fingers hesitating even when you offer your naked back with the excuse of fixing the top piece’s straps. Viktor’s touch is light, delicate as if he has never touched you before. A bit impatient, you spare him an awkward sunscreen act and hop off in the water. 

Cold meets your sunkissed body. When you reemerge, blinking water away to see him, it’s just for a moment: there is a splash behind you, and then hands pushing down your shoulders – your heel slips as you try to resist and Viktor’s laughter is muffled by the rippling water. 

It melts in a strangled yelp when your palms throw waves in his direction, laughing along. “I can’t stand you,” You murmur, impossible to hear over the merciless water, “You insufferable prick!”

Viktor escapes underwater with an elegant squat and paws at your ankles in retaliation, then the back of your knees as you squeal incoherent protests, fighting the instinct to kick the annoying octopus away. 

He thinks he could die with his palms just shy of your thighs. Viktor’s head peeks from the surface, water up to his cheekbones – and the round promise of their smile makes you dunk him with little hesitation. Your fingers shove his head down the way they do in Viktor’s dreams until he attacks your tummy in self-defence. Schoolyard affection. This is a yard, albeit smaller. 

His grin is blinding when he resurfaces, an eager and uncontrollable stretch of his lips. Water flattens his hair like a wet cat – you’ve teased him endlessly over it in the past, and Viktor has always used it as yet another reason to dunk you over and over. His hands settle on your hips, merciful, as he allows a breather. 

Viktor loves summer. Escaping in the water, where gravity doesn’t strain him as much and he can act upon all the mischief he wants. He’s head over heels for a lazy swimmer: it all makes pestering you more fun. Viktor tests your patience and wiggles his fingers again, already missing your laughter. 

“Ah! Asshole!” You squeal, hands around his wrists and a knee bent and ready to push at his hip. 

Viktor chuckles. “Always so mean,” He grins. “And violent. Are you going to hit my head again?”

“You’d deserve it. Do you want me to be jumpy around you?”

“I like your smile,” Viktor reasons innocently, even shrugging. Water drips from the shorter strands at his forehead, falls on the bridge of his nose and trickles to the mole at his lips. Viktor licks it absently, suddenly thirsty. His fingers rack up on your sides, less purposeful, thumbs stopping at the sacred sides of your breasts. He wills his eyes up. “Your mouth, generally.”

“Generally,” You echo. Your voice is a playful chirp, one Viktor nods at before his brain even processes the word. “Even when I yawn? Throw up?”

“I’ve never seen you throw up, luckily.”

“So you wouldn’t like it. Okay, I guess.”

“And you call me insufferable,” Viktor scolds, hands obediently drifting back to your hips, mouth in a petulant pout. “I’m trying to be romantic and atone. Indulge me for a minute or two, yes?” 

His tone borders on pleading, betraying the sulk. You relent. A moment before breakfast, when your fingers were already on the doorknob, Viktor pushed his cheek on the back of your neck and begged: “Please, don’t try and push me away to prove my feelings wrong.”

Maybe you shouldn't have revealed your tactics for failed acquaintances. He had rubbed his nose against your shoulder, hesitating towards the spot you coat in perfume. “I want you. And I want you to think I’m enough to be let in.”

You reminded him you decided on figuring things out, but thought about the exchange until Mel sat you down next to her. When the mask slips and you are bare, it’s not being naked that bothers: rather, knowing someone is aware you are more than what you present. There is terror in being seen and unseen at once. 

Viktor is trying to let you pick the pace – it bothers you immensely. He doesn’t have to be enough. All you need is someone who deserves it, and doesn’t he? There was a time his presence haunted your room worse than memories, idling around with you for whatever reason. Studying was neglected, obviously, and part of you wonders how the hell you’ve managed for two years. An arm hooked around yours. Fingers undoing his shoelaces just to be annoying. The sweetest accent you have ever heard uncurling a millionth ‘What are you thinking about?’ to fill the silence – and it dawns on you, he wasn’t trying to. All Viktor wanted was to know you. 

Now, he hesitates, as if you being bare means being uncertain, a scared animal to be coaxed. Pool water scatters on his shoulders like freckles – his freckles, spots the sun exposed all over his body: they call to you like a siren song. Viktor stares, holding onto you in the middle of the pool, and the neighbourhood’s noises cover the sound of his breath. His thumbs insist on your hips as if you aren’t waiting for a kiss. 

Viktor, again, misunderstands, and you follow suit. His torso jerks forward, needy, and yours backwards as if expecting another dunk. “You really want me to earn it,” Viktor huffs, hurt. You blink, hands on his shoulders, the water dripping from his hair running on your knuckles. “Earn what?”

“Everything.”

“That I do not. I’m resentful, not a liar. What happened is behind us, isn’t it?”

Viktor hums, inching closer again, face relaxing when you let him, and sighs as his lips press on your cheek. So soft. Viktor remembers last summer, when it peeled after an awful sunburn and you let him caress all the same, only asking to be gentle. And Viktor would be careful forever if it meant being close, the closest. Closer than you are with anyone else. “You said you won’t ever truly forgive me.”

“Don’t blame me,” You murmur, ready to disappear. “What of your ‘but you hate being hurt’?”

His mouth nuzzles your cheek again, just shy of a proper kiss. “No, I don’t blame you. I… I just don’t know if I can be calm until I know you are not angry anymore.” Viktor confesses, and suddenly his outburst while queuing makes sense. He chose silence in his self-hatred, then stubborn desperation when the line blurred again, smudged by the argument’s aftermath. Argument. As if not talking counts as one. Viktor swallows down the thought of actually arguing with you – Oh lord, he is so terrible at this. 

Your thumbs brush his jaw, guiding his face back to yours. “Viktor, silly, I’m not angry anymore. Did I seem angry in the morning?”

“You are good at pretending, miláčku.”

“V, I don’t want you to walk on eggshells with me. Come on.”

He makes a very pitiful noise. Head down in something dangerously close to shame, eyes focused on the water rather than you. You tap his cheek with a finger. The only form of forgiveness you know to offer is physical. Viktor, ever a stubborn mule, only hums, then huffs when you push his chin up, lips parting in something between grumble and petname – until your mouth crashes with his, and he is undone. 

He has dreamt of this – fantasized during the day, chased the closest thing to reality in the night; when the wish plagued him in your presence he’d insist on marks on his face, aware you were weak to pouting. Cheek kisses could suffice, Viktor thought – and the lame certainty crumbles the moment his tongue finds yours. 

Viktor breathes harshly through his nose. You taste like toothpaste and the annoyingly bitter lip balm you use since he’s known you. Like chlorine and spit and all he wants to drink. Finally – fucking finally, you’d say if you weren’t so busy – his hands slip lower, cupping and squeezing your ass and abandoning the safe border of your hips. You squeal in his mouth when he slips ring and pinkie under your swimsuit and tugs a cheek apart, even if clumsily. 

Viktor only grins, barking a chuckle in your throat. He kisses you again, messier, less worried about flavor and more on just being: his teeth learn the shape of your lower lip, his tongue the edge of your front teeth to fill a silent break for air. Ever the party pooper, you laugh: “What are you doing?” You giggle, head tilting back for a moment and then pivoting for his face before he can grow sour and insecure again. His cheek grows full under your mouth as it kisses and bites his cheek as it deserves. 

“Figuring your mouth out,” Viktor thrills, on cloud nine and not attempting to hide it. His hands remain and knead your butt like a purring cat. 

“Deciding if you still generally like it?”

“No, merely confronting my hypothesis and the real thing.”

He sounds so pleased, giddy, like laughter hesitating in his mouth. Your teeth nip harder, curious, and Viktor only leans in. "Miláčku,” He murmurs, almost to himself. “I’m so in love with you.”

Instead of saying it back, you make a small sound at the back of your throat – Viktor calls you an otter again, arms tight around your waist when he falls back against the pristine water. You gasp another insult for air and Viktor kisses before you can blink the chlorine away. Selfish, he dunks again each time your eyes manage to open.

“Ah, stop,” You grumble, denying him a third kiss. “Or I’m gonna spend the meteor shower with Mel.”

“The meteor shower,” Viktor echoes, only now remembering. His lips peck and suck on the tip of your nose playfully – you let him. His hands brush wet hair away. “I want to kiss you while the stars fall.”

Your heart, traitorous and weak thing, stutters. Something must happen on your face because Viktor leans his in, breathing against your lips and parting his with obedience when you steal a kiss. 

Viktor would love to do much more under the meter shower. “Don’t spend it with Mel. Stay with me.” His voice lowers in the request, whispering it in your mouth as if it’s only yours to keep – and maybe it really is. 

“Stay with me the whole day.” The snake stops biting its tail – for a moment, at least. With a nod, you let him drag you in the water again.

Wednesday.

The last few days had been…bearable. Even when you had to “work” on your week off or listen to your dad tell the same college stories over and over again, it was fine. And a small part of you knew exactly why but you weren’t going to say it; didn’t want to jinx it. 

The events of Tuesday played in your mind like a loop, every chance it got when you stopped moving or doing any task; Jayce’s hands against yours, the easy conversation, the soft glances, the hidden confession. Any time your mind wandered back to the day before, a sickly sweet feeling would burn beneath your skin. Butterflies fluttered and danced in your lower stomach, not helping you in the slightest— all they did was make you jumpy. Excited and giddy at the thought of bumping into Jayce…and more importantly, getting the chance to continue the events of yesterday. 

But it wasn’t the best time to be thinking about everything that had happened between you and Jayce, not when you were out running errands with your mother. 

“So,” your mom interrupts into your latest play-by-play of yesterday. “Your dad wants something red. Look out for any red party stuff.” She adds, shuffling through a stack of celebratory cards. 

You nod in response, searching for a table cloth on a nearby shelf with stacked fabrics stuffed into it. You're a few minutes into searching for some red cloth when your mom steps beside you and speaks up again. 

“You and Jayce seem to be getting along well.” Your mom comments. 

You jerk your hand away from the fabrics you had previously been looking through, as if they’ve suddenly burned you, knocking a few of them free of their home on the shelf. The fabric tumbles to the floor below and you rush to hurriedly clean them up. 

“What, uh, do you mean?” You blurt, bending down to gather up the spilled fabric. You nervously pull the fabrics into your arms before stuffing them haphazardly back into the layers sitting on the shelves; silently apologizing to whoever would have to fix your mess later. 

You wonder if she’s seen something you tried hard to cover up. Or did Jayce say something to her, before ever saying anything to you? Was it just that obvious? 

“You know your dad and I were worried about you sharing a room,” your mom sighs, helping you fix the pile you messed up. “But it seems like you and Jayce get along fine.” She declares, proudly speaking of you…as if she had expected from the beginning that you wouldn’t get along with him. 

You sigh a breath of relief. Your shoulders relax as you realize it wasn’t something else, just her worries about your shared room. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you reply, trying your hardest to mask your anxiety that had skyrocketed and has now crash landed. “No need to worry.” 

She takes your word for it, nodding with a smile before turning to continue on down the aisle, leaving you with sweaty palms and a racing heart.  

After finding the last minute things your dad had wanted, you and your mom don’t delay in returning home. It was nerve wracking, for you at least, but it wasn’t entirely a hassle to join your mom to the craft store. You’re only slightly annoyed now that you didn’t get to stop for coffee but it had been fine otherwise. Still, you looked forward to being back home…more so because that meant you would have the chance to be around Jayce some more. You were excited, up until you actually stepped foot into the house. Where you realize that Jayce is gone. You can’t help but hope that Jayce is just out on his own errand run and not avoiding you after his supposed confession from last night.

You slump just a little, setting down a few bags that were your moms and not your own, before going back and getting any bags left in your mom’s vehicle. 

After squishing the disappointment of Jayce not being there, you just decide to busy yourself with more party work. Carrying all of the new supplies up to your old room. Somewhat proud of yourself as you’ve actually put the craft room to good use the last few days. 

You work until your fingers begin to ache. Writing out the several index cards your mom planned to put up around the house to sort of be a guide for the guests going to attend. And just when you’re about to call it quits and put everything up, a knock on the doorframe startles you. You expect your mom to be at the door but when you look over your shoulder, you're greeted instead by Jayce. 

You jump a little at the sight of him, excited chills running down your spine. You turn to face him, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your lips. You try to play it cool— as if you could around him— with a little wave. “Hey.” 

Jayce smiles back, taking a step into the room and closer to you. And as he does, you notice that he holds two plastic cups in his hands. 

“Hey,” Jayce greets, a timid smile on his lips and the start of a blush staining his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure if you liked coffee or tea, or if you’d want either, and since I didn’t know…I got what the lady at the counter recommended. I hope you like it.” Jayce rambles, extending a coffee cup towards you. 

You take the cup from him, letting your fingers linger against his as you accept the gift, briefly glancing at the order written across the cup. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, before taking a sip. Whether it was too sweet or not sweet enough, it didn’t matter; the caffeine was exactly what you needed. And it tasted even better coming from Jayce himself. Knowing he was thinking of you, even in the smallest of ways, it made your heart skip a beat. “This is perfect. I didn’t get to stop earlier for anything so…thank you.” You hum, appreciating the small gesture. 

Jayce smiles big, pleased you didn’t hate what he had brought you, and nods in response. He glances quickly across your face before looking at the several bags of craft stuff laid out onto the desk. 

“Need some more help?” Jayce asks sweetly. He doesn’t wait for your answer though as he drags the chair he had sat in yesterday beside you once again. He settles into the chair, setting his own coffee cup off to the side. 

You try your hardest to keep from smiling too much. The giddy feeling beneath your skin because of his presence returns, making your entire body buzz with renewed energy. “Wouldn’t mind that at all.” You respond, reaching to dig inside the desk drawer for an extra pair of scissors, handing him the tool once you retrieve them. 

“Do I owe you for the coffee?” You ask, making light conversation as you work. 

“No, of course not. Your company is enough anyway.” Jayce replies—flirting— glancing in your direction. 

You blush under his gaze but roll your eyes. “Maybe I should start charging you for my company if you enjoy it so much.” You sarcastically say, tossing a cut out party favor onto the desk, the beginning of the pile. 

“Ha, ha.” Jayce fake laughs, stacking his own craft on top of yours. “You’d like that.” He teases right back.

You don’t answer him, fearing you’d say something that will make you look like an idiot, so you just smile in return. 

And together again, you work on the party favors you and your mom had picked out. Jayce cuts out whatever you ask of him, while you two playfully chat. Messing around here and there, flirting, and ‘accidentally’ brushing hands when you both reach for the same craft. 

You told yourself the entire time that he was just being nice. Or that deep down, he just really, really liked the attention. You weren’t going to let yourself believe that maybe he wanted more than playful banter. Not until he made the first move…if there ever was a first move to be made. 

⋆⁺⏾ ⋆˚࿔

After spending another afternoon with Jayce, time seemed to fly by. Before you know it; your coffee cup is empty, the party favors are entirely finished, and you have spent several hours just…talking with Jayce. Who spoke only when you didn’t and looked at you like you were the only thing in the entire room. And when he did speak, he mostly told stories about his own college days or things about his profession. 

Sooner than you realize, it’s time for dinner. And while you and Jayce had worked in the craft room upstairs, your mom had fixed dinner, preparing a meal big enough for at least eight people. The strangest thing though, it didn’t feel like it was going to be a chore to eat around your parents. Not with Jayce sitting at the same table.

You take the time to help set the table for dinner before you find your usual spot. Suppressing your giddiness when Jayce sits next to you, since now you were no longer sitting alone with him in the craft room. With your parents present, the last thing you needed was to say something stupid in front of them. 

You‘re quick to zone out on the conversation between your parents, it was mostly about the finishing touches to the party anyway, trying your best instead not to stare too long at the man beside you; it didn’t help when he was so damn handsome. It was almost unfair how handsome he was. Even at his age, even with the graying, he looked better than most guys your age ever could. And it drove you crazy. 

You can’t help but think about all the events that have happened in the last few days once again. The flirting, the brushing of hands, the soft words Jayce spoke, did all of it mean something? Or was it again, just him enjoying the attention? You wanted to know but you weren’t sure if you could muster the courage to flat out ask him; not yet, anyway. 

You worry your lip between your teeth, getting a terrible idea that could ruin whatever was between you two…or worse, get the two of you caught and possibly in trouble. But you wanted to push your luck— wanted to see his reaction. 

Under the simple guise of shifting in your chair, you sneakily brush the side of your leg against Jayce’s. You lay enough weight against him, so he knows you’re doing it on purpose, while keeping your outward appearance uninterested. Even with you pretending that everything is normal, and that you’re not doing something that isn’t as innocent as it seems, your pulse pounds in your throat. 

You linger against him for just a split second longer before moving your leg away and back underneath you. 

You wait for just another second before you sneak a glance in his direction and it takes everything in your power not to smile or laugh at the sight of him. You can see the tension lining his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. He hides his mouth behind the palm of his hand, doing his best to also act as casually as he can while he listens to your dad ask him some kind of question you had no interest in. 

You had been a mess, thanks to him, the last few days…this time, you wanted to see him fall apart for once. 

You allow yourself to smile, just a little, pushing around the leftover salad on your plate, feigning to be listening to the conversation to keep up the act of your own casualness. You give it a few more heartbeats, before you push your luck again. You bump your knee against his, sliding your leg the length of his own before returning yourself back into your own personal space. 

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s tense and straining against the table. But you steal a glance in his direction anyway, surprised to catch him already looking at you. 

The second your eyes meet, Jayce gives you a small look that could only be read as a warning. And you so badly hope it’s a simple warning in the way that means; “we’re going to get caught” and not in the way of “you’re taking things too far”. 

You look away at the same time he does. Your heart still races but no longer with anxiety but instead with the thrill of seeing him unravel. You turn your attention to the glass of water in front of you, taking it in your grasp as you settle back into your seat, returning to your uninterested state. 

And you sit still, giving him the illusion that you were done playing footsie. Taking the time to converse with your mom as she asks you about any party stuff you might remember them needing. And after several minutes, when you think Jayce is comfortable again, you slide your foot across the back of his calf. Putting more weight behind your actions than the first time, wanting him to know you mean it. You press firmly against his leg, sliding down along the length of his calf until your foot catches the bottom cuff of his pants. You’re just slipping your foot beneath the pant leg of his sweatpants, brushing against his shin, when you get to enjoy the very visible shiver that passes through his shoulders. And for a moment, you think Jayce might melt beneath your touch with how red the tips of his ears shine. 

Good. You wanted to see it happen; wanted to see him want you just as badly as you do, while being unable to do anything about it. But when you trail your eyes along his handsome face, expecting to get a solid, stern look thrown in your direction at any second, but no. This time, Jayce doesn’t glare at you.

He acts. 

He leans back in his chair, hands slipping under the table and out of sight. Where he moves to lay a hot, heavy hand against the thick of your thigh. He squeezes it, as gently as he can—with what little restraint you assume he has—as his warning instead. Then as quickly as it comes, he removes his hand and takes it back into his lap. 

The motion stops you entirely. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, rougher than you meant too. You retrieve your foot and sit stiff as a board inside your seat while continuing to play pretend that everything is fine. 

If there ever was a time you thought maybe you’d pass out, it would be right then and there. It was fun to tease him, until he put you in place. 

The memory of his touch lingers on your skin while the not-so-innocent thoughts you had yesterday return in a flash of heat.

A single touch. That’s all it took to turn you into a goddamn mess. 

The flirting, spoken under his breath was one thing; passive compliments spoken quickly enough to leave you wondering if there was any truth behind them. But touching? And touching somewhere so intimately? Yeah, that was an entirely different story. 

The bare skin where he had grabbed burns in yearning for more. You swallow hard, digging your nails into the palms of your hands, trying to keep your breathing from becoming wild and chaotic as need begins to soothe beneath your skin. 

You’re only relieved when dinner time is over. You’re the first to get up from the table. Shooting out of your chair so fast it leaves you a little dizzy—that’s because of Jayce— as you offer to help clean up. Assuming that if you busy your mind with cleaning up, it would distract you from thinking too hard about Jayce’s touch.

It doesn’t help. 

Even after finishing cleaning up, you still can’t think straight. You needed to take a breather and calm down. It was bad enough to be doing something so risqué in front of others you shouldn’t have but for him to touch you so intimately too…you just needed to step away for a moment. 

Leaving Jayce behind in the company of your parents, you go back to the spare room to change. Having packed your swimsuit for this exact reason; to relax in the pool or hot-tub when you found the time. And now was definitely the time. You sneak by the kitchen area, making your way outside to the backyard. Where you decide to take your mind off of…everything with a little late-night reading inside the hot-tub(instead of your usual spot in bed). 

You lay your towel on top of the wooden table hanging off the side, putting your phone down right beside it before you climb into the hot-tub. 

A deep sigh escapes your lips the second the warm water greets you. You stretch your arms and legs out, working out all your muscles to help yourself relax, before you slump back against the edge. Grabbing your phone from behind you and settling down to do some reading for the next few minutes.

And, thankfully, reading does help you take your mind off of things. You get lost into your book within the first chapter, and by the second and third, you’re totally enamored and forgetting the world around you. But by the fourth chapter, the sound of the back door sliding open catches your attention. 

You look in the direction of the noise, expecting to see either your mom or your dad, but for the second time that day; you’re instead greeted by the sight of Jayce. He walks on the path leading to the hot-tub but freezes when he quickly realizes that he’s not alone. 

Even in the night and from your spot in the hot-tub, you can see the faint red blush across his cheeks as he stares for a heartbeat too long, before looking away. 

Your face probably matches his. Beat red and hot at seeing him after what happened at dinner. And now getting to see him in a bathing suit…you fear god might be testing you.   

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were out here.” Jayce says, nervously chuckling as he rubs the back of his neck. He keeps his gaze away from where you sit; finding an interesting rock to stare at instead, being as respectful as he could. “Your dad mentioned the hot-tub just a little bit ago, and I thought it would be nice to relax in, after—“ Jayce cuts himself off, another nervous laugh. “But I see it’s occupied and I’ll leave.” Jayce rambles, turning on his heel to walk back inside.

“No, wait!” You call after him, before you can really consider what you’re asking for, and he stops at the sound of your voice. “You can stay. I don’t mind the company.” You add, unable to stop your voice from cracking in desperation. 

Jayce stands still. Both of you knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, especially after what happened under the table earlier, but like a siren's call; you always seem to be drawn to each other, no matter what. 

“I’m just reading anyway.” You speak up again, hoping to convince him that you weren’t planning to tease him like you had at dinner. Really just trying to come up with anything that would get him to stay. 

After everything, you still wanted to spend some alone time with him.  

You watch him slowly turn back around. Watching the gears in his head turn as he contemplates the idea of staying. And after a few, painful seconds tick by, he finally decides on joining you, taking a step towards the hot tub. You can’t help but smile, scooting over just a little to the side he doesn’t stand by. 

Jayce, somewhat shyly, mirrors your smile. His thumb brushes across his wrist, fidgeting, before he drops his towel next to the edge of the hot-tub. He grabs the hem of his shirt and every bit of blood rushes to your head before you jerk your head to look away. A blush settles on your face and you’ll be damned to say it’s anything but the heat from the water. 

You force your eyes to stay glued to the screen of your phone as he enters into the other side of the hot-tub, listening to the water part to allow his body in. And you don’t look up, or over at him. You didn’t need to see his bare chest right then, it’d just make the throbbing worse. 

You hear him sigh a sigh of relief as the water soothes his aching muscles. But the groan that follows sends a shock down your spine. You think of anything— math homework, your grandparents homemade pie, the coffee shop you want to go back to— anything but the sound he makes. Keeping your mind, and body, in check as he relaxes on the opposite side of the hot-tub. You’re just lucky there’s more space than you remember because god forbid if your knees touched again right now— 

“Sore?” You blurt out, trying to break free from your racing thoughts, interrupting the brief silence between the two of you. You assumed he wouldn’t bring up what happened at dinner anyway, so you had to fill the space with something before you wanted more than just “company”.

Jayce chuckles, cupping up and rubbing warm water into his shoulder with one hand. “I have to remind myself I’m not young anymore. I can barely keep up with you.” He sarcastically sighs. You can hear the smirk in his tone. 

You let the comment soak into your skin as much as the hot water does, something you would unscramble later when you were alone in bed. You half-ass chuckle, rolling your eyes at his statement. “You’re not that old.” You state in a matter of fact tone. 

“Tell that to my shoulder,” Jayce laughs. You hear the rustle of him breaking through the water, finally glancing up from your phone to look over at him. You watch his strong hands smooth down his left knee, kneading into a large scar across his shin. “And my leg.” He hisses, rubbing out the tension that’s built up beneath the skin.

You can only imagine the lingering pain from such a massive injury, even as old as it looked. “What happened?” You ask before you can remind yourself how rude that sounded. Eternally, you are smacking yourself in the forehead with the palm of your hand. “Sorry, I’ve suddenly lost my manners.” You mumble, avoiding his gaze to try and hide from the embarrassment of being an ass. 

“No, it’s okay,” Jayce replies, laughing softly as he lowers his leg back into the water. 

The thought of him hiding it from you crosses your mind before you realize it's a ridiculous thought…you hope. 

“It happened right after I turned thirty…it’s an old thing.” Jayce retells, eyes drifting off as he relives the moment of when and how he got the injury. He doesn’t say anything else about it but you watch with an attentive gaze as his fingers absentmindedly run over the scar across his knee once more.

Now you really feel like an ass for bringing it up. 

You nod a little before falling quiet, turning your attention back to your book, now that you’ve finally calmed down but officially humiliated yourself. Where you swear you reread the same page at least three or four times before Jayce speaks up.

“What are you reading?” Jayce asks, curiously.

Well, at least you were right to assume he didn’t want to talk about what happened at dinner.

You clear your throat, straightening your shoulders out as he asks about your book. “Oh, it’s a novel.” You reply. You glance over in his direction while lowering your phone, debating whether or not to tell him what your book was about. Or if he’d even be interested in it. Your parents thought it was…childish but it was something you’ve enjoyed since you were a kid. 

Seeing how well you and Jayce had been getting along these last few days, there was no harm in telling him. “It’s…a fantasy novel. Like, dragons and magic and stuff. It’s kind of lame, I know.” You admit with a small, nervous laugh. 

Yet you would’ve thought you had just told Jayce he won the lottery with the way his eyes widen and light up at the mention of fantasy. 

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

He leans forward, lips tilting up with an infectious, cheerful smile. “I love fantasy! What’s the book? What’s it about?” He asks excitedly. 

Your heart skips a beat. You pause for a second, thinking maybe he’s making fun of you but the glint to his eye says otherwise. You slowly smile, setting your phone down onto the wooden table beside the hot-tub before testing the water between the two of you as you scoot closer to him. 

And when he doesn’t move away, you smile just a little wider. Oh, you would absolutely love to tell him anything and everything about your book. 

So you do. 

You and Jayce talk about the fantasy series you’ve currently been reading for what feels like hours. Surprisingly, Jayce has already finished the book the two of you talk about. But he’s still kind enough to leave out any and all spoilers as he speaks about the series. And god do his hazel eyes shine as he speaks about magic, wizards, and everything in between that he’s loved since he was a child too. 

And somewhere in the middle of ranting about your favorite parts of the book, the things that you dislike, and what you want to happen in the next book; you and Jayce had moved closer together. Now, the two of you sit right next to each other. Shoulder to shoulder. Laughing together, joking around as Jayce badly imitates a character you both have a strong dislike for. 

By the time you’ve finished laughing, your sides hurt. You really hadn’t expected to have such a good time while at your parents house. You had expected to be just a little bit miserable and annoyed with your parents by the end of the week so that when next Sunday came, you’d be relieved to go home. Now the feeling of dread lingers in the back of your mind…because a small part of you didn’t want Sunday to ever come. You wanted to sit right next to Jayce and laugh, flirt, talk, and accidentally bump knees together for just a little while longer— or forever. 

But it was evident you also wanted a little more than just the friendly conversation. And with his own soft confessions and the mutual flirting; the thoughts and feelings you had tried hard to ignore were now slowly beginning to scream from within you. 

More than ever now, all you wanted was to kiss him. To taste his lips on yours while you touched his chest and he held his hand against your back. You wanted to feel his hands brush against yours again. To feel the pads of his fingers grip your thigh once more like he had at dinner. You wanted him to touch you and kiss you back so badly you could almost taste it. 

The sound of his dying laughter brings you back down to earth and away from your inner thoughts. You focus onto his handsome face again, having no idea how long you had been staring off into space. 

You flush but play it off, smiling in his direction. “This is…really nice.” You hum sweetly. 

“It is,” Jayce agrees with that charming smile of his. He lifts his arm out of the water to examine his now prune-like fingers. “The wrinkles, not so much.” 

You laugh, just a little, nodding your head in agreement. Your fingers were also getting a little too pruney for comfort but that really wasn’t what was on your mind. 

You were hyperaware of his skin touching yours now. His arm pressed heavy into your own while his knee and thigh brushed against yours every so often. Wondering if this is how he felt back at dinner when you enjoyed your little game of footsie.  

You were a fool. Reading too much into things and believing that it was more than what it actually was— an accident. Just because you wanted more, that didn’t mean he did; and you had to remind yourself of that. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously, trying your best to keep calm the more your bodies touch. “We should probably get out.” You add, not even trying to disguise the sadness in your tone.

“I…don’t want to.” Jayce mumbles under his breath, shifting just ever so slightly to turn and fully look at you. No longer stealing sideways glances. He wanted to be heard, and seen. 

His words surprise you. Yet they make your entire body feel hotter than the water has all night. You swallow hard. Briefly picking at something invisible that lays across your nails as you try to step lightly into what you think might happen.

“Me either…” you tentatively respond, dragging your gaze from the water and over to him. And when your eyes meet his once more, you swear he steals any and all air from your lungs. He’s even prettier if that were possible. The moon hangs behind him, creating a halo around his head. The soft ambient light from the hot-tub casts a sharp shadow across his handsome features.

The quiet that follows is almost suffocating. Both of you are sitting on edge, waiting for the other to move or speak first. Your desire to kiss him comes rushing back harsher than it had before. And although he doesn’t speak, his eyes confirm that you two share the exact same thought. One of you just needed to make the first move. 

And this time, you weren’t going to let him slip away. 

“Jayce…” You utter his name, softer than soft, and it’s enough to put everything into motion. 

The world melts away. Nothing else mattered but the two of you in that moment. Like magnets, the universe pulls you two closer together. Both falling perfectly in sync. 

In the back of your mind, you can’t help but wonder if you’re moving too slow or too fast. Fearing you might run into him with how eager you are to have him as your own. But when you’re inches away from his handsome face, you quickly lose the thought. 

Your eyes match his, darting across his face to take in every detail now that the two of you were so close. You glance at his lips, up at his hazel eyes, back to his lips in rapid succession. Silently yearning for more and more until you feel his hand finally slide along the side of your neck, shifting to caress your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek as he finally leans in closer to finally kiss you. 

You close your eyes, brushing your fingers in turn against his forearm, gently grabbing onto his wrist. Guiding him closer and closer and closer—

But before the fireworks, before your lips fully connect—getting just the faintest brush— Jayce suddenly untangles. His hand jerks away. You open your eyes to watch as he scrambles to put space between the two of you. He shoots out of the water like he’s been bitten by something. A large, scarlet blush taints his cheeks as he looks anywhere else but at you. 

“I! Uh,” Jayce stutters, breaking the energy built up around the two of you. Quickly coming to realization as to what just happened…or what was about to happen. “I think that’s enough relaxation for me tonight. I’m, uh, going to head to the room.” He chuckles awkwardly, hurrying to get out of the hot-tub. 

You sit dazed. Staring at his broad back as he climbs over the ledge and bends down to grab his towel. You watch him half ass dry himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. 

You didn’t want to see him go; didn’t want to let him go. Not again. 

“I’ll join you!” You blurt, standing up before you can even think about what you’re doing again— what you’re chasing after. You exit the hot-tub before he can protest. Gathering your things up in a rush to stand by his side. 

Jayce doesn’t say a word but he waits for you anyway. A gentleman, despite the embarrassment growing between the two of you. 

You didn’t know what to expect on the walk back into the house but it certainly wasn’t the unnerving stillness between the two of you. Especially after what happened. It’s quiet. Beyond quiet. The silence that hangs between the two of you is suffocating— but in the worst way possible now. It feels ice cold compared to the heat you had just experienced moments ago. And Jayce feels distant even when casually walking beside you or briefly holding the door open for you. Even the house was dead quiet. Your parents must’ve already gone to bed…which plays into your, and his, favor after the events that followed outside. 

When the two of you get back to the spare room, Jayce doesn’t say anything as he heads for his large bag. 

You do your best to pretend like everything is normal, fishing out a new change of clothes from your suitcase. You wanted out of this swimsuit— you wanted him to take it off— and a shower. 

Jayce continues to stay quiet on his side of the room. The only sound that comes from either of you is the clothes you pull out of your respective bags. 

You don’t know what else you were expecting to happen. You shouldn’t have been expecting anything at all, to be honest. And yet, a small part of you expected so much more. 

You once again imagine kissing him. Lying in bed together, tender and soft, full of laughs while his hands lay secure across your body.

God, you just needed to forget it. Needed to put some space between the two of you, for the second time that night, so you could figure out what the hell was going on in your head. And heart. 

The only problem is, when you turn to leave, so does Jayce. You both reach for the door handle at the same time. His hand lays heavy on top of yours. The contact makes both of you jump, jerking your hand away from each other. 

“Sorry um,” Jayce fumbles, trying his best to clear the lump out of his throat. “I didn’t mean to just uh, wanted to shower…but after you. You go first.” He says with a gesture towards the door. 

“You can use the shower up here. I’ll go to the one downstairs.” You say, trying to lighten the tension in his shoulders just a little bit. It doesn’t work. He nods to your words but he still seems…distant. 

Your heart continues to sit in your throat but you do as he asks. You open the door first and head down the hall and make your right. You two part ways when he stops at the upstairs bathroom. The door shutting and locking behind you sends a nervous chill down your spine. 

You make your way to the downstairs bathroom, squishing down the thought of ruining whatever you and Jayce had built up the last few days, all in a single moment. In fact, what was going on between you two? Sunday night you were causally forced to share a room together, now you were planning to make out in your parents hot-tub? Hoping for more like you were some horny teenager? 

You shake off the thought, pushing into the downstairs bathroom. You strip and take your shower quickly but the shower doesn’t really help. Your mind races the entire time. You flip back and forth between ruining a relationship you didn’t know you needed and the image of Jayce above you. 

By the time you’ve finished your shower, you think you’re worse off than before. Getting dressed in your pjs before heading back to the room. The shower still runs upstairs when you pass by it, so you just head to the room quietly.

Closing the door behind you, turning the lights off, you curl up into bed. You’d be concerned about sleeping with wet hair tomorrow, for now you’re more concerned about falling asleep before Jayce gets back to the room. 

Several minutes of steady breathing and attempting to count sheep tick by until you finally feel the pull of sleep. 

And just when you’re about to succumb to sleep, the sound of the door handle clicking jolts you awake. You know it’s Jayce but in a panic, you don’t know why, you pretend to be asleep. Staying tucked into the thick of your blankets, eyes closed, listening closely as Jayce enters the room. You give him the illusion that you were already asleep. It works. He doesn’t say anything— you’re not even sure if he would— while he just moves somewhere off into the room. 

Seconds tick by and your heart beats hard in your throat. And just when you think he’s gone to bed, the warmth of fingers touch your face. He brushes some of your wet hair back and you have to bite your tongue to keep from flinching, or leaning into his touch, or doing something that’ll make everything a little worse. But just as quick as it comes, it’s gone. Jayce gently pulls his hand away, leaving you alone once more. “Dammit…what am I doing…” Jayce whispers under his breath, somewhere behind you. 

You strain to listen to him as he moves away from your bed. Listening to him rustle the bed sheets around before getting into the pulled out futon and finally laying down to sleep. 

Every single bit of your blood rushes hard and fast beneath your skin. Your mind begins to work overtime, trying so hard to figure out what he was doing and what he meant. Did he like you? Why would he freak out about kissing but then turn around and touch you so gently? Should you roll over and confront him? God, you wanted to kiss him, wanted him to hold you, wanted him to make you his. Did he feel the same? 

You weren’t getting any sleep tonight.

@ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐙𝐄𝐕𝐑𝐑𝐀 | 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖/𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

Tuesday. 

There had been the smallest hope that maybe, just maybe you would get to relax for the week. Nothing of interest really happened Monday. Your dad had taken the day off work to spend some time with Jayce. And while the two had disappeared early in the morning, doing whatever it is that guys their age did, your mom mainly sat on the phone— gossiping with her friends— and left you alone for the most part. So, without being bothered, you spent the time catching up on whatever you needed.

Then Tuesday morning came. 

Your dad had gone back to work. While your mom woke you up at a crisp, 9 am and told you the list of things she needed done before the party. Everything from food for the party to decorations to tablecloths to thank you notes, etc., all needed to be done within the next three days. 

You might just lose your mind by the end of the week. 

After ripping yourself from your bed, the first thing your mom had tasked you with was writing thank you notes— since invitations weren’t needed. Your dad had already walked the entire neighborhood to invite every neighbor to the party, four days ago. And while at work today, you’re sure he’s inviting everyone from work to the party as well.

After your mom handed you the book with all the names that she had written down for thank you notes, you got to work. Moving yourself in the craft room for some peace and quiet while your mom worked on getting a cake and several restaurants to cater for the party, so you and her wouldn’t have to cook, thankfully. 

Two hours later of writing thank-you cards for the entire neighborhood, folding the pretty envelopes up, and stacking them, you felt like your hands were going to fall off. An ache had set in but you were finally finished. Packing up all the notes and putting them into a nearby empty box before carrying them downstairs to your mother. 

“Where do you want these?” You ask, swinging the corner into the kitchen where your mom and Jayce sit at the dining table. 

“Just on the island there.” your mom replies, pointing to the edge of the island countertop she mentioned. “Thank you for doing those by the way!” Your mom adds. 

You nod, smiling just a little as you set the box down before glancing back at your mom and Jayce. Who still looks as handsome as he did two days ago. 

You assumed the two had just finished lunch with the empty plates sitting in front of them. 

You head around the island and to the fridge. You find the pre-made sandwiches your mom made for lunch, and pull one out to eat. Your fingers were still aching anyway, you needed to give them a break as much as you needed some lunch too. 

You’ve just sat down at one of the stools when your mom speaks up again. 

“After you’re done with that I need you to work on folding some party things your dad picked out.” Your mom states. 

You bite back a groan, instead turning your attention back to the sandwich. 

No time to rest. 

You eat your lunch while scrolling through your phone, tuning out the idle chatter that goes on between your mom and Jayce— since it was mostly about your dad anyway. But after you finish your lunch, you set your plate into the sink while mentally preparing yourself for the next task at hand. 

Once you had stood up, so did your mom. Busing herself with cleaning up the dining table and the kitchen. “Don’t forget the stuff you’ll need.” She says, beginning to wash the leftover dishes in the sink. With her head, she nods towards the bags of party supplies sitting beside the chair she had been in. But before you can walk over and pick it up, Jayce reaches for the bags instead. He stands up, holding the bags with ease in just one big hand. 

“Can I help you?” Jayce asks softly, looking directly at you as he stands beside the table. 

“Oh, we couldn’t ask that of you! You’re our guest, you should relax!” Your mom argues, waving off his request; while ignoring the fact that you too…were a guest. 

Jayce smiles, shaking his head at your mom's proposal to relax. “It’s okay. I’d rather help than just sit around here, kind of twiddling my thumbs.” He politely speaks, bringing his gaze back to you. 

Thankfully you had just finished your sandwich, because if you were still eating you would’ve most likely choked on it when his eyes meet yours.

“It’s not fair for me to just sit while you work so hard.” Jayce chuckles, moving to stand beside you. He stares down at you— he stares down at everyone— waiting for you to answer him. He wasn’t asking your mom’s permission to help with the party planning, he was asking you. 

“Uh yeah, I…wouldn’t mind the extra help.” You respond, slightly dazed. A strange feeling swells inside your chest. Strange enough, you can’t quite put your finger on what it is— or maybe, it was just too many to name them all. 

“Alright, after you.” He hums with a wide smile. As if he had been wanting you to say yes the entire time. 

You stand for a heartbeat longer than you probably should’ve before turning and leaving the kitchen behind. You take a few steps into the hallway before letting Jayce pass you instead, since he was kind enough to carry the supplies needed for the decorations and you didn’t want to get in his way. And it would give you the chance to look at him without him seeing. 

You stare at his broad back. The simple, cotton green shirt he wears hugs his body in all the right places— his shoulders, biceps, and his waist. You get the urge to touch him. To press your hands flat into his back, bunch his shirt up, and scratch the length down. It was…a very inappropriate thought to have about a man twice your age. 

But you notice something else besides how attractive and fit Jayce is. Still just a step behind, you notice the slight limp he walks with. You can’t help but wonder how he must’ve gotten it. Was it from sleeping badly on the futon? He hadn’t openly complained about his body being sore or being in any pain so you assumed it wasn’t but you could be wrong. You don’t ask about it. It wasn’t a topic for you to discuss or ask about anyway; not unless he wanted to talk about it. 

“I think it’s sweet that you’re helping your parents out.” Jayce says, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You jerk just a little at his words but quickly recover when heading up the stairs. “I don’t really have much of a choice.” You respond.

Leaving the landing of the stairs, the two of you pass the bathroom, heading straight ahead for the craft room. 

“Growing up, I was always willing to help my mom but…I didn’t have a choice in it either.” Jayce comments, sympathizing with you, stepping out of the way to allow you to slide past him to open the craft room door. 

After opening the door for him, Jayce steps inside the craft room. He moves over to the closest desk, setting the bags down on top of the wooden table. 

You move around him, sitting down in the chair you had previously used when writing out the several thank-you notes. You open the bag Jayce had sat down, digging around briefly before pulling out handfuls of party favors your dad had picked out. Of course they were cute and all but everything had to be cut out and folded by hand. Your dad, always going above and beyond. 

“Why is that?” You ask casually, referring to his earlier statement about not having a choice either, beginning to stack the party crafts into piles. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he grabs the other chair in the craft room and sits down right next to you. 

“Well,” Jayce starts, helping you tidy up the stacks of decorations. “My dad passed away when I was really young. So it’s always just been my mom and I.” 

Your heart sinks. You freeze in your sorting, glancing over at him with a concerned look to your eye. 

Jayce softly smiles as your eyes meet, clearly understanding the sorrow you express for him. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” He reassures, turning back to the pile of crafts. 

Leaving it at that, you pick up the top card and flip it over to read the instructions. Jayce leans in closer to you, hanging just over your shoulder to skim the directions along with you. But his closeness makes your entire body begin to burn. Heat crawls under your skin as he sits right behind you. If you moved backwards, even just a little, you’re sure you’d press right into his chest. 

You turn your head ever so slightly to look at Jayce, holding your breath. 

You don’t know why his presence unravels you so much. You’ve known him for a few days and yet it feels like years. He gets under your skin— in a really good way— far more than anyone else has ever done. You wanted to know more about him, to know his likes and dislikes. You wanted him to touch you; to crave you. 

And it was a terrible thing to desire, knowing the circumstances. You were younger. You were his friend’s daughter. He was here to reconnect with said friend and here you are wanting to kiss him so bad you can almost taste it. Guilt sends a sour shiver down your spine. 

Jayce must feel you staring at him, or maybe you’re just too quiet for his liking, because he turns just as slightly to look at you. His gaze is soft; tenderness lies in the shine of his hazel eyes. A charming smile settles on his lips, followed by the soft hue of a red blush spanning across his tan face. 

Jayce opens his mouth to speak but you’re not sure if you can hear what he has to say and think about anything other than crawling into his lap, touching his chest, feeling his hands— 

“If I cut these out, will you fold them?” You blurt, disrupting the air that had built up between the two of you. Using your last little bit of semblance and clarity to keep yourself from doing something rash. You rip your eyes from him, turning to focus on the craft in your hands instead. 

Jayce, seemingly still dazed from the energy you two had just shared, nods out of the corner of your eye. He leans back into his chair as he awaits to help. 

You throw open a couple of desk drawers, a little harder than you meant to, in search of a pair of scissors. When you finally manage to find some, your fingers tremble and you curse yourself. Shakily cutting on the dotted line, working in the silence you created, before handing Jayce the cut out product. 

After several minutes of calming your nerves, focusing on just cutting out projects and handing them to Jayce to fold, the quiet quickly becomes more unnerving than him inside your personal space had. 

 “So just you and your mom, huh?” You ask softly, trying to fill the void of silence with anything. 

Jayce hums in response, still working on the crafts you hand him. He folds every piece expertly along the lines. Almost a little too good at it. 

“No spouse waiting at home for you?” 

Anything but that. 

You could’ve said anything but that; too late now. 

Jayce awkwardly clears his throat before following up with an embarrassed chuckle. “No I uh, no,” Jayce responds. He keeps his eyes glued onto the project in his hands. “I’ve always been too focused on my studies and profession.” He admits with another half-assed laugh. 

You cut along your lines, nodding your head, keeping your attention heavy like iron on the project in your hands as well. You don’t know what it is about Jayce, but being around him suddenly turns you into an idiot as much as he turns you into a needy mess. 

“What is it that you do?” You ask, changing the topic you shouldn’t have brought up in the first place. 

“I’m a professor. I teach technical physics at Piltover University.” Jayce replies, finally turning his attention just a smidge in your direction. 

“You teach where you went to college? That’s a little ironic, don’t you think?” You laugh and he follows suit. The air between you two is, fortunately, refreshing once again. 

“It is,” Jayce agrees, a wide smile on his lips as his laughing settles down. “The professor who had taught me, retired after I graduated. And I just took over.” 

“You’ve been teaching since you graduated? You must really enjoy it.” You chat, more relaxed as you tend to the party favors. 

“I do. I enjoy seeing all the bright faces ready to learn each year. I also like to teach things I’m passionate about.” Jayce beams, folding the craft in his own hands. “It’s humbling, so to speak.” He adds, lifting the craft towards the light, examining his handiwork. 

You turn your attention to look at him, glancing at his handiwork as well. It was perfect. You suppose after years of teaching and folding countless papers, you’d be good at origami too. 

“Well…” you trail, flipping the latest cut out craft in your hands back and forth. “Do you think you could teach me how to fold these as well as you do?” 

Jayce leaves the admiring of his completed craft to look over at you. He studies your face briefly. Eyes scanning over the softness of your face but then he smiles wide, nodding his head. “Of course I will,” Jayce says, chuckling a little before he scoots his chair over closer to you. “Can’t say no to you. Not when you ask so sweetly.” Jayce teases, holding his hand out towards the craft you hold. 

You suck in a sharp, shallow breath. If there ever was a time you wanted to throw out the rule book, it would be now. The way his voice dips when he speaks, specifically when he mumbles about how he can’t say no to you. You’re tempted to push that boundary, to see how far you really could go before he said no. Would it be kissing? Touching his thigh? Undoing his belt— 

Your palms sweat at the thought and you resist the urge to wipe them on your pants. Electricity tickles your spine but you ignore it, doing your best to instead tune into his teachings as you hand off the craft to the older man. 

And it was harder than it looked. 

You had watched Jayce first fold every inch of the craft up together, until it formed the shape it needed to, before attempting it on your own. The first few folds were okay, a little uneven but well enough you didn’t have to start over. But as you progressed, it fell apart faster and faster with each fold. Its intended purpose is to stand up by itself, without needing any support of some kind, but you clearly didn’t get that memo. Watching as your ‘finished’ project falls apart the second you take your hands off of it.  

Jayce sits watching, amused the entire time. He doesn’t laugh or say anything to tease you at your attempt. Yet he still smiles, entertained— but pleased— by you trying your best. And instead of taunting you, he just picks up the craft and unfurls it, smoothing out the edges and handing it back to you; silently telling you to ‘try again’.

It’s after your third attempt and your second mangled up craft that you’re damn near about to rip your hair out. Your patience wears down to a thin line as you can’t just quite grasp how to do what he’s telling you. You’re about to toss the craft back to him and just continue on cutting them out instead, but Jayce settles a hand on your wrist that stills you. 

His hand is warm, like the sun, despite the AC blasting in every inch of the room. Not to mention, his hand being almost larger than your entire wrist. The sight leaves you a little dizzy. 

“Here, let me see if I just can’t…” Jayce muses, lifting his other hand and attempting to guide your hands in the correct way. It’s slightly awkward with him sitting kind of in front of you, kind of beside you. Leaning over your hands, attempting to guide your fingers along the correct folded lines to complete the craft. But it’s just as messy as if you were doing it yourself; a little uneven here and there, folding the wrong line first, unfolding everything to start again. 

“I’ll admit it’s…a little more complicated to do backwards.” Jayce sighs, laughing at his own mess up. 

But you can’t focus on anything but his warm touch. And the way with every shift, his hands gently brush against your own. How easy he folds and turns and intertwines your fingers like it’s all casual to him. And it probably was casual to just him— and anything but casual to you. 

“Do you mind?” Jayce asks a little timidly, gesturing in the space between the two of you briefly. He gets up from his chair, loosening his grip ever so slightly, until he moves to stand behind you instead. He hangs into your personal space once again; and once again you feel like your entire body is radiating fire. 

He uses your fingers to unfold the half destroyed craft. His hands now lay over the entirety of yours, swallowing you in his grasp. 

“You start with this line here.” Jayce guides, smoothing the first fold into place. 

His words caress the shell of your ear, almost as if he’s speaking directly into it. He continues to guide your fingers to properly finish the party favor but you can’t focus on anything. Fuck all if you’d even be able to remember his teaching’s for the next craft anyway. 

Your eyes stare at his hands. The craft seemingly invisible, even in your own grasp. His fingers are tan, just like the rest of him, and thick. Twice the size of your own and it makes your insides flutter. Even the callouses built up on his hands from years of working brought  goosebumps flaring across your skin. 

After several folds later, you’ve imagined…far too many sinful things involving his hands to be considered appropriate, before Jayce interrupts your impure thoughts. 

“And this is the last fold.” Jayce hums playfully, clearly enjoying this. It was either because he enjoyed helping and teaching you to understand the craft, or it was because he knew he was making you squirm. 

You weren’t complaining. His hands were still tangled with your own. The entire interaction has you practically panting and out of breath, as if you’ve run a marathon. And that was either thanks to him touching you or your own inappropriate thoughts about him touching you…elsewhere. 

“See? Not so hard. You did great.” Jayce praises. You can’t see it but you can basically hear the smile he wears. Unconsciously, he rubs his thumb gently against the back of your hand. His other hand smooths down against your wrist. 

And the touch sends a river rushing through you. You press your thighs together, hopefully unnoticed, and chuckle a little nervously. “Yeah, thanks for the, uh, lesson.” You reply, just barely covering up your voice with another low laugh, just to hide the trembling behind your words. “I think I’m better at the, uh, other thing so…I’ll leave the folding to you.” 

Jayce laughs that charming laugh of his, hopefully oblivious to your woes; or maybe he was just faking it. Wanting to see you unravel beneath him. 

Without thinking, his thumb brushes against your skin once more as he shamefully lingers just for a moment longer, before he removes his hands from your own. And once he untangles from your body, cold sweeps in over you at the lack of his warmth. 

The sudden chill of the air conditioning rushes over you like a winter storm. Watching as he, the sun, moves to sit back in the chair he had gotten up from. And who knows how long ago that was. How long had his hands lasted on your own before he finally pulled away? It felt like seconds but also like an eternity— leaving you desperately wanting more. 

But this was not the time nor the place to act on whims. 

Shaky hands continue to work on just cutting out the crafts and handing them off to Jayce to fold. The feeling of his hands against your own replays in your mind like a distant memory. Hazy and foggy, leaving you dazed and questioning everything you’ve ever known. 

Meanwhile Jayce speaks enough for the both of you now. His words fill the space between the two of you while you manage to nod along, with the occasional ‘mhm’. 

It’s on the very last craft you cut out that you come back to your senses. Like you’ve just been woken up out of the sweetest dream.

“Is that everything?” Jayce asks, a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“For now, at least.” You respond, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. You feel bad for tuning him out for the last…what you can only assume is an hour or better. “Thank you again, for everything. I really appreciate it.” 

“Don’t worry about it. I enjoyed it…and your company.” Jayce states in a tone you can’t quite recognize at the moment; but he moves on, standing up with a stretch towards the ceiling. 

You curse yourself for staring at the little bit of skin on his lower abdomen that reveals itself with his stretch. Ripping your gaze away and quickly pushing yourself up and out of your own chair, you keep yourself busy by collecting the several party favors you two had worked on. Gently putting them into a large box that happened to be lying in the craft room, unused, making sure they don’t come undone and ruin a lot of Jayce’s hard work. 

“Want me to carry it?” Jayce asks, handing you a couple of the crafts, gesturing to the box. 

You debate it for a second. He had already helped you with plenty and you’re not sure you could continue to ask more from him. Even if there was something…intimate you wanted to ask for help with, you wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t stop you from teasing him at least. 

You shake your head, smiling a little as you lift the box into your arms. “Not unless you want to carry me with it.” You flirt, glancing in his direction. 

Jayce pauses for a moment. His hazel eyes search your face. As if he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious or not; as if he’s mulling the idea over in his head. And after another heartbeat, a smirk splits his lips, flashing a sharp canine that makes your heart throb catching sight of it. 

“Tempting.” Jayce teases in a hushed voice. Speaking so softly you think for a moment you’ve imagined him saying it. 

You can feel your face burning the second the words leave his lips. You don’t get to respond though before Jayce is making his way to the door. He leaves you behind, breathless and speechless in every possible way; watching his back as he disappears into the hallway. 

⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔

After the tense afternoon, it felt like time moved slower. You had sat on edge anytime Jayce was near, as if waiting for him to tease you even more…or force you to change your underwear again. And yet you wanted to be near him. Craving and wanting his attention more and more with each passing moment. He was in every sense of the word, intoxicating. 

By the time dinner came around, your entire body was exhausted from wanting him so badly. 

You sit quietly at the table, enjoying the meal your dad had made after coming home from work. And while Jayce sits next to you— casually, as if you’re the only one going crazy for him— you pretend that everything is perfectly normal.  

“So what did you do today?” Your dad sarcastically asks, biting into the dinner he proudly made. 

“We cut out and made all those damn party favors you wanted.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as your dad laughs loudly. 

“Jayce was kind enough to help out too!” Your mom praises. 

Jayce embarrassingly waves off your mom’s words before rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “It really wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t mind helping out and it was fun. I had a nice time.” Jayce comments, momentarily glancing in your direction, before returning his attention back to the meal. 

Your dad laughs again, nodding his head in approval. He had seen the finished product of the crafts for himself before dinner, so now he knew why they looked so well done. “That makes sense! Jayce has always been good with his hands.”

This time, you fucking choke. 

Air catches in your throat, throwing you into an abrupt coughing fit. You cover your mouth with your hand, turning your face away from every single pair of eyes that look at you at the sudden noise. You cough into your hand, reaching for the glass of water closest to you. Swallowing large mouthfuls in hopes to ease your coughing; it only helps a little. 

You’re in the final stretch of your coughing fit when a large, warm hand settles on your back. Jayce gently pats your back, attempting to help soothe your coughing, before his hand smooths down the curve of your spine. Then he repeats the same notion again, feigning innocence of just helping you out. You want it to mean so much more. 

You manage to clear your throat, finally calming down, yet Jayce lingers. He continues to rub your back, from your shoulder blades to the small of your lower back, until goosebumps begin to rise on your skin. He does it so effortlessly. Slipping into your bubble, touching your body, teasing you. 

“Are you alright?” Your mom asks, worry laced in her tone, as she hands you a napkin. 

At the sound of her voice, Jayce abruptly removes his hand. Once again, a chill creeps over your body at the lack of his warmth but you ignore it. Taking the napkin from your mother and wiping your mouth clean. 

“Yeah,” you finally respond, taking another breath to settle down— and not from the coughing this time. “Just swallowed wrong.” You lie. 

You didn’t really enjoy lying to your parents but it wasn’t like you could tell them the truth. Not after spending the entire day, day-dreaming about Jayce’s hands and fingers. How thick they were, how far they would reach, how wide they would stretch you—

After a few more seconds of silence, your dad continues on with his story as if nothing happened. Telling a story about how Jayce used to work on anything and everything mechanical or electrical; taking it all apart just to put it back together. Something innocent yet you could only imagine the worst of things.

For the rest of dinner, you don’t say a word. You manage to nod and hum occasionally in response but that’s it. When you finally speak, it’s only to tell your parents that you’re going to head to bed. You desperately needed to lie down, after everything that has happened. 

You leave behind the noise and cleanup and head back to the spare room, exhaustion setting into your bones with every step. Your body aches the second you throw yourself onto your bed. You immediately grab a pillow and curl up with it, taking a deep breath as you press your face into the pillow. 

It’s only moments after you’ve laid down and began to scroll on your phone, that Jayce enters the room. 

“Hey,” Jayce says softly, closing the door behind him, walking further into the room. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He hums as he takes a spot up on the very edge of your bed, sitting down beside you. Far enough to leave some distance but close enough either of you could easily close the distance, if needed. A warning, yet an invite. 

You smile, setting your phone down onto the pillow beside your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You respond, sitting up and leaning back onto the palms of your hands. 

“You looked a little…tired before leaving the table.” Jayce states, mirroring you by leaning onto the palm of his own hand. 

Of course he had noticed. He seemed to notice anything and everything about you, even when you tried so hard to hide it; he saw right through you. 

It makes you feel like you were the only thing in the entire room that he wanted to look at. Truly like a professor trying to solve a problem by memorizing every detail of the equation. 

You bite at your bottom lip, unable to meet his gaze. And you know he’s staring at you, even now. His gaze feels as hot as if it were his hands caressing your face. 

“I…” you attempt, trying and failing to come up with some kind of lie to tell him. Why were you tired anyway? Because your body had craved something it couldn’t have? Because you had craved him the entire day? Yeah, telling the truth was definitely out of the question. 

“Is it about what your dad said?” 

You suck in a sharp breath at his soft words. A heated blush crawls over your entire face. You swear you could feel the warmth of your blush spread to the tips of your ears and down the back of your neck.  

Jayce laughs at your reaction. He knew it was the truth, even without you saying a single word. “Don’t think too much of it.” Jayce chuckles, the hand he doesn’t lean on picks at some invisible piece of lint on the cover of your bed. 

With your curiosity piqued, you swallow a lump in your throat. Glancing between his handsome face to the spot he seemingly found so interesting at the moment. “Yeah? Why not?” You ask cautiously, finding your voice. 

Jayce stills in his digging at the blanket. Clearly you can see the gears in his head turning, debating on how he should answer. A second of eternity passes as you await his answer. 

“He’s right…but I’m out of practice.” Jayce finally says, clearly alluding to something else that didn’t involve cars or technology. 

Your heart throbs inside its confinement. It presses right against the curve of your ribs, hard enough you think maybe he can hear it drum. 

You barely see the blush highlighting his cheeks before he turns away and stands from your bedside. You watch his thumb rub circles into the inside of his wrist. He stands there, contemplating that whatever he’s about to say is the right— or the very wrong— thing to say. 

“Maybe…I could use a lesson. Or two.” Jayce finally mutters but he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he heads back to the bedroom door. His hand hovers over the doorknob, as if he wants to say more but instead he just dips his head and exits the room. 

He leaves you staring at his back once again. Always running away, right as everything was getting so good. 

You fall back into the fluff of your pillows, staring up at the ceiling with your heart now in your throat. For the rest of the night, until you finally succumbed to sleep, you would debate whether he was serious about the matter, or if he was just teasing you. To test you. 

And despite every god forsaken morale dilemma going on inside you at the moment…you hoped he was serious.

werewolf yandere! Jayce who used to live as the Royal Scientist. Before the incident, he could be seen all around. He was the type to save kittens from trees, to make toys for the village children, to have his own little garden outside his modest cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom. He was always nature oriented; it's how he gets into this mess in the first place. He thought it'd be just fine taking it what he thought was an injured pup, but after being bitten, he does note it's odd that his illness isn't accompanied by some rabies induced foaming from the mouth.

He used to be very princely; very clean shaven and rather lean. His time in the forge built some muscle, but recently, he's noticed he's only gotten bigger. It feels like he's cutting his hair every day just for it to grow back thicker and longer the next morning to the point where he just gives up all together. And he's so irritable. He was almost unrecognizable from the softspoken Jayce everyone had known and loved. He's losing sleep. An assistant dropped a flask on the floor and the sound of the shattering glass was soon followed by an uncharacteristic growl. The speed at which they scrambled out of there in tears was unseen, the look of terror on their face unfamiliar to him. People didn't use to look at him that way.

He's starting to scare himself. He didn't used to look this way. His amber eyes have gotten wilder, his hands have gotten rougher, his voice is louder and mean. He didn't use to be mean. He can't seem to find patience anymore, not even with himself. His walls are coated in mysterious substances, there's glass on the floor from test tubes being tossed in a fit of rage, until he's deemed too dangerous to be kept in the castle. He's far too useful to actually be sent away, no one quite has the touch that he does. As of now, he's irreplaceable, so they ship his lab equipment to an old, dilapidated structure so far that even if some unlucky soul happens upon it, there would be no one for miles around to hear them scream.

There truly is a difference between being alone and being lonely. Alone is physical, he's used to being alone in his lab with the window letting in a gentle breeze and the occasional leaf into his high tower. Lonely is a mental beast. Alone is the absence of space, lonely takes up too much. It fills his lungs, it turns his blood blue, it's making him insane. He's seeing brand new colors, he feels as though the world is moving in slow motion, he's smelling and hearing things from miles away. He's getting twitchy, he hasn't slept in months, and the isolation is finally beginning to get to him. There's a reason everything is so dead around him, a biproduct of some old war or a previous test site for volatile materials. Whatever the reason may be, no thing comes around here. No birds, no insects, no good grass. A barren wasteland has become the legacy of what used to be one of the brightest minds the world had ever seen.

Then there's you, the court physician who graces his presence every couple weeks. You're nice enough and you have an air about you, something light and pretty. It's the way your soft footsteps tread on dead ground, it's the flowy skirts of your dress, it's the wide look in your eyes whenever you look at him. Like a dear in headlights, not trapped by fear, but by circumstance. It's a habit to be soft, you deal with the sick, injured, and dying, and he seems to be caught in the middle of all three.

He really isn't taking solitude well at all. All he has is his work. All he does is work, only it is becoming less and less legible. His scrawls resemble symbols rather than letters, the mechanisms for his machines become more convoluted, everything twists and turns into vines of wire, gears, and loopy writing that chase their own tails. Besides losing his mind, he's losing time. He's started to black out. The last spell lasted for 6 hours, 45 minutes, and 27 seconds of time where he has no idea where he was nor what he did. There are clocks everywhere, the accumulative sound of their ticks becoming a droning buzz to distract himself from questioning things he can't find the answer to. Questions like what the hell is happening to me?

He doesn't want to seem crazy to you. You're the only person around for miles. You're quick on your feet and he's sure if you could stomach it, you could have him killed. What good is he now as he mutters to himself trying to figure out where he was last night. So, he tries his best to be nice, his life is likely in your hands. He finally gets into the habit of tidying up his space, fearing that you may trip and fall over the mess of papers, quills, random junk he has lying around. Sometimes, he even ventures far enough out to find some tea leaves. He sits by his door and waits for you, catching your scent in the air a while before you arrive which makes his nerves even worse. He can't decide how he wants you to find him, reading a book by the window, shirtless in his forge, pouring you a cup of tea. He breaks a sweat running around to set the scene.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" He perks up at the sound of your voice, trying not to move too fast. You flinch when he does. You're skittish, he thinks. He can swear he smells it on you. Though, there's something different today. Usually, you smell like where you came from, like the wind and a few flower petals got stuck on you despite there not being any for at least a mile. You smell calm. Like the best parts of outside, running water, and soap. You smell...sweet today. Almost unbearably so.

"I'm...fine. I've been better." You frown, turning to dig in the leather bag hanging off your shoulder for a pill bottle. You beckon him to sit down, and he does with the same strange willingness he always does as you approach him, placing your hand on his hot head. He leans in, exhaling and inhaling you. His eyes close as his mind races so fast he couldn't even tell you what he's thinking. You're pleasantly cold. The silky fabric of your blouse hits his face like a cool pillow. He freezes, all too aware of how his breath is uneven and quick. You smell too good.

You pull away quickly. He still runs too hot, maybe even hotter than usual you realize as you pull away as if you'd been burned and he winces at the loss of contact. His eyes flicker as you dig in that stupid bag on your shoulder. There's always some new poison in there. His nose scrunches in disgust.

"Have you been sitting out in the sun?" And he's still in a daze, subconsciously leaning forward as he tries to figure out what's hitting his nostrils. It's not like candy, it's not artificial or manmade. It's not a chocolate or something coconutty or sugary, it doesn't really smell like anything at all. It's like he's smelling a feeling. Shit, he's really losing it now. Next thing you know, he'll be hearing colors.

"N-No. I've just been in here, you know, working in my fortress of solitude." He grimaces. It's almost too much and yet somehow not enough. He can't decide if he wants to force you out or devour you whole. His leg bounces as his head falls into his hands at how pathetic he sounds.

"Is that headache still bothering you? I know you said the other pills upset you even more, so I had Dr. Reveck alter the concentration. These are only a quarter of what the last dose was." He growls, sharp canines poking through the corner of his mouth as he rolls his eyes. He was tired of the pills, all he ever did was puke them right back up and he hated that retching feeling. He didn't eat enough to regurgitate food and he barely had enough energy to keep himself upright as he emptied the contents of his barren stomach. All he did was retch and retch until his body had convinced itself that the toxins were gone and he could finally breath again.

"I said I wasn't going to take anymore." His arms cross over his broad chest like a defiant child.

"I know, but these should at least take care of the headaches. He doesn't know what else to do", you sigh. He doesn't think he was supposed to hear that last part. He knows you study under Reveck, or at least you have more recently, but you've never been much of a chemist. And yet, you take this failure as if it's your own. You were too sweet. "You've been running a fever for months and you still haven't sweat out it out. The medicine is just supposed to boost your immune system to get it out more effectively. I know it's not ideal, but-"

"Then why can't you find something else. It's been the same thing over and over and it doesn't work!" He's trying not to lose his temper, he really is, but he isn't in the clearest state of mind to do that effectively. You flinch, and he feels a pang somewhere in his stomach. Pain? Hunger?

"We don't know what to do." You're tired as you say it. Defeated. The symptoms: the fever, the lost time, the joint pains, they don't make any sense. At first you thought it was a simple cold in the summer, then maybe an issue of over exertion. But he was in pain all the time, you saw the makeshift splints in the corners, the occasional bandages, like his bones were glass and his skin was paper that decided on random whims to break apart. What do you do with that? "I really am sorry."

"And what good is that supposed to do me?" He shouted in a way that physically hurt, his ears were ringing, and his vision was blurring again, that weird sort of blurring where the world were reduced to shades of yellow and blue and everything else was sludgy and brown. You watched on in curiosity and slight horror as the amber of his eyes nearly glowed, like oil lamps in an otherwise bleak abyss.

He got up from his seat quickly, trying to find a reason for doing so as to lessen your fright. "I have been more than patient, being his stupid fucking guinea pig while you two run around like chickens with your head cut-off trying to appease me while you come to the realization that I came to months ago! Neither of you have any clue as to what the fuck you are doing." His hands itch, trying to find something to occupy them so he doesn't throttle you. They settle on his hips as he looks down on you.

"It can't be that fucking hard. I worked miracles up there. Fucking miracles, and you know what they do to me as soon as I get a little sick." He pauses, waiting for an answer that you knew he didn't want. He wasn't just a little sick. Right now, in this very moment, it was more than sick, it was insane. His eyes were more than livid, something primal in that glowing irises, his nostrils were flared, and his chest rose rapidly as his breathes came quicker. He wasn't content to stand still; he had to move. Like if he wasn't in constant motion his body just wouldn't know what to do with itself.

"They throw me in a tower and lock away the key. And even worse, there isn't a soul for miles - no - there isn't a soul in the world that knows what to do. The only one who would even stand a chance at figuring out what the hell is wrong with me is me."

He began to pace, swiping papers off his desk, smashing tiny vials of mystery liquids with his bare hands, flinging his journals at the walls seemingly ignorant of the blood dripping from tiny cuts over his hands. He growled as he stormed around, destruction following his large footsteps. He was so big. It was so noticeable now that he stopped putting in effort to make himself small. A few steps and he was across the room, he couldn't even afford to be much taller or his head would scrape the ceiling. Was he always this big?

And you, bless you, who knew when to snap out of your shock and try and calm his rampage. Your hands were firm when they needed to be, and your tone strict when it needed to be as you managed to grab his hands and hold onto them, holding them as if your life depended on it and ignoring the hellish sensation of sticky blood smearing so thoroughly into the lines of your palms.

As his eyes darted wildly around the room, you tried to maintain eye contact. You were too close. You were overwhelming his senses. Your hands over his, your face inches from his, and you smelled divine. He was assaulted with you, he developed a migraine that fast, the world grew dizzy until he stumbled on to the floor, landing ungracefully onto the wood floor and taking you with him.

"I need you to listen to me." The harshness of his fall seemed to break him out, if only for a moment, as he looked up at you, dazed and mouth half open. "You're right, we don't know what is going on but damn it if we haven't tried everything we knew to try. We don't know what's going on because we've never seen anything like this, so excuse us for not having a magical cure already prepared. We're in uncharted waters, but you're going to get through it" He looked up at you, blankly, not a thought behind his eyes, just an undiscernible feeling. Like you had hit the eye of the hurricane; you didn't know if it was over or if the worst was still to come. "I'm sorry."

A few things crossed his mind in that moment, so fast he didn't know what to do. The first was panicked helplessness, the daunting realization that he may be stuck like this forever. He felt tormented, betrayed, and lied to. Sequestered, isolated, locked out of life and the heaven that was the extended feeling of your hands on him. His stomach lurched, his mind reeled, not that humanity was kept from him but that you were kept from him.

Were you scared of him? Is that what it was? He could make himself meeker, he could quiet his voice, he could soften his hands if it meant you came around more often, stayed a little bit longer. Among the fear and the rage that came across him, hunger seeped into the pores of his skin in that moment, that fraction of a second you spent on top of him. And he never did quite nail down the smell, even as he drew in a deep breath to still his beating heart, the allure of you only making it even faster.

You can hear it; you must be able to. He wouldn't surprised if you could see it, feel his blood flowing in the iron grip you still held. He breathed you in again, he gripped your hands back.

You really were quite pretty. Of course, he had noticed it before, but then he had the decorum to keep his hands to himself and out of his pants. That wasn't right. It was dirty. And he didn't look like much of a gentleman anymore, he didn't look like much of a man anymore, but damn if he couldn't play the part well. That's what you smelled like, gentleness and effort. Like his wants and his desperation. Like herbal tea in the windowsill, sweetened with too much honey and laced with sleepiness and dreams. He could taste it on his tongue, saccharine and floral, petrichor and dirt, bursting on his tongue in culminating into more than a flavor, into an experience.

You were on the tip of his tongue; you were in his grasp. You were right there.

"Me too."

He knows he shouldn't, but he was a scientist, he was curious. You feel so neatly into him, your lips so plush against his cracked ones. You didn't stand a chance, stiff and caught off guard, startled by the force his lips came onto yours and the vigor with which they attacked, even after you were unresponsive. So, he moved his biting kisses, down the slope of your jaw, the side of your neck, the center of your throat, the tips of your shoulder blade.

And he'd be lying if he said he felt bad, listening to your gasps and pleas in confusion. "Jayce...", exasperated, confused, and so damn cute, "Jayce, stop it. What are you doing?" He was right about one thing, that you could hear his heart thrumming in his chest, practically purring as he nosed over you, contorting his spine to dive as deeply into your skin as it would allow. Every moment you try to make is countered, the both of you pushing and pulling in tandem, waiting for the other to give up.

"Stop it." He huffs at you, like your command was some annoying fly buzzing in his ear. You may as have been, the way you jolt and squirm, fidgeting as he just was a few moments ago while now he was as solid as a wall. And was he...drooling on you? You nearly freeze when you feel his tongue at the junction between your jaw and neck, wetting the spot before sucking harshly and allowing one of his canines to nip the sensitive skin until it felt even wetter. He drew blood. "Jayce, stop it!"

The combination of the metallic scent of your blood and the assertiveness of your voice drew his attention enough. His eyes flash again, that same gold flash you saw from before, except now reduced to a light rim around his blown-out pupils. And his teeth, there is no way they were that sharp before. Nothing about him was the same as when you walked in, like something - some animal- had possessed him. In a flash of shame he drops your hands, backing himself into the corner of the room, heaving with a proverbial tail tucked between his legs.

You scrambled to your feet, gunning for the door, in disbelief of what just happened and what you had just discovered. Lycanthropy. He was a fucking werewolf. You had been trying to treat a damn lycanthrope with cough medicine, pain meds and delusion, of course he was pissed. Even in his corner, indignation boiled in his chest.

"You can't leave me up here. That's not fair." It was a quiet fury whimpered out from a body that just wanted to rest. He was at war with himself, his brain and his body battling it out for control. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't deserve to be alone. It was probably best that he was left alone.

"I can't stay." It's not safe. It's not sane. He slowly stood, staggering drunkenly until he found a chair to lean on.

"Please." And, oh, he sounded so broken. His voice crackled, as unsteady as he was standing, sputtering out of him like a broken record. "Please. I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening to me." He rambled weakly, his eyes glassy in a way that couldn't just be an act. "If you want, I'll take the pills. I'll take whatever you bring up here. I'll be good, just for you. Just - please stay."

The most disappointing part is, sometimes the wolf doesn't mean to open his salivating jaws, but the lamb will still waltz right in away.

You weren't stupid enough to take your hand off the knob, it lingers there, halfway out, almost out. "I don't think that's right. I'd be taking advantage of you. Something is wrong a-and I'll bring someone up here who knows how to deal with this." But you had no plans of going anywhere. You didn't even know if you wanted to run away. Morally, that was probably the right move to make, but maybe his feralness was rubbing off on you and maybe, just maybe, you didn't wanna run for the hills.

But you were scared, you tried to remind yourself. You were terrified. On paper, hell to a person of sound mind, you were in the lion's den, and it was only a matter of when and not if you were going to be lodged within the jaws of the beast, the only remnants left being the blood he licked off his foul lips. Your heart thrummed in what could only be intense anxiety or excitement. Dread or anticipation. You didn't know what you wanted it to be.

He sighed as his eyes closed, and he shook his head. Breath came slowly to him, rattling in his chest with the little restraint he had within him. His voice was many things when he finally spoke. Pathetic. Scared. Deceptive, even as a real tear slipped down his face. It was almost an out of body experience, sitting and watching and feeling what his worser parts were about to do and even worse than being unable to stop it, he couldn't confidently say he wanted to.

"I can't let you leave."

In an instant, he was across the room. Sooner than you could brace for impact, sooner than you could scream, your back hits the door with a force that almost knocks the breath out of your lungs. His gaze is sweltering as he looks down on you, calculating. He never thought he would make it this far. He doesn't know what he wants to touch first. His breath fans across your face, he chokes something out that could be a dry laugh or his own breath catching in his throat

"It's not your fault." And he tries his best to make it feel that way, even as his hands voyage across your body. He can't decide what he wants to be. Does he want to be romantic and cradle your head in his hands and at least have the decency to look you in the eyes as he shoves his other hand up your skirts? Does he want to be the big bad wolf and keep your wrists bound in his hands and swallow your whimpers and moans alike with his tongue? "I'll try and be good. Just for you."

His kisses are salty as they mix with your tears, yet the moment almost feels intimate. He doesn't force his tongue down your throat and his lips are soft. Even as he catches your weak jabs at him, the grip he has isn't bruising. It's firm, it's a warning. Don't try my patience. I don't wanna be mean. He groans into the crook of your neck, his canines wet against your skin, not from your blood, but from his own saliva. He was fucking salivating, rutting against your leg, panting like a damn dog and god you can feel the imprint through his pants.

"Jayce, calm down." you try and reason, but your voice is too light and he's too unfocused to pay you any sort of attention. Even now he's fidgety, you can feel it in the twitchy finger tips wrapped around your wrist. He needs something to focus or he's gonna cream his pants like some virgin, which he was, but you didn't need to know that. So, while he's trying to ground himself in stupid equations and chemical formulations, his hands travel to find the most interesting thing, which happen to be the silky fabric of your skirt. It's comfortable in his hands as he grabs and pulls it higher and higher until the bare skin of your thighs are exposed and the scent of you becomes that much clearer.

Like his third eye opened and he fucking saw god, the tips of his fingers meet your clothed pussy and a pleased expression takes over when he feels a damp spot and the throbbing of your poor clit. "Can't believe you were hiding this from me." He sighs, exasperated, while you struggle to avoid his gaze. "Been suffering all this time, alone, and my cure was just right here." His dexterous fingers slip into the pretty fabric, collecting what was already practically leaking out of you, without a clue in the world as to what to do.

Your cunt feels good. Warm and wet and smooth as silk, and as much as you bite your lips to quiet yourself, it doesn't stop your pretty sounds of pleasure from slipping out, small and just for him. You must've been made for him with how at home he feels knuckles deep in your cut, moving is fingers inside you without a lick of precision but all the determination to make you feel good. Like you were some puzzle cube he kept on his desk and all he needed to do was to figure out what way to twist his wrist and flick his fingers to make you come apart.

Your hand at his wrist was no deterrent, especially with the way you ground yourself in his hand, unable to even stop yourself. And by now his hand was wet with evidence that your pussy was at the very least having a great time, even if you didn't want to admit it. It was almost embarrassing how entranced he was, thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit in a way that made your head spin, fingers thrusting in and out in at pace that made you squeeze your eyes shut as you tremble out a faint "-too much."

He plays with you, and that is the most accurate word, play. Like he was finally back in his element, back in his lab building some great invention, waiting for that eureka moment to hit when he finally figures it out. "Am I doing good?" he mutters out of breath, tongue bit between his teeth, eyes attempting to urge yours to look at him while you tell him that 'yes, he's doing so good, it feels amazing', and you're ashamed how much you don't want him to stop. But the words die in your throat as your pleasure addled brain forces your hips to move faster and your moans to get louder, which isn't exactly what he wanted, but it'll do.

It's not much longer until you're cumming all over him with a squeal, vision blurred, chest heaving at the force in which it came out of you. He's still moving in and out of your soaked cunt, possibly not even realizing how slippery it got, unbothered with the way you squirmed at his ministrations. He doesn't stop until he notices how much your fingernails had dug into his wrist, leaving angry crescent moons in their wake until you let go in your exhaustion.

You realize your legs must've caved a while ago as clarity hits, you feel like all your nerve endings have been shattered into millions of tiny pieces and your limbs have been reduced to jelly, and yet you're still eye to eye with Jayce, who looks shocked. Proud even. A boyish smile crosses his face, a blissful expression in the sea of black that had become his eyes, irises completely swallowed by his dark pupils. He was giddy, like a kid in a candy shop, which is when the idea hits him. Had the ceilings not been so low, he would've had you over his shoulders and his face in your cunt, but he supposes the short trip to the table was worth the trip to save your head. Before you barely register than your moving, your back hits the table and you hear him growl as he licks a languid stripe down your pussy.

Testing the waters, he's cautious, wading in and slurping out what he just pulled out of you, nose bumping into your sensitive clit and his hands confused as to whether he should reach up and play with your tits and start doing what he was doing before. You seemed to like that. You sounded so pretty when he did it, but then again, you sounded pretty now, breathy and light, humming in satisfaction, your breath hitching in slight pain at the way your thighs burn with how his beard rubs against your smooth thighs.

"So good.", he mumbles, the vibrations making your back arch. "You're so good to me. Jus' perfect for me." The slurps are cartoonish and loud as your thighs wrap around his head, his large hands pressing down and holding you so that you couldn't even writhe away.

His other hand was deep within his pants, if his dick wasn't freed soon, he felt like it was going to explode from the pressure. His rhythm was sloppy, open mouthed and messy in your pussy, spit and cum dripping from his mouth and down his chin, debauched expression on his face as he squeezed his cock in a desperate attempt to get the pressure to go away.

He knew when it was getting to be too much. Among your many pleas, "slow down, 's too much" and your teasing "'m not going anywhere", your hands in his hair, tugging him away while your thighs threatened to cut off his oxygen supply, he wasn't the kindness.

"Quit runnin'", he'd mutter out when he grew particularly frustrated, nipping your clit with his teeth or pinching it with his mean hands. But he wasn't just frustrated with you, he was frustrated with himself. It wasn't enough. His hand wasn't enough, sucking on your pretty clit got him closer to that release than his jerky motions down his length and he was starting to take it out on you.

When he pulls away, it's not because he wants to, it's because he needs to and the puppy dog eyes he pulls should be criminal, looking up at you, hard cock angry and red, absolutely leaking and menacing and he just looks like he could cry. "Can I put it in?"

You were at a lost for words. That thing wasn't going in you. It wasn't going to fit in you. And he sees your hesitation and meets it his own terrible form of coercion, rubbing the leaky tip against your cunt, as if trying to prove to you that it'll fit. And if he doesn't, he sure as hell will make it fit. "Please - I need it.", and his convincing is doing something to you, your hips moving to meet him, mixing your cum together in a way that was almost romantic.

"Just the tip." You muster all the authoritativeness possible into his voice, but he takes it as permissiveness, proverbial tail wagging like he was about to receive a treat. He repeats it back to you, "mhm, just the tip. I can do that. just the tip." He has no experience with lining himself up and he's clumsy with in, heavy cook drooling over you in a way that makes you wonder if he was doing this on purpose. It doesn't help how slippery it is, yet no amount of slick could make him slip out.

When he finally gets it in, he loses it. Had he been of sound mind, his face would've gone bright red with the fact that he lasted mere seconds in your pussy, didn't even get a full inch in, and busted immediately, but right now shame was so far out the window it was barely a concept in the far sober part of his mind.

And you? You were positively a wreck, the initial stretch of getting his tip in making you shudder and trying to find something to grab for support. "'m sorry", he moans out, "Didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I-hm- couldn't help it, 'm sorry." He's face to face with you now, his hands on either side of your face, his breath fanning over your face, eyes squeezed shut, trying, and failing, to stall his hips and just sit there. You take mercy on him, pulling him in by his hair to kiss him until the apologies die on his tongue, replaced by your spit and your tongue.

He tries to be steady, honestly, but you're just to perfect. What was once slow and stable wasn't even smoothly transitioned into deeper thrusts. "It's not that big," he reasons, "you can take it. You're so perfect, just made for me. You can take it." It's laughable. Not that big, he's not even half way in and you can feel him in your throat. But you let it slide because you don't really have a choice, you can't get many intelligible words out in between screams of pleasure and hysterically load moans.

"Liar," you whimper, all venom lost in translation and his sweet kisses trying to make up for it.

"I know, I jus' need it. Need it so bad. 'm sorry." His thrusts are deep and uneven, erratic and dangerous, cock kissing your cervix and all the spongy spots that you couldn't reach on your most wild nights alone. "I'm doing good, right? Makin' you feel good." You laugh lightly; it sounds like the gates of heaven. "You're perfect."

The praise has him keening, dopey and smiley, more than lost in your pussy, but lost in you. You look so divine like this, evening sun coming in through the window, lips soft and plump and kiss bitten, sweat and sex making you glow. He could just keep you forever.

He refuses to cum again until you do, which you admittedly aren't far from. Your voice now hoarse from screaming, it's not long until your vision blanks out and you're creaming all over him, gushing out around his cock, forming a pretty sheen all around him. "Give it to me," he heaves, "want it all. Need all of you." and you certainly have given all you have in you. He finishes in you, deep in you, shortly after you go limp, eyes fluttering shut as your cunt flutters around him, beckoning him to stay inside where it's so wet and inviting. It feels like home; exactly where he belongs.