Ryver

Sal has me against his bedroom door, the wood shuddering beneath my weight as he groans against my lips. His hands mold into every curve of my body, committing my essence to his memory.

His fingers wrap around my jaw, each action of his languid and liquid-like-- about as graceful as a ballet. He pulls me impossibly closer to him, opening his mouth so that his teeth scrape against my lips. Every single movement is desperate, hardly considered in the depths of his troubled mind. 

I'm here. I'm a willing body. That's all that matters.

I grab onto either side of his face, tilt my head, and kiss him fiercely. He devours me whole, his tongue pushing past my lips and delving into my mouth. 

I'm bewitched by the feeling of his lips, his body, his hands. The taste of him, peaches and complete devotion dancing along his tongue. I imagine I must taste the same, giving into him like this.

With nowhere left to go, Sal only shoves himself impossibly closer to me. It's like he can't stand being physically apart from me-- not that I mind. His tongue tangling with mine and mouth kissing with everything he's got, teeth nipping at me with the accuracy of a serpent. 

He's more than tempting. I want nothing other than to worship the ground he walks on at this exact moment.

Sal gasps, catching his breath all while keeping up his ruthless attack. An arm wraps around my waist, tugging me against him and holding me tight. "Let me have you," he whispers breathlessly.

"Please," I whine, my voice near silent beneath our heavy breaths and pounding hearts.

He leans forward, nose pressing into mine. My mask gets squished to my face, but I couldn't care less in a moment like this. The dull pain of the edges biting into my cheeks is nothing compared to the intense pleasure I know this man can give me.

Sal's hands wrap around the back of my thighs and he effectively lifts me off my feet with little effort. I grab at his biceps to keep my balance, appreciating the feeling of his skin beneath my palms. 

He moves an arm underneath my legs, keeping me close to him with the other hand pressed into the middle of my back. He licks at my teeth, my tongue, my lips-- completely possessed by something I've never encountered before in my life. An animal, ravenous and hungry and eager to take, take, take.

I'm just as desperate to give every bit of myself to him. 

I can hardly see him with the way he's pressed against me, kissing me with such fervor that I wonder if we'll ever part. But sometimes, a flash of azure blue crosses my vision-- his eyes, dashing across my features and deciding on his next move before he takes initiative. He's a man of few words, but he's smart, dedicated, maddening. 

No more words pass between us as he places me onto his bed, his lips trailing down my neck and over the top of my chest. His fingers dip into the collar of my shirt, tugging it downward to make more room for his messy kisses. 

I watch him, panting as his free hand runs across my waist and over my thighs, feeling whatever bit of me he can get. His form is bewitching, just as he's bewitched by my presence, at his mercy. His ruffled hair, eyes closed as he focuses on admiring me, his dark lashes splayed across the tops of his cheeks. The freckles dotting his skin and scars sketching a map that I only wish to travel with my lips, my fingers. His brows that scrunch here and there while he sucks on my skin, taking his time with me.

Those sinful, tattooed hands of his effortlessly grab onto the edge of my shorts and shimmy them down my legs. The man doesn't even bat an eye or switch focus, he only continues to lick at the skin of my neck. 

I kick off my shorts once he pulls them down as far as he can. His hair tickles my throat as he licks a stripe up the length of my neck, his lips closing over the skin just under my ear. His cool hands move up my shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I don't know anything but him-- nothing exists aside from his hands skimming over my ribs and his lips kissing every bare bit of me he can possibly get.

Sal separates himself from me for the sole purpose of nearly ripping my shirt off me; I'm afraid he'll take my mask with it, but he's always one step ahead. Sal puts a hand on the bottom of my mask, his palm pressed against my mouth as he pulls my shirt over my head, my bra soon following.

My heart swells with compassion at the gesture. He didn't have to do that for me, but he did.

When the shirt is thrown somewhere across the room, Sal looks down at me with his pretty blue eyes. One pupil blown out, the other normal. His mismatched gaze sets my heart aflame; his obvious infatuation with me making me feel so many things at once. His kissed, parted lips and pink cheeks make me want to break down in tears-- I can't tell what kind of tears they would be though.

But he's beautiful; dragging his gaze down my body, over each little mark he's made on my skin and every part of me he's so efficiently exposed. 

Things are moving so much faster now than they ever have. Sal and I usually bide our time, test the limits of the short moments we're granted and pretend we're surprised when everything goes wrong. But it's only me and him right now. For the night. Alone. And we've crossed a bridge that we didn't even know had been built. We've shared not only an intimate moment, but experiences that are going to change the trajectory of how our future will play out. 

We can't go back to the way things were. I know one of his secrets. His lips have mapped out mine. I've gotten a taste of something I'll never be able to forget. I'll only ever want more.

Sal lets out a thoughtful sigh, his cerulean eyes suddenly meeting mine. Something about his half-lidded gaze and lax features scream obsession that neither of us can ignore anymore. Because while he's looking at me like this, I'm very aware that my expression is much the same.

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, no doubt realizing he's in for hell after this. But he leans in and latches his lips onto mine, sucking in a quick breath when our mouths meet again. Each time he kisses me, I'm just as blown away as the first time.

His fingers brush over my stomach, my panties. He moves them aside, pushing his digits onto my clit and rubbing slow circles that drive me insane. There's no time for taking things slow when he and I are both bursting at the seams with anticipation.

His soft, warm skin against mine is madness, especially when an impatient groan passes from his lips and onto mine. Sal's need is just as easily mine in the moment when his teeth capture my lower lip, his fingers leaving my clit to pull my panties down and get them out of the way.

But he's rushed and it shows when the ominous sound of fabric ripping silences our movements. Sal's eyes meet mine, a night sky housing a thousand shining stars. I'm almost distracted by his gaze, then he looks down, stiffening at the sight. 

I lick my lips, already guessing that he's ripped yet another pair of my prized lace underwear.

Sal's hair brushes over the sensitive skin of my ribs as he looks back up at me, the slight action making a chill dance along my spine. He tilts his head a bit apprehensively, unable to make eye contact with me for a moment. "You know I'll replace them," he rasps quietly, a panted breath following the promise.

Affection that shouldn't exist makes my heart swell for a minuscule second. Panic enters the forefront of my brain and pushes that feeling aside though, making way for blinding lust to hopefully replace what shall not be named. 

Despite how fucked I know I am-- and am about to be-- I relish in the way he meets my gaze, bashful and awaiting further instruction.

Yea, I know he'll replace them.

I swallow thickly, my eyes dancing along the lines and curves of his handsome face-- tracing every one of his pretty scars. Then I grab his perfect face, my fingers brushing along the rough skin of his jaw as I drag him down to me, smashing my lips onto his.

Sal resumes his previous endeavors the moment our mouths meet, his fingers brushing over my clit and dipping past my folds. His digits soak up my arousal, feeling just how much he affects me. And his mouth parts against mine, his tongue delving past my lips and sliding against mine, capturing the two of us in something lethal. We're in way over our heads.

My heart pounds against his chest as he pushes two fingers into me, curling them in such a delicious way that I moan into his mouth, moving a hand into his hair and gripping the strands to bring him impossibly closer to mine. 

The way he thrusts his fingers into me, rough and slow to push me past my limits. He knows exactly what it takes to make me cum. It's obvious with each calculated movement of his hands, his hips as he pushes me farther into the bed, purposefully pushing one of his knees against my thigh to keep my legs apart. 

The hand that isn't pleasuring me runs down my side, pausing at my waist. His fingers dig into my flesh, hold me close to him by pulling me against his front. His lips leave mine, leaving sloppy kisses along my jaw. "I bet you taste just as good as you feel," he murmurs huskily, breathless while thrusting his fingers into me again.

I hum, squeezing my eyes shut when his thumb brushes over my clit, all while his digits pound into me relentlessly. This lascivious man knows all the right words to say, all the right moves to make. I hate him for it.

"So why aren't you fucking me with your tongue then?" I risk my sanity to ask the question, burying my fingers in his hair as he bites his way down my neck regardless of what I want him to do. He feels good exactly where he is.

Sal lets out an amused huff, his breath fanning along the hollow of my throat. "Great question," he responds gruffly, pulling his fingers out of me. I groan at the loss of him, feeling empty up until he lifts himself off me and drops to his knees at the edge of the bed.

He wraps his strong hands around my bare thighs and yanks me against his mouth, his lips latching onto my clit and his tongue expertly teasing the bundle of nerves. Sal is filthy-- he's dirty and disgusting in the lewdest way and I greatly resent him for it because, of course, he only lightly licks me, flicks his tongue just the right way. He's going to drag this on for as long as he possibly can because he's Sal. He's Sal.

A little frustrated, erotic moan forces its way past my lips as I grip onto his hair again. I can't go on like this-- as good as it feels, it's not enough. I need more of him. "Sal, for fuck's sake," I beg, throwing my head back into his mattress.

He groans hungrily against my cunt, the sound traveling through my body. Oh, he's devilish and wears that badge well. 

Obliging me, Sal swipes his tongue between my folds and licks up every bit of me before he wraps his lips around my clit once more, sucking it into his mouth. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, throwing a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. I don't know how thin these walls are-- the last thing I want is for all our neighbors to find out we're fucking and inform the rest of The Faces.

As soon as my palm presses my lips shut, Sal's lithe fingers wrap around my wrist and wrench the limb away from my face. My eyes pop open to glance down at him, my body going taut as I behold the slight glare curving his brows and his tongue swiping up the length of my pussy. I can't even begin to describe how tightly he has me wrapped around his finger.

"Let them know," he purrs seductively, those bright eyes, framed by his dark lashes, just daring me to disregard him. His free hand squeezes my thigh, his painted nails digging into my flesh. "Let everyone know."

He releases my wrist, giving me the choice. With panting breaths, I keep my eyes on him and my arm beside my head. Sal seems to like that, peeling his gaze from mine to focus on his tongue work. That hand of his drops to my throat, his thumb swiping over my pulse and index finger mapping the line of my jaw. His grip, so gentle but predatory. Intimate but sadistic.

His mouth exploring all of what lies between my legs drives me crazy-- the feeling of his tongue inside me and his teeth gently nipping at my clit, the inside of my thighs. 

My legs tremble, and my heart pounds at a manic rhythm-- one that I know he can feel with his hand around my neck. He uses his other hand to hold on tighter to my thigh, keeping my legs spread for him to do his salacious work.

My sudden whimper and low moan to follow sounds throughout the otherwise quiet room-- Sal pauses his movements, noting my non-verbal cue and pulling his face away from my cunt. He's such a lovely sight and I hate him for always pulling away as soon as he realizes I'm close. I could kick him.

He must see the frustration on my face as he crawls over me, leaning on his haunches with my body spread below him. A tantalizing little grin tilts his lips, drawing my gaze to his mouth glistening with my arousal. I hold my breath as his tongue swipes over his bottom lip, his eyes darkening at the action. 

Sal uses that damned hand he has around my throat to pull me up to meet him, his mouth messily slanting against mine, allowing me to taste myself on his tongue. I moan into his mouth as his tongue slides against mine, over the back of my teeth, along the lining of my cheeks. He explores me all over again as if he could eat me up.

I take a shallow, shaky breath when he breaks our kiss, his lips just a hairsbreadth from mine. The inside of my thighs grows cold from his saliva and his lack of presence. 

"I want to feel you cum around my cock," he whispers huskily against my lips, nose brushing along my mask.

Swallowing thickly, I lift the hand he had pulled away from me earlier. I run the tips of my fingers over his jagged jaw, feeling the softness of his scarred skin, indulging in the way he devours me with those pretty eyes of his.

"You--" The word is hardly audible, hoarse. I try again. "There's way too much fabric on you for that to happen," I remind him, holding his captivating gaze.

He clicks his tongue, head tilting to the side just a bit as he considers our newfound problem. He doesn't want to let me go even to take his clothes off-- I see the dilemma in his eyes. 

With a little impatient sigh, his head drops down and one of his hands moves to his pants; undoing the button so he can kick them off the side of the bed behind him. 

I try to keep myself tethered to reality the moment I get a glimpse of the moon and stars tattoo peeking out from the waistband of his boxers. He's so hot, and then sometimes I have moments where I see the secrets bits of him-- the parts that make him so... adorable. Precious. No one would expect a man with such a hard exterior as himself to be hiding the moon and stars beneath his clothes. 

His boxers come off next, flung off somewhere to follow his pants. I swing my gaze upward, my thoughts heavy on respecting him even as my heart skips a couple beats when his bare thighs brush along mine. He climbs off me, tatted hands wrapped around my legs to pull me with his body.

We've come so far now-- I'm so afraid of losing it all. I'm almost more nervous than I am excited.

And Sal is an observant piece of shit so all my focus switches to him the moment he throws my legs over his shoulders and drags his hands up my thighs, over my ass, and along my sides. His thumbs rub comforting circles into my skin as he leans over between my legs, watching me until I look up at him.

"I saw you look away," he murmurs, cerulean eyes glancing between my own. "I think it's sweet that you considered my feelings," he clarifies. My chest throbs over his words-- how am I going to come back from this night?

He's so... serious. Not a single sign of discomfort or... distrust on his handsome, marred face. "You don't have to look away like I asked you to before." My breath catches in my throat. "It doesn't take a genius to know what I'm hiding. You already know," his voice grows soft as he leans upward, standing to his full height. He doesn't look back to me while he maneuvers his shirt around my legs, yanking it over his head to mix in with our clothes scattered around the rest of the room. "And I know you wouldn't shame me for it even if you didn't know." His gaze meets mine again, holding me captive. 

He stands before me, watching me for any sign to continue or to pause. His hands loosely wrapped around my calves, holding me close to him. I feel his hard, throbbing cock pressed against my ass. I wait for a moment, grounding myself in the present. He trusts me. I won't ruin everything by accident. He's given me permission, he's still ready to proceed.

I squirm in his hold, making him grit his teeth, his jaw feathering.

"Can I fuck you now that the sappy shit's done?" Sal asks, voice gruff and bothered. 

"Don't make me beg," I say in one breath, relishing in the sight of his hooded eyes raking over my body, his hair tickling my legs, and his fingers squeezing me even tighter. My legs hide most of his body, just his torso on display up until his skin meets mine.

Sal snorts, a smirk enveloping his lips. "But it sounds so pretty when you do it."

But he doesn't make me beg-- as he says those words, he pulls back just a bit to guide his dick between my folds. He sinks into me slowly, ravaging me with such a minuscule movement. And I have nothing to hold onto as he stretches out my cunt-- he's too far from me and gripping the sheets won't do enough to satisfy me. I cry out instead, huffing a breath that morphs into a groan as he bottoms out inside me.

He waits, lets me adjust to him. And I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Because he's perfect and having him buried inside me compares to nothing else on this earth. I hate him so fucking much because he was so right-- I'll never be able to fuck anyone else without thinking of him. I don't even think I want to fuck anyone else.

I let the thought-- the reality-- of us sink in as he waits on me, his cock throbbing in me. 

It doesn't even occur to me until now that there's no condom involved, but I know he's going to be careful. He won't do anything unless I consent.

"Ready?" Sal whispers, his hands tightening around my legs. 

I nod, my lips parting as I watch him-- drown and die and come back to life as his sharp canines bite into his lower lip, accentuating the scars on his mouth and his slightly crooked teeth.

He pulls out, moving at the same excruciatingly slow pace he entered me with. When the tip of his dick is the only part of him still inside me, he snaps his hips, thrusting into me quick and hard. My body jolts, my fingers digging into the sheets below me. A shocked, pleasured groan spills past my lips, echoing around his room. 

Sal mimics the noise I released, a lovely little whimper passing from him soon after as he sets this new pace. He gathers my legs into his arms to yank me closer to him, shoving his cock into me. His head tilts forward, the strands of his cerulean hair shielding his face from me as his lips skim along my calves. 

He pushes in, out, in, out, quicker than I can fully comprehend and so deliciously that my entire body is tense with my oncoming release. He spent plenty of time building me up to this point with his fingers and tongue, I hate how close I am to doing exactly what he wants. I want to live in this moment so much longer. 

"Sal," I force his name past my lips, trying to warn him-- to make this last. Sweat drips down my temple, my body damp and fighting to hold on just a little longer.

His head snaps up, his thrusts pausing for a fraction of a moment as he investigates the reason for catching his attention. His lips are parted, sucking in desperate breaths as his dilated eye drinks up my body. "My ego's already inflated enough," he huffs, pressing his lips together once he decides to switch positions. He spreads my legs, still buried to the hilt inside of me, but now he's close enough for me to throw a hand up and bury it in his hair. 

He groans, shutting his eyes in ecstasy as I use my grip to tilt his head back, fascinated by his reaction. "You have to hold out a little longer," Sal rasps, his hands moving to my waist. His fingernails bite into my skin, pinning me to his body.

I can already tell he's going to make this exceptionally hard for me. The few seconds of pause have given me enough momentum to keep going. For now. That could change the moment he moves again.

He opens his eyes, silently requesting for me to let him continue his work. I loosen my grip on his hair and he leans forward immediately, pulling his cock from me only to push it back in again. He licks a stripe up my stomach, over my boobs before wrapping his lips around my nipple. 

My fingers tighten in his hair again, my entire body quivering beneath him as I'm immediately transported back to square one-- in the same situation that convinced me to warn him in the first place. 

His force isn't as brutal as it was moments ago, dragging this out for both of us-- especially for him. I could thank him but not when it has the opposite effect on me. Unlike his rough, quick thrusts, I can feel every inch of me slide into me, brush along my walls. It's sickening in the best way and I can hardly stand it. 

His teeth nip at the underside of my breasts, his arm wrapping around my back to press me to him. My back lifts off his bed and I push myself forward until he has me in his arms. He holds me against his chest, his free arm under my thighs as he pounds into me. 

Desperate, I brush his hair over his shoulder and latch onto the hilt of the dagger on his neck-- sucking, licking, and biting his skin that has made me ravenous for months.

Sal moans, his hand moving up my back to bury his fingers into the hair at the nap of my neck. His thrusts are sloppy-- whether from holding me up or from growing close to his own release, I can't tell. 

His teeth sink into the skin at the base of my neck, a swipe of his tongue soothing the delightful ache. He sucks on the flesh of my throat, leaving what'll be obvious marks in his wake as he pushes into me again and again. 

"Fuck," he breathes against my neck, his voice shaking. "Please cum."

What was that about an inflated ego? He's just as close to shattering as I am.

His gentle plea makes me shudder and squeeze my legs around him. Sal whimpers against my skin, fingers digging into the underside of my thighs. 

He moves away from my neck, using his grip on my hair to slam his lips onto mine. Our kisses have grown sloppier and more desperate throughout the night and I can't get enough of him, of his taste. He tastes so much like the peaches we shared earlier, and a hint of a cigarette he must have smoked before I got here. Before all of this got initiated. 

His lips on me and his tongue wrapping around mine makes me burst around his cock. I moan into his mouth, gripping onto his hair and my nails digging into his shoulder. I lose all grip on reality, relying only on his tightening hold on me as he lays us down again, a heavy breath passing from him and to me as he revels in the feeling of my cum on him. 

Sal breaks our kiss, pushing out a breath as he quickly pulls his dick out of me. "Won't cum in you," he grits out breathlessly. He squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw dropping to suck in a big, shuddering breath as he cums all over my stomach. 

I flinch at the warmth, still coming down from my own orgasm and feeling like I'm about to experience it all over again with him dripping down my waist. Everything happened so quickly, I feel like I can't breathe.

Sal can't either. He doesn't look up at me, just takes big, heaping breaths as he braces his hands on either side of me. 

We both take a couple moments to catch our breath. I stare up at his ceiling, try to get over the fact that he made the both of us cum so quickly. 

I glance down at him. He has one knee propped on the mattress between my legs. I faintly see the line of scars on the inside of his thigh and immediately avert my gaze. 

A shaky sigh falls from his lips, his face still hidden from me. "I can't stand you," he mutters breathlessly.

I watch him, trail my gaze over the length of his oddly colored hair. "Then why don't you have a seat?" I can't help the smartass response, an amused smirk quirking my lips.

Sal lifts his head, his sky blue eyes clashing with mine. 

He is not laughing.

At first, I'm petrified into stiffness, but then I see the way his eyes pull me apart. Traveling over my masked face, hovering at the curve of my jaw and the slope of my lips. 

My breath catches when he chews on the inside of his cheek just before he leans forward, capturing my lips with his own in a soft kiss. That breath is lost on me at the soft feel of his mouth moving slowly against mine.

But as soon as the kiss starts, he backs away. Sal looks down at my stomach, licks my saliva off his lips. Then he shakes his head and sighs as he takes a step away from the bed. "I really can't stand you," he says-- tone gentle, soft. Different.

He runs a tattooed hand through hair, his entire body bare to me as he gathers his wits. I watch him, get a good look at the tattoo on his hip that had been teasing me for months now, just hidden by his pants each time it peeked at me. 

I already knew it was a moon and stars pattern, but a quote lies just under it in all caps. 'Post tenebras spero lucem.'

I briefly glance at the scars on his thighs. They're littered all over the top and insides of his thighs, some on his hips. And my heart claws its way up my throat at the sight-- he's so beautiful, I just wish he hadn't hurt so much to do that to himself-- however long ago it happened. 

I swallow my emotions. He trusts me enough to see. He knows full well I'm watching him right now, and he's allowing me to.

Licking my lips, I'm momentarily reminded of the taste of him. It gives me a little kick of courage to ask, "What does the quote mean?" My voice is so soft, he must think I'm terrified right now.

He lifts his head to catch my gaze, eyebrows lifted just a bit as if to acknowledge my question. Then he looks down at his hip, at the tattoo.

Quietly, Sal clears his throat. "It's Latin-- translates to 'After darkness, I hope for light.'" He looks up at me again, remaining where he stands. No shame, no fear. The reminder that he trusts me so much hits me like a fucking brick. "After my mom died," he starts again and I watch his chest move with a deep breath. The action snatches my attention and I follow the vine of flowers over his arms. "My dad used to tell me this quote. Well, I think he told me and himself."

I blink, not expecting him to say something so meaningful. Part of me lights up with glee over the fact that he feels safe enough to share this though. "It's..." I think over my words. "It's a beautiful quote. I'm not surprised it stuck with you."

He shrugs noncommittally, but I know he's feeling something. I can't quite tell what emotions have him; he hides it well. But if he felt he could share, then there's something whirling around that pretty head of his.

Sal doesn't say anymore, but he turns around, heading off to a connected room-- bathroom. I purse my lips and stare straight at his ass. I half expect to find some kind of horrendous tat there, but I don't. I hold in a little giggle at the thought.

I hear cabinets open, close, then the sink run for a couple moments before shutting off. 

He walks back out of the bathroom--still completely naked, mind you-- and walks over to me with a wet wash rag. 

How considerate.

I don't dare sit up, lest any of his cum drips onto his bed. Sal leans over me, passing the rag over my stomach. My heart flutters a bit, not only over the fact that he's cleaning up his mess, but... the rag is warm. He used warm water. I wouldn't have even thought to do that.

"Sorry," he murmurs, tapping my hip for me to lift it. He cleans my sides, wiping parts of my back just in case.

I shake my head, hum. "It's okay," I softly tell him. "You made the right call."

Sal narrows his eyes, tongue in his cheek. "Not just about this," he mumbles. "I was... I was really awful to you leading up to this. I'm sorry."

My heart doesn't flutter this time-- I feel like I just got punched in the fucking stomach.

Feeling clean enough, I sit up, nearly head-butting him on my way up. Sal suddenly has no choice but to look into my eyes, his a bit wide at our proximity. He pulls the rag away from my stomach, holding it between us. 

"No," I whisper, glancing between his eyes. "I knew you weren't saying that because of me. You were trying so hard not to hurt me, I could tell. I wouldn't have fought you if I thought you were trying to harm me." I tilt my head to accentuate my point, growing a little shy. We're close and my words feel so intimate. "Don't apologize for that-- I know you didn't mean it."

He pinches his lips together, brows furrowing as he regards me closely, eyes glancing between mine. 

I don't say anymore, having made my thoughts clear. Sal backs away, squeezing the rag in his hand. "Thank you," he says quietly, never meeting my eyes again. "If you want, you can go take a shower." He purses his lips. "You kinda need it."

What the fuck? My own brows furrow as I lean onto my elbows to watch him. "Are you saying I stink?" I challenge him, happy to let our familiar banter build up again.

Sal rolls his eyes, smacks his lips-- desperately tries to hide his little grin. "I'm saying that I came all over your fucking stomach. If you let it sit there, whether I cleaned it off or not, then yes-- you're going to stink, jackass."

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth, fighting off a smile of my own. "How charming," I say sarcastically, taking his offer of a shower either way. 

I pass him, walking to his bathroom. He doesn't make a single move toward me, neither do I. That's done for the night. 

His bathroom is damn beautiful-- dark grey walls and glossy black, tile floors. It's so... him. 

"Towels are in the cabinet beside the sink," Sal calls from his room just before I finish shutting the bathroom door. My eyes lock onto the cabinet immediately.

His shower is so lavish I nearly cum again. Like, it's that beautiful. It's that fancy. Not in a weird way-- I swear. His soaps smell so good and just like him. This feels really intimate too, but I'm not scared of this. I feel like a giddy school girl grinning over the fact I'm getting to use my crush's soap so I can smell just like him.

Oh, wait. It's a little more terrifying when I put it like that. 

I finish pretty quickly, a little excited to see Sal again-- damn him and this soul tie he's bound us with. But as I'm drying off with a really fluffy, crimson red towel that matches his guitar, I find myself faced with a couple issues.

I have no clothes. I'm going to walk into Sal's room in just a towel. That feels awkward. 

Secondly, what happens after this? Do I go home? Do we hang out longer-- no. I go home after this. That's the right thing to do for whatever the hell is going on with us. We fucked, now it's time to separate for the night. Either way, Ash and Larry are coming home in the morning. 

Okay, well, I can't just stand in the towel and hope Sal forgets I'm here. Because he won't. I'll handle each problem as they come.

I open the bathroom door, steam wafting into the bedroom as I step out with my towel wrapped around me.

Sal's on his haunches on one side of the room, fiddling with a guitar. He's just in a pair of sweatpants, his bare back on display for me. 

He turns his head over his shoulder to glance at me. He doesn't look for long. "Your clothes are on the bed," he says thoughtfully, clearly ultra-focused on whatever he's doing. "They were on the floor though so some of my clothes are next to yours. You can use them if you want."

What a deadly, unfair choice. What game is he playing?

This is a moral dilemma and I'm starting to sweat as my gaze flits between both piles of clothes. Oh, this man is evil.

"You're fucking weird."

I flinch and take a step forward when Sal's voice sounds right beside my ear. I turn to look at him, noting that he's standing just a foot away with a raised eyebrow. "Just pick a pair. I wouldn't have offered my clothes if I was uncomfortable with it. They're probably the better option considering I came on you, meaning it could've gotten on your clothes too. Your shirt was right beside my feet."

He's babbling a lot.

I narrow my eyes at him. "If you want me to wear your clothes, you could just say that." I present him with a challenge of my own. Two can play.

Sal doesn't bite though-- at least, I think. He levels me with a stare void of any identifiable emotion. And to my absolute horror, he says, "Okay. Then wear my clothes."

My eyes widen and I gape at him. What is this? Since when does he want that? Since when does he say these kinds of things with no hesitance?

Sal cracks an amused smile, snorting. "You better pray a manipulative man never sets his heart on you. You'd be fucked," he tells me, spinning on his heels and heading to the bathroom. "Just wear whatever you want, y/n. I'll be out soon."

Manipulative? What an ass. "So what does that say about you, then, huh?" I yell to him, crossing my arms over my chest. My version of a tantrum. He is so frustrating.

And yet I still grab his clothes.

As I change into his black shirt and a matching pair of black sweats, I'm met with silence that makes me fully aware of my surroundings. I'm in Sal's space.

His room is comfortable, perfectly encapsulates his persona. The dark, minimalist walls with little touches of each aspect of himself; the old band posters, photos of him and The Faces, a corner dedicated to sticky notes of ideas and song lyrics that may never actually make it into any of his work, broken and collectible guitar picks, his degrees. A plethora of guitars lined up on a wall speaks to one of his many hobbies. His huge PC and recording setup take over another section of ample space. Even his bedding speaks of him-- all black silk.

Every inch of his personal space is the making of an artist.

A troubled sigh pushes past my lips, followed by the shower suddenly turning on. I spare a glance to the closed bathroom door, then turn my attention back to the really comfy, warm looking bed of his. 

I have a lot to think about. A lot of things I coincidentally do not want to think about. Ever. At all-- or at least not right now. Given how exhausting and exciting this night has been, maybe a quick sit down would do me well. And if Sal has a problem with it, he can just kick me out like he tried to do earlier. Either way, his parting statement to me made it clear that he's expecting me to be here when he gets out of the shower.

With a petty little pep in my step, I lean onto my tiptoes and bound over to his bed, yanking back the duvet and hopping into his soft, comfy sheets that smell just like him. Oh, I cannot stand this man and the sweet scent he carries absolutely everywhere. This is definitely a mistake, but one I'm willing to make.

I wrap my arms around a fluffy pillow, tuck it under my chin, throw the blankets back on top of me, and shut my eyes. A contented hum works its way up my throat and I grin in satisfaction, squirming around a bit to achieve maximum comfort.

I'll just wait until he gets out of the shower. 

But where sleep normally takes hours to come by, it suddenly finds me quickly in the solace of Sal's bed. I feel like I've just shut my eyes when an irritated grunt startles me. I crack an eye open, my mask biting into my cheeks.

Sal's standing in front of me, his eyes wide, brows furrowed, and mouth clamped shut in astonishment. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he grumbles, lips hardly moving with his words.

"Napping," I rasp, burrowing further underneath his blankets. I've just been awoken from the throes of sleep-- I'm not taking the time to process any of this.

"Don't do that," he says hesitantly, though there's no harsh edge to his tone. Only confusion and apprehension.

A yawn threatens to burst past my lips. "Too late," I reply, feeling the lull of sleep begin to beckon me toward its embrace yet again.

My little nap consists of dreams of my mask being lifted off my face in the middle of an empty room with Sal, then cool hands on my cheeks and soft lips against mine. Somewhere in the mix is an image of my mother's angry face, her brows set in a glare directed my way and her jaw clenched tight. 

It's that last clip that jerks me out of a restless sleep.

I groggily open my eyes, looking at the muted gray walls of the room currently coveting me. My brows furrow for a fraction of second, taking in the dim light filtering in and the itching unfamiliarity of my surroundings. 

For just a moment, I wonder where I am. But then recent events invade my mind and I remember I'm in Sal's room-- holy shit, I seriously fell asleep in Sal's bed-- and how (as well as why) I'm in his room. 

First and foremost, I slap a hand onto my cheek, making sure my mask is still in its proper place. It is, the hard grooves scratching along my palm. I sigh in relief, taking a deep breath to calm my anxieties. 

I remain stock still from this moment onward as I think through my next actions. I'm not in just anyone's bed right now. This is Sal, and he's a character who's reactions are always up in the air. He certainly isn't going to be the person to snuggle up with me, but he isn't the type to let me sleep in his bed either. I'm confused and not sure what kind of tiptoeing I need to do next.

The room is near silent. I can only faintly hear the buzzing of his ceiling fan. No ticking of a clock, no snoring, no steps. It's almost complete, utter, discomforting silence which does nothing but fuel my anxieties. 

Sal must not be in bed. 

Is he in the living room working on more music? He must be doing something quietly. And if he really had a huge problem with me sleeping in his bed, he wouldn't have let me drift off in the first place right? 

Maybe he just moved out of his space to let me recuperate. I'm still exhausted, I doubt I've slept for even an hour.

I remain still and silent for a minute longer, feeling sure of myself and my decision. Then I slowly flip over.

And proceed to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Fuck!" I yelp, launching myself backward to the edge of the bed, beholding a very shirtless Sal with a book in his hands.

He turns to me with furrowed brows, his eyes regarding me cautiously. "The fuck's your problem?" he asks, his gaze meeting mine with a number of question marks reflected in their cerulean hues. 

I gulp as I watch him, wide-eyed. I wasn't expecting to see him in bed with me at all, but all of the other factors in this equation weren't even considered in the first place. I'm flabbergasted.

Sal's wearing glasses to read his book-- they make him look so precious. I'd never imagined him with glasses, but I really love the view. It gives him a softer edge, makes him seem a little more welcoming even with that glare he has on his face right now.

His bare chest is pale, contrasting against the dark ink on his arms and waist. His fingers are wrapped around a thick book, its pages decorated with painted... dragons?

I squint my eyes, getting a closer look at the cover. Fourth Wing.

I could fuck him again. All over again. A thousand times over. I know that book in his hands. He's only at the beginning of it.

I gulp over all the thoughts rampaging through my head. I've just woken up. I don't fucking understand anything.

Swiping a hand over my face, I sit up fully. "What time is it?" I ask hoarsely.

"6:30." 

I furrow my brows and look down at my hands. It was well past 8pm when I got here, so that means... "Fuck," I murmur. "I slept through the night."

"You slept through the night," Sal parrots.

"Larry and Ash are getting back at 9," I continue, ignoring him and waking up a little further as panic grips me whole. This is bad-- but, I have time. There's time. I don't need to freak out yet. 

I spin, rustling the sheets as I shoot a glare his way. He's focused on Fourth Wing again, his eyes gliding across the page. 

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I ask, mostly out of curiosity. It's completely unlike him to let me sleep in his bed, even more so for him to get into it with me.

With a quiet sigh, he shuts his book and looks up at me. The dark frames of his glasses make his blue eyes pop. I hate him. "Don't think I didn't try. Because I did try. You ignored me and like hell are you going to kick me out of my bed."

"So you get in it with me?" I ask exasperatedly. I don't fucking understand him.

He stares at me lazily, disinterestedly. He's only humoring me right now. "I've been buried in your pussy multiple times now and you're concerned about sleeping in a bed with me?"

I purse my lips. Fair point.

It just feels so intimate and I know he doesn't feel that way. I know it.

I let the conversation die. I won't say another word about it. I can't. 

Eventually, Sal gives up on getting a retort from me and opens up his book again.

My nose twitches as I sniff awkwardly. I have no idea what to do.

"What are you reading?" I blurt. Girl, shut the fuck up.

Sal's brows furrow momentarily, never looking up at me. "Does it matter?"

Oh, yes it does. That's a slutty little romantasy he's reading right there and I want to know when, where, and how this ended up in his hands.

"I'm just curious," I lie through my teeth, the words like butter.

He sighs through his nose. "Fourth Wing."

I narrow my eyes then lean toward him, desperate to see if he's met Xaden yet. 

"Do you have to be so close?" He grumbles-- but he doesn't move away.

My gaze flits over the page. It's so close to the first Xaden meeting, I can't tell if they've met yet or not. "You said it yourself that your dick has been in me enough times. How does proximity bother you?"

I couldn't give a crap about his frustration with me right now. 

That is, until he flips the page. 

"Wait," I murmur. "You're reading too fast."

"Well, what do you propose I do?" Sal scoffs, his gorgeous eyes snapping up to mine. "I'm not going to ask if you're ready for every page. Go get your own copy."

I glare at him. He's such an ass. So with a sarcastic smile, I tell him, "Read it out loud."

"Hell no," is his immediate rebuttal, turning his gaze back to the new page.

"Then I will," I joke. But I should probably get out of his hair and start gathering my things to get back to my apartment. I open my mouth to offer up some awkward parting.

Without warning, Sal pinches his lips together and throws an arm around me, his hand clamping over my mouth to shut me up. I'm frozen in shock, wondering if he really thought I was going to start reading the book.

"Shut up," he mumbles. "I'll read it."

I blink, breathless because of him again.

Hesitantly, his hand falls from my mouth and lays on my shoulder as he begins effortlessly reading the words on the page.

My heart flutters in my chest, his arm keeping me warm as he recites the page to me like he's read it a thousand time before and... maybe he has. 

I don't have the courage to stop him, nor do I want to. His voice is comforting-- deep and raspy and passionate as he flips through the pages. I'm roped into the story, listening to the way he enunciates each word.

And then the scene that started this all.

"'The black-haired rider snaps his gaze to mine, turning fully toward me, and my heart thunders for all the wrong reasons.'" Sal's hand lifts from my shoulder, wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger. I feel much like Violet in this moment, heart bleating in simultaneous panic and glee with my life in the hands of my enemy. And Sal is... he is definitely very distracted. "'A rebellion relic, curving in dips and swirls, starts at his bare left wrist, then disappears under his black uniform to appear again at his collar, where it stretches and swirls up his neck, stopping at his jawline.'"

"Sounds like you," I murmur, breaking my silence.

His finger stops twirling my hair, reminding him of our current situation. I fully expect him to kick me out this time. 

"Are you trying to risk getting caught by Ash and Larry?" He mumbles low, twirling my hair again.

I suck in a breath, squeezing my thighs together. "It's probably time for me to go home," I murmur softly, choosing to ignore his statement for a second time.

"Probably," Sal drawls, lifting his arm from around me. 

I move away immediately, leaping up from the bed and making instant eye contact with the folded pile of my clothes from last night. 

I couldn't care less as he watches me strip out of the clothes he lent me-- I'm desperate to get a break from my heart trying to literally leap out of my throat. Even if I really enjoy the feeling.

I get back into my clothes, fold up his and set them on the edge of his bed.

"Um," I mumble, hands in my pockets as I take one last glance around his room to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. "Thanks," I continue, a dash awkwardly. "See you."

I edge toward his bedroom door, sparing him one last glance.

He never lifts his eyes from his book to watch me go.

"See you, pretty girl."

---------

A/N:::::: AHHHHHH IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD TO BE BACK!!!

i really have tears in my eyes as i write this, i've missed all of you SO much. seeing your constant messages checking in and reminding me to stay strong have meant so much to me. from the bottom of my heart, thank you. writing is my passion, but i wouldn't be able to do it without all of you. i'd go through hell and back just so long as it meant i'd get to do this and meet all of you all over again.

i know i kept you all briefly updated on my fanfic writer's curse in the last few months LOL-- so first off, I broke up with my now ex and he and I were together for years. i am doing so, so well on my own though. i graduate college in about 5 months and i've never been so happy! the last little cherry on top has been getting to write again <3 during this hiatus though, i moved out of my house and am now in a new place. i have also been fighting with college-- it's been a rough semester. been teaching for eight hours twice a week then going to college classes in the same night-- so when i wasn't there, i was sleeping! i also have gotten sick a THOUSAND times... ugh. thought i'd DIE!!!

anyway, my plan is to write more over the break. this is my first day on winter break so i'd say i'm doing pretty damn good so far! i'd like to add more chapters here and hopefully FINALLY finish writing maybe today.

without further ado, welcome back my loves. i'm so happy to bask in your presence again.

I lay on me and Ash's couch, staring out of the huge windows that lead to the balcony as the sun goes down. It's evening. The silence is loud around me, messes with my senses. I keep thinking I see things out of the corner of my eye and every creak or crack of people moving around above or below me sets my heart racing.

Ash informed me that she'd be back by tomorrow morning, which is fine. I streamed for a few hours, ate dinner, then did some shopping to snuff out my Sal-centered thoughts, and then the unsettling quiet. I just didn't realize how anxious I'd get about being here alone once the moon took the sun's place in the sky. 

It's not my first time being alone. When I lived with dad, I was alone most of the time. But this apartment is still unfamiliar to me. Being in a new place that doesn't quite feel like a home yet is perturbing. 

The sky grows a little too dark for my liking, so I grab the remote and turn on the TV, flinching when the volume startles me. Anything to suffocate the silence that lurks around the dark corners of this room though.

I glance over my shoulder, making eye contact with the dark hallway that looks back at me. Shadows dance around the edges of the vignette, mocking my fear. I'm worried that if I watch for too long, I may really see something staring back.

And I thought my tiny, barely there feelings for Sal were scary. All that needs to be done to reset my mind is put me in an empty room, I guess.

Turning my gaze back to the TV, I try to focus on The Crow. All the gothic notes and emotional aspects try to distract me... but I quickly learn that even my favorite movie and Brandon Lee's ethereal beauty can't steal me from reality.

I'm restless. I can't stay here a moment longer.

Sighing, I sit up and gaze at the hardwood floor. Dad's not home-- I could go back to my old apartment, but that's a fifteen minute drive. That's a last resort. I would go to Todd and Neil's, but they're over in San Francisco to watch Todd's favorite musical. 

That leaves me with Larry. 

Can I bear to be in Sal's presence with all the turmoil in my head? I don't know, but I can't figure it out until I try. Not to mention, knowing him, he'll be locked up in his room anyway.

Me and Sal's conversation last week made me feel a bit more secure. I know things can continue the way they have been and I don't have to worry about anything else, I just have to work on getting past exactly how much I feel now. The fact that we had to had to have that conversation at all is embarrassing-- even if he told me that it was okay. It feels so stupid to me now that it's all over. It feels even more ridiculous that I apparently haven't learned a thing and still want to put distance between us.

I stand up and grab my keys from the kitchen counter before shutting off the TV. Then, I'm out the front door like a bat out of hell. The quiet was overpowering me-- having such a big place is so eerie when it's just me.

In my diluted panic, I make it to Sal and Larry's apartment in record time-- hoping and praying that they'll let me stay.

I pick up my pace once I reach their floor, bounding up to the door and knocking. Each corner feels like it's leering, hiding evil that lurks everywhere I go. It's unbearable and I just can't be alone.

That, or maybe some depraved part of me just wants to Sal.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I tap my foot against the carpeted floor and try to pretend that I've got it together. I do anything to get rid of the adrenaline rushing through me. Readjust my mask, pick at invisible lint on my shirt, crack all of my fingers, look up and down both sides of the hallway stretching around me. It feels like I wait for hours even though it's merely seconds until the door opens.

My eyes snap upward, gazing into the eyeholes of Sal's prosthetic. He holds it against his face with a hand, the straps dangling at the sides. It's clear I've caught him off guard.

"Vi?" He asks, tone suggesting he's both confused and alert by my sudden presence. I watch him glance down the hallway the same way I just did. 

When he looks back at me, he has an eyebrow raised inquisitively. 

"Uh," I choke out, remembering that I kind of have to tell him why I'm here. "Is Larry here? I wanted to hang out. The, um, silence is... loud." I rush to explain myself, knowing full well that I don't have to explain myself to anyone.

But Sal looks like he gets it though, his gaze softening in understanding as the words leave me. 

"Larry isn't here," He tells me forthright. My heart drops at the news. "He went to Anaheim with Ash. Didn't she tell you?"

I hum bashfully, embarrassed at myself and the circumstances as I shake my head.

"Sorry for bothering," I say with a sigh, trying to hype myself up to brave the quietude and darkness.

A beat of tense silence passes between us as I build up the mental strength, already feeling like I'm rotting in the lonely apartment back upstairs. 

Then, Sal mutters, "You can stay if you want, so long as you don't mind me practicing. And don't make me regret inviting you in."

I watch him watch me, both of us hesitant and unsure. But what's more unbearable than being around him (which hasn't been all too bad lately) is being alone.

I clear my throat lightly then look down at my feet, nodding. "Okay, thanks."

I may come to regret this.

Sal leads me into the apartment, his slightly taller figure blurring as I take in the living room and kitchen I helped unpack just a week ago now. To replace all the boxes and uncertainty is a kind of clean organization that I just know Larry had nothing to do with.

Sal spruced up. It's orderly, uncluttered, and so him. It works because Larry isn't much different.

The climbing living room walls have various band, tour, and festival posters, records, guitars, a bass, signed drum covers. It's a metal-head's dream. There's just a little touch that screams 'this-is-the-house-of-a-streamer,' which happens to be the multi-colored LED's on the ceiling. But I'll give them a pass for that one.

Regardless, it's nice. And the kitchen, while not completely decked out, is doctor's office-level pristine.

I purse my lips, feeling a little apprehensive. This might be the first time Sal and I have been in each other's presence without a plan for sex or something related to it. We're just... hanging out. It's weird, but I'm desperate enough to put up with it at this point. 

Sal's out of my way already, settled on one of the black sofa's with his flashy red guitar nestled on his lap and a laptop in front of him. Oh, and the prosthetic is gone.

My eyes train onto his pretty face. With all of this moving, I've hardly been able to see it. As crazy as it is, it's kind of been killing me. This recent revelation of mine has led to this insatiable urge to look at him constantly. I thought it was bad before, when this was all just a meaningless crush, but now...

I swallow past my raging thoughts. I've had enough to think about today.

Following Sal's lead, I plop down onto the adjacent, larger sofa-- right in the middle of it. I stare at the dark television and subtly gaze around the room in search of a remote. I'll be damned if I sit here with him in silence like this. Once again, I would much rather hot box in a car full of Larry's tamale farts.

Sal's head tilts upward in my peripheral so I look at him. He looks at me, his azure eyes surveying me before leaning over to a little table between the sofa's. He grabs a remote, then an Xbox controller and tosses them to me.

"You can play something if you want. Just switch to HDMI 2," he offers, turning his attention back to his guitar, strumming a quiet note. His brows furrow and he bites down on his bottom lip, shakes his head lightly. Those hypnotizing cerulean locks fall past his shoulders and shield his handsome face from me. His hair has grown in the past few months, hanging at least an inch past his shoulder by now--

--and that is not the point of why I'm here.

I murmur a quick thanks and lean over to grab the controllers, switching on the TV and finding my way to Sal and Larry's shared console.

There's a selection of games on here, some I've played, others that are on my TBP list (like TBR, but instead of to-be-read, it's to-be-played).

I hover around the Resident Evil 4 remake. For the past few weeks, I've been telling myself I'm saving up for it. I brought it up to Ash a couple days ago and she gave me a funny look then proceeded to remind me that, with my streaming career, I have around $4,000 in my bank account right now. I don't need to save for once, I can just get it.

Except I panicked and said I have to keep all my money in case of an emergency... so having disposable income is still new to me and I have no idea how to handle it.

I click on the game, biting down the excited grin that tries to build on my face.

I start a new game and nearly crap myself, doing my fangirl job by raving over the updated graphics and Leon's lore-accurate hair color.

For about an hour, Sal and I don't even spare glances at each other. It's nice, chill-- just two... acquaintances... in each other's presence without having to talk to enjoy their company. I play RE4 and he strums away on his guitar. A couple times, I become entranced by the melody he plays. Each time he plays longer, it starts to come together. Around the second time he played more than a couple notes, I realized he was composing. Creating a tune. Whatever you want to call it. 

While a musician myself, I've mostly worked on covers of songs. I've only tried to write my own music a couple times and even then, I realized it was tough work. Watching Sal now-- how long it takes him to come up with all the notes and lengths for just one chord-- I do not envy him, but I do admire him. He's putting a lot of work into it, clicking away on his laptop when he finds something he likes.

Each second of him working on his music steals me away from my game though. I start getting antsy, missing infected people even if they're right in front of me in the game. Hell, I walked Leon into a wall two minutes ago.

I grit my teeth as I navigate through the village, heart beating out of my chest with every corner I turn because a horde of zombies is going to be on me any second now.

I need to be prepared, need to get all of these questions out of my head.

"You're making a song?" I ask Sal, staring at the screen in front of me with my knees pulled up to my chest.

Sal hums in acknowledgment, distracted by whatever he's messing with on the computer. "Yea. Has to do with that Twitter leak." His voice is soft, hoarse. I'm shocked he even answered me with how focused he is.

Ah, yea. That leak. Ash and I didn't hear from Sal or Larry for two days after they rushed out of our apartment. When they finally popped up yesterday to help us with some more unpacking, they briefly mentioned something about 'damage control' and 'whistleblowing bastards.' Don't know how that has anything to do with whistleblowing, but those were Larry's words, of course.

I nod lightly, dragging Leon to a ladder. "I take it you don't want to give me the drama on that leak?" I guess, stealing a glance his way. Damn his pretty hair and equally as pretty face.

As I'm glancing, he shrugs, bright eyes darting across his laptop. The color of his irises is enhanced by the blue light of the screen-- I hate him. "There's not much drama to give," he murmurs, clicking on something. Then, he sits back, his eyes snapping to me. "The leak was the bridge to this song. I've been fixing it up and messing around with it. I had a producer with me a couple weeks ago, he took a picture of my screen. The back of my head was in it and it inevitably got out. What are people supposed to think when this is the title?"

He flips the laptop to me and I lean forward, squinting my eyes to look at the screen. There's a lot of graphing and multicolored lines that look overwhelming as hell-- but I focus in on the bold words at the top of all the mess. "DAC COLLAB."

I pinch my lips together in a guilty smile. "Ah, so that's the mess. That fucking sucks," I tell him as he pulls the laptop back to him.

Tongue in cheek, he tilts his head to the side as if to say 'whatever.' He at least seems unbothered by the whole thing now. "It is what it is. It's going to be released at some point anyway. North was going to make an announcement next month when we'd made a little more progress. Damn asshole at that studio just did the job for us, I guess." He seethes a bit on the last sentence, brows pinching together. 

I hum contemplatively, eyes trailing over his hands as they press into his guitar before I look back at my game. "I wouldn't let it bother you too much. You still get to make the song, still profit from it."

A tiny grin pulls at Sal's lips. "True," he says nonchalantly. 

Silence builds around us, our conversation having fallen off rather than ending. We're still learning. Awkward moments have to come along here and there.

Doesn't stop me from getting killed within the following moments though. I'm so stressed about making things work with him and me... I shouldn't have started the damn game. 

"I'll make you a deal," Sal suddenly pipes up when I get mauled a second time.

Growling frustratedly to myself, I pause the game and turn to him, waiting for him to continue.

He shakes his hair out of his face, letting me see all of him. He sets his elbows on his knees, showing off the veins in his forearms and the map of tattoos that trail up his skin just to disappear beneath the sleeves of his shirt. 

I take a fortifying breath.

"Come listen to this and I'll help you past this part." He juts his chin toward the TV before looking back at me.

I shrug. Why not?

"Okay," I accept his proposal, scooting down the sofa toward where he is. His tattooed fingers type away on the keyboard before he turns the laptop so we can both see the screen.

"My taste is a little harder than what Dark Autumn Complex usually puts out, but I think we're getting somewhere," he tells me and for a moment, I wonder why he's trying to explain the music to me before I've even heard it. Is he nervous?

I simply nod my head. If I say something, he may get even more freaked out. I'm fighting for my spot on earth right now, man.

He presses the space bar then leans back, letting me listen.

I flinch when I hear the opening-- he wasn't kidding. It's similar to what the band usually does, but there's something sinister and death-metal-ish about the instrumentals. Sal seems to have a lot of control over the sound here. The double electric guitar, and heavy bass from a literal bass but drums too says enough. It's veering off the path that DAC usually takes.

Just because it's a little different doesn't mean it isn't damn good though. It's really good. Sal's cooking up a five course meal on his laptop here.

"Life slips by In the blink of an eye, Dripping through the gaps In my hand which saps This eternal time lapse Of brutality.

Prophesy each of my regrets; My mistakes chosen by the oracle. A fool making bets With possibilities so rhetorical."

I grin at the lyrics, at the sound, everything. I look over at Sal and he has a little smile on his face too, his expression so heavenly when his eyes meet mine. 

"This is--" I start to say, but Sal cuts me off.

"Shut up. Listen," he whispers. So I do.

"An artist of malice-- My muse of persuasion. Drink from my crimson chalice, Submit to the composer's pervasion.

Aren't we friends? This anguish and me. Gaze through the rose-tinted lens, Ignore the razor blade's sharp plea."

I blink, the smile falling from my lips in record time. Just days ago, Sal asked me that question. 'Aren't we friends?' There have been so many coincidences with this band. So many, in fact, that I genuinely thought Sal and North were the same person at one time.

There's more to this than what I've been told.

"You work close with them, don't you?" I ask, tuning out the rest of the song for now. If he tries to shut me up again, I'll shove a finger down his throat.

Sal doesn't look at me as he chews on the inside of his cheek. And-- wait... is he... blushing?

"Caught that, huh?" He asks, pausing the song but still refusing to look at me.

My eyes widen at his admission. "What exactly do you do with them?" I ask quickly, leaning back a little bit as a thousand and one theories pop into my head. Is he going to tell me that he is North? That he's been hiding behind that name all this time?

And if he is, would I finally tell him that I'm Lexi? 

If North is Sal, a lot of things are going to change.

Sal's tongue swipes along his bottom lip. "I write every single one of their songs," he says, nodding to himself. "They put it together, make music with it."

Oh. I got ahead of myself again.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as my body suddenly grows warm with shame. It's time I put that theory to rest. 

I furrow my brows though, thinking back on the lyrics. "Look," I start warily, "I don't want to seem full of myself or crazy or anything, but I swear--"

Sal shakes his head, his dimple forming on his cheek as a bashful smile grows on his lips. "You're not crazy. I hate that you correlated it, but... there are a few lyrics inspired by some of our interactions. When things make an impact on me, I usually incorporate them into my songs." Now it's my turn to blush. I need a moment to process, but, fuck, Sal keeps going. "For example, 'Wherein Christine Daaè Becomes Her Own Phantom' is about Ash. And then a couple lines in some other songs, like the one you heard in this one and 'Falling through like fingers in fishnets---' those were about you."

I gape at him. This genius made of multitudes and art and misery and physics. I don't know what to say, so I stupidly spit out, "Ash has an entire song about her? You gonna write one about me?"

As soon as the words come out, I narrow my eyes and internally scold myself. Not the time to joke, y/n. Not at all.

Sal strums a note on his guitar, in a completely different world as he mumbles, "Who says I haven't already?"

My head snaps to him and a full on, rainbow infested panic attack starts up. He was so serious, ditched all of his reservations when he said that.

At my silence, Sal glances up inquisitively. He takes one look at my face and his eyes widen a fraction. "I'm joking. You aren't that important for me to write a whole song about. Don't take it so seriously."

Do I snap at him for that or feel relieved?

I choose to glare at him instead and switch the subject. "North has a really nice voice," I say a bit too cheerily. Sal notices and I watch him stifle a petty laugh. "It's very melodic, goes well with the band's sound."

"Don't tell him that," Sal snorts, something a bit bitter taking the place of his previous amusement. "His ego's already huge as is."

Ash had some serious heat on North, and now Sal's looking like he has some not-so-good opinions too. Is North really so shady? What is it that everyone's so on edge about?

I recall the time Ash went on a rampage about North incessantly flirting with me and how she mentioned that he isn't exactly known for being in relationships, that he may not be what he portrays himself as.

Sal seems to be pretty open tonight. Maybe I can finally start to understand what the issue is.

I open my mouth but fail to get a word out. I contemplate saying anything at all, nerves consuming me at the prospect. But North isn't here, it's not like he's going to find out we talked about him.

"Is he really..." I start softly. "Ash hinted that he may not be the best person?" I settle on, peeking at Sal through my lashes.

Sal watches me, eyebrows drawing together and jaw working as he searches for what to say. I wait patiently, happy that he's at least thinking about answering me.

"Are you considering cutting off our arrangement to be with him?" He asks genuinely, nothing but seriousness portrayed in his expression.

All the air leaves my body. I hadn't thought about ending things with Sal for that reason, not even once. Plus, North and I haven't talked in a while. After Ash freaked out, I pretty much put the situation on the back burner. "No," I reply quietly. "It's just curiosity at this point."

Sal's expression softens and he blinks at me, holds me in his gaze before sighing heavily. "Everyone has their own shit to work through. He's no different. He has a lot of baggage though, lot of issues. He's told me a thousand times before that he doesn't think he'd be able to handle a relationship because of his problems." He pauses, grimacing as he fights for the right words, clearly not wanting to disrespect is friend. "North is a bit of a hit or miss. I can't predict how he'd be with you." 

He sends me a devilish look, teeth on display in a stunning smile as he adds, "Definitely can't tell you if the sex is good or not. He wouldn't let me hit."

I shake my head at him and roll my eyes, a blush forming on my cheeks. "I did not ask for that last bit," I tell him pointedly.

Sal chuckles, standing up from his spot on the opposite sofa to sit beside me. I watch him with questioning eyes, my body falling into a frenzy because, oh God, Sal's close. Arms. Tattoos. Fingers. Neck. Face. Teeth. Mouth. Hair. Veins. Ravenous. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

Yikes.

He grabs the controller I'd been playing Resident Evil with and that's when I remember that other half of our last minute agreement.

"Figured I'd give you one last little push to keep fucking me and not him," he says as if that statement holds no weight, gesturing toward me with the controller.

I hate when he says 'fuck' because it's always so unironically seductive. I know he's just playing around, but that glint in his eyes and the smirk-like tilt of his lips tries to tell me otherwise.

I snatch the controller from him and unpause the game, grumbling, "I already said I'm not interested in him."

I walk through all the steps I'd already done, having to restart the entire village scene due to my repeated fuck up from last round.

Sal doesn't reply to me, he watches every move I make on the screen and I focus as best as I can. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself, but I get wrapped up in the same exact spot again, fighting off more of the infected than I can handle.

Leon's body drops to the ground again and I stomp down the overwhelming urge to walk through the TV screen and beat Leon's dead body myself.

"I see what the problem is," Sal pipes up beside me, his tone screaming 'Physics Graduate' with how... scientific he sounds. I bet he conjured up a fucking hypothesis for this. "Come here," he says, linking a finger through my belt loop and tugging me toward him.

I nearly choke on air when my shoulder squishes against his and he leans closer, grabbing my arm closest to him and pulling it so that I'm holding the controller between us.

He moves his hands so that they wrap around mine and over the controller. He can move my thumbs any way he wants with this position-- but now I'm suffering the consequences. His hands are rough and warm on me, his fingers callused and brushing over mine with a perfect plan set in place. I can hardly breathe because, technically, Sal's holding my hands right now. And my body is pressed to his. If he listens a little too hard, he'll hear my heart slamming in my chest.

My body is completely rigid against his. Sex doesn't even involve closeness like this. My entire brain has been completely detached and rewired in mere seconds. Everything I thought has been reversed and I could... totally bed him right here, maybe?

"Are you going to restart or do I have to do that for you too?" Sal rasps humorously. His voice is so near, so clear. I want to look over at him so bad, see the dimple on his cheek because I can hear his smile, but I keep a level head. My eyes stay trained on the TV as I press start.

After all, when a cool, slow-mo explosion happens in the movies, the protagonist never looks back to watch. 

I am the protagonist. I am the fucking protagonist. Iamthefuckingprotagonist.

"Okay, so this is where you're going wrong," Sal says in my ear, his tone suggesting he's much more focused now. His thumbs press into mine, moving Leon around the village much more easily than I could. Doesn't mean he's better than me, he just isn't running on fumes like I am. Sal fumes. I'm suffocating in him, it's all his fault. I am a good player, I swear I am.

I let him direct me, slowly beginning to relax in this soooo not-embrace. His arm, pressed against mine, acts as leverage for me to rest. He seems to lean against me more at some point too, the both of us more worried about getting Leon through the village than about how we slowly warm up to each other and this proximity.

"I don't know if we can get it with me guiding you like this," Sal says a tad urgently when the chase scene starts up, his thumbs working quickly with mine. At some point, I was able to start predicting what moves he'd make, so we seem to be more in sync now. "But we'll try. We have to get through the first wave, then we're going to shoot that damn church bell."

I furrow my brows. "Like the first game?" I gasp, "We can still do it here?"

Sal snorts, manipulating my fingers to shoot someone heading our way. "Of course we can. Watch and learn."

I do watch, and hell, I learn too. It takes maybe five minutes for Sal to get me through the part I'd been stuck on since I got here. The moment he gets the shot on the bell, it rings through the city and evokes deep satisfaction within me-- especially when all the citizens start piling at the church.

I smile at the screen, Sal's hands still wrapped around mine as the famed cut scene starts up.

"Where's everyone going? Bingo?"

This time I look at Sal because we said that line in unison. We said it together. At the same time. He looks back at me with wide eyes and an astonished grin, like he's barely holding back crazed excitement.

Something catches Sal's eye as we watch each other for a short moment, reveling in our shared interest and achievement. He looks up and past me, smile softening as he lets go of my hands. 

The controller is suddenly so heavy without him holding it up for me. It slowly drops to my lap as he stands, walking back over to his respective couch.

I swallow, biting down my yearning for his missing presence. He was warm, he was stable. And that admission only reinforces that fact that I really need to put some much needed distance between us before things get way too real.

I look down at my lap for a moment, reminding myself that everything's going it work itself out. It'll be okay.

Things go back to the way they were before we started conversing today. Sal plays his guitar and tweaks things on his laptop, I play Resident Evil. Only difference now is that we're both progressing through our tasks.

And you know what, it's really nice. I thought this would be a mistake, I thought this would make things so much worse-- well, things are worse, but not in the way I assumed it would be.

But I'm actually having fun. The best part is neither of us need to talk to enjoy ourselves right now. A dynamic like this one is rare.

"You need to go."

The words are abrupt, make me look up. Sal is placing his phone down beside him and pulling his guitar strap over his head. 

Is this some kind of prank? Is he just trying to get our old bickering going? I was just thinking about how nice things were and he cut it off like he read my mind. He had this icy monotone to his voice that I haven't heard in a long time.

With a wary smile, I try to play along. "You're stuck with me, buddy. You made the mistake of inviting me in."

"I'm serious, y/n. I need you to leave." He nearly cuts me off, the words rushing out in what almost sounds like a panic.

I look at him closer, leaning my head down a bit to peek past his curtain of hair. His face is so stone-like, one would think he had faced off with Medusa. My eyebrows pinch together as I finally click into the veiled tenseness around us, my realization making everything that much thicker. 

"Are-- are you okay?" I ask softly, a trickle of apprehension going down my spine. I don't know how to approach this. Clearly, something's wrong and he's trying to play it off. What do I do here? Things were going fine.

"Get out." The words are like a slap to the face, so aggressive and loud that I flinch, the controller tumbling off my lap and onto the floor.

My racing heart only increases its speed as I freeze up and just stare at him. I'm frightened, something I definitely don't want him to see but I can't help it, especially when he looks up at me with a glare so menacing-- the same glare that was always hidden by his prosthetic months ago. Until now.

I force myself to breathe and think.

Okay, he wants me gone. I can do that. All I have to do is walk out the door and I'll be out of his hair. Hell, he might even apologize about this later. My brain nags at me though, says that behind the anger in his expression is fear and sadness. Says that he doesn't need to be alone right now-- he needs someone.

This switch in him was so random, so fast. It feels wrong to think that I was the cause or that he's suddenly freaking out because I'm here. There's something deeper; the problem now is whether he'll let me find out what's going on or not. Should I even try?

Utterly split on what to do, I slowly stand to my feet, never breaking eye contact with him. His excruciating glower softens a little, showing off a glimmer of relief that further proves my thoughts.

I fight past the fear he suddenly evoked, overwhelmed by how pained he must be to have a sudden reaction like this. He helped me when I had a hard time, so shouldn't I do the same for him?

As if to confirm my thoughts, Gizmo comes veering into the room. He talks and talks, skittering over to Sal and climbing up his chest. That's when Sal finally looks away from me so he can run his tattooed hand over the cat's orange fur.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. There is something wrong. Gizmo's presence says it all-- he did the same thing for me when I was anxious.

"Sal..." I say gently, hovering in my stance. I hold my hands to my chest, stuck on what decision to make. I don't know what to do. I'm torn between his wishes and mine. "Do you need to talk about something?"

"No," he bites out. "What I need is for you to get the fuck out." He gently moves Gizmo and stands up. I gulp, watching as that threatening aura of his grows closer and closer with each step he takes. I match his pace, taking steps backward. He herds me to the front door of his apartment, stopping when my back hits the doorknob.

I gasp at the feeling of metal digging into my lower back, using all my might not to back down and cower as Sal towers of me; every inch of his face curled with malice and rage and anguish. His dark brows are furrowed to hold up that glare of his, his light eyes darkened by the negativity roiling around in him. His marred lips set in a frown that just doesn't suit him at all. It's all so unlike him.

This isn't who I've come to know. No matter how scary he is, I just can't, in good conscience, leave him like this.

I take a shaky breath and stay stock still. Stand a bit taller to match his energy. I say a silent prayer that I don't end up on the evening news before I jump into the river crawling with snakes and alligators.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you like this," I declare, making sure my voice is confident to show that I won't back down despite how unconfident I am.

He looks away, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as if to bite down his instinctual reaction before he addresses me again. 

He's trying. He's trying so hard not to scare me off for good-- that's why he wants me to leave now. I see it-- I see through him.

The gears work and click together in my mind. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to suffer with no one to hold him up when he's low. He's just so focused on boxing up his secrets, keeping them hidden from everyone that he won't rely on his only option. I really can't leave him now, can I?

"You can talk about it if you want, or you don't have to. But you don't have to be alone, whatever it is," I try to console him gently, moving to the side so he can see me in his peripheral. But my movement just makes him squeeze his eyes shut. My heart stutters upon realizing I'm not getting through to him, he isn't hearing me.

"Don't say that shit like you care!" he nearly explodes, voice rattling in my ears. "You don't understand anything. You don't know a thing about me."

He's looking at me again, desperation swimming in his ocean gaze, hiding away from the rage taking over his expression. His eyes rove over my face, sizing me up, waiting for the moment I bite back or walk away.

"I know I don't know anything," I tell him softly, making sure that my expression is open and, fuck, caring. Because I do care. "That's why I'm asking you to help me help you. However way is better."

"I don't want your fucking help," he hisses, eyes narrowing. "I don't want your fucking pity. I want you gone."

I open my mouth to passively fight him on that decision, but he interrupts me before I can even get a word out. "You can't spew this bullshit at me. Like you've lived a day in my life and you know what's it's like to be me. You don't, and you never will if it's up to me." With each word, pity, guilt, and anger builds within me. He's suffering and he won't let himself feel even an ounce of reprieve. Instead, he's trying to push everyone away. He's the type of asshole who probably thinks he deserves to be alone. "I don't want you here, nor do I need you here. Go coddle someone who needs it and get off my fucking case."

I clap back at him the moment he finishes. "Well, maybe you do need help! Maybe you do need my fucking pity! Have you thought about that?" I snap, gesturing to him with a hand. Why can't he just accept this? Get help? Let someone take it so he doesn't have to bear it all? "I don't need to be you to get it, Sal. I don't even need to be me to get it because I see it. You think you can hide it all, carry it all, but you clearly fucking cannot." I scrunch up my face to accentuate my words, trying to get it across to him through the parts of my face on display, the thing that supposedly captures his fascination so much. "It's seeping off of you like oil; doesn't even soak into you. You don't wear your heart on your sleeve, you wear your feelings. I don't know what the hell's going on, but it doesn't take a genius with an IQ higher than yours to see that you're in pain."

Sal doesn't let up that harsh scowl, but I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. And then he blinks. Then he's turning his back to me, walking away from me and toward the kitchen while running a hand down his face.

My heart physically feels as if it's cracking in two, but I grip onto the bit of clarity I have left after literally yelling in his face. I take a hesitant step toward him when his head tilts down, his hair falling around him.

I wet my lips, ponder what to say now. How to approach this with my fingers quaking as each quiet second passes.

"Let's..." I whisper, heaving a troubled sigh. "You don't have to tell me, but maybe talking about it will relieve you, even if just a little." I chew on the inside of my cheek, tiptoeing around the topic, making sure I'm gentle with him now that he's backed down. "And if you really don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. We can watch a movie, play a game. Whatever you want."

The tides are shifting. With each offer that leaves my mouth, something about us changes. With how much I live to loathe change, I find that I don't fear it the way I did before. Not if the change is with Sal. Not right now when this man is nearly falling apart in front of me and pretending that he isn't.

"I need--" his voice cracks and my heart does the same. He's holding himself together with wet glue right now. What the fuck is going on? "I need to talk to Ash," he tries again, his voice a little more stable this time, though still soft and reserved. "But I can't. She's busy."

I bite down on my bottom lip. I know he doesn't want to talk to me. He said it himself; he would never tell me his secrets. But I don't think either of us have much of a choice.

"I'm not Ash," I say delicately, taking one more step toward him. There's still so much distance between us, I don't know how to get to him. "But whatever you say will never leave this room. Once it's out, I'll forget it ever happened if that's what you want."

He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He's heavily contemplating, weighing his options. 

Still silent, he jumps into action, moving to a cabinet in the kitchen. He opens it, pulls out a can of peaches. I watch his every movement as he opens the can then grabs a fork from a drawer. 

I don't push him to speak, I let him figure out what he wants to do. He doesn't quite face me, but he turns so that his back leans against the counter, all while he bites into a colorful peach slice that's hanging from his fork.

He chews while staring unblinkingly at the emptiness in front of him.

"She messaged me."

My eyebrows draw together in confusion for a moment, but I think about what he's said before I ask him to be more specific. 

She. She. I only know of two women regarding Sal-- one being Ash, and the other...

I hold my breath as I realize. It's the woman who hurt him. I shift my weight, expression slackening as I try to find a solution for him. My mind starts swimming with ways to drag him from the depths of his agony. 

Ash told me that if I ever had strange messages and suspected it to be that woman, that I should let her know. And if this woman is harassing Sal, we could take it to police and maybe, hopefully, they could do something about it.

"And I don't know what to do," he continues helplessly, his sweet voice melodic with despair as he looks down at his can of peaches.

I watch him, collecting myself to approach him as rationally as possible. Then, I close the fated distance between us and walk over to him. I stand before him, about a foot of space between us. He doesn't look up.

"Here's what we can do," I start tenderly, trying to be as soft as possible while being a stable foothold he can use to climb out of this mess.  "You don't have to look at it again," I continue, my gaze never leaving him even though he's almost completely hidden from me. "If you trust me with it, I'll take your phone, log in, screenshot the message. Then, I'll block her-- no response because she does not deserve it. I'll send the screenshot to myself then send it to Ash from there. It'll be out of your hands at that point. Me and Ash will handle the rest." Me and Ash because I want to sink my fangs into this bitch too.

Sal sets the can on the counter beside him, rubs a hand across his forehead. His fringe is wild, his hair sticking up in different directions until he runs a hand through his hair, his black nails clashing against a sea of cerulean blue. "Okay," he says, the word so quiet and raspy that I nearly miss it.

I wait just a moment, eyes glued to him. "Okay," I repeat. "I'm going grab your phone."

I backtrack to the living room, picking his phone up from the couch where he'd left it. I flip it so that the screen is facing me and see an Instagram notification. I don't read it just yet, but I slide up on the lock so that he can type in his password. 

When I'm back in the kitchen, I stand in front of Sal and hand him the phone. Fork hanging from his mouth, he quickly types in his password then hands the device back to me. 

It's open to the message. I know I'm doing this for him, but I'm afraid to look too much in fear of seeing something he doesn't want me to see. The last thing I want to do is betray his trust when he's finally given it to me.

"Do you want me to read it or just get the job done?" I ask him. 

"Just read it. It's inevitable either way," he mutters dejectedly. That tone makes me frown worriedly. I'm already on the precipice of falling into complete heartbreak. His reaction certainly doesn't help. Still, I take the screenshot before glancing over the text:

@zoxbby112: 2 fucking years? sexual assault? you've got to be fucking joking you pathetic piece of shit. i TOLD you no one was going to believe your dumb ass and you still went and did it anyway. you're literally a dude, if you didn't want it you should've pushed me off or smth. everyone says no in the heat of the moment asshole. you liked it, you just need to play the victim since no one else is ever going to want you and that ugly fucking face. you're lucky i even still fucked you after getting that piece of plastic off you. fucked up my entire life. making yours a living hell is the only revenge i'm willing to get. 

I have to grip onto the counter to stop myself from crumbling to my knees upon realizing just how this woman hurt him. It was sexual assault. She assaulted him. 

"Oh, Sal..." The words slip past my lips, unbidden and broken as I take a shaky breath.

I blink past the sudden tears in my eyes and shake my head as I block her account then delete the message, navigating my way through his home screen and to discord. I send the message to myself then grab my own phone, making sure to save the screenshot. I go back to his, deleting the photo from our messages and his camera roll so he never has to see it again.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. So much of me wants to be angry, but all I'm feeling is throbbing pain and overwhelming guilt. I feel like my organs are being harvested from my body, like my skin is slowly being peeled away from my bones. All because I have no idea what to do for him, I don't know how to make it better. I don't know how to fix it for him, and I don't think I can.

"I'm..." I start to say, my voice hoarse. 

"Please don't tell me you're sorry," he says quietly, stabbing his fork into another peach.

I tilt my head, biting my tongue as I place his phone down beside him. If I were in his situation, I wouldn't want to hear sorry's anymore either. God, more than anything I just wish I could go back in time and save him from that.

"You know," I say instead, so much emotion ravaging me whole that I don't know how to stay standing on my own. The only reason I'm still up is for him. "I don't know much about physics, but I did like biology. And something my teacher taught me is that skin renewal takes seven years. So in seven years, you'll have brand new skin, and, um, it won't be the same skin you had when..." I trail off, going completely blank while trying to give him something to look forward to. Everything is so pathetic that even my brain can't cooperate.

Sal's head snaps up to look at me like he actually understood what I was yapping about. His pretty blue eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he still looks at me, face completely expressionless.

I match his gaze, waiting for something. Anything. But then he cracks a pitiful smile, snorts softly-- shows me as much humor as he can muster up. Wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

I feel each of my damaged cells rebuilding themselves again at his shift in character. My heart beat becomes a little stronger, my breath more even and not so shallow with torturous anticipation. 

"My skin will be untouched in seven years," he laughs, albeit humorlessly, but it's something.

"Yea, that's what I was getting at," I confirm, rubbing my arms and looking down at my feet.

Still standing beside him, I glance up just as he bites off half the peach slice on his fork. He gazes back at me, his eyes bluer than any sky I've seen, expression softer than any lingering touch of his.

I feel heat gather along my cheeks when he tilts the fork toward me slowly, offering me the other half of the peach. He looks like a cornered bunny, giving the fox hovering around him a peace offering. It's an apology and a thank you, reinforcing the trust that I handled with as much care as possible. 

This fruit means something to him. I haven't an inkling of understanding on the offer, but if it matters to him then it matters to me.

I gently pluck the fork from his fingers, bite off the other half of the peach then hand the fork back.

Turning, I lean my back against the counter and stand beside him, both of us looking into the empty living room in front of us. We don't talk, we don't share a word. But we do pass that fork back and forth. He takes a bite of a peach, I finish it off. It goes like that until the can is empty, and then we both just kind of... stand there.

He pushes off the counter with a soft grunt, dumps the remaining syrup into the sink, washes it down the drain, then he walks over to me. He just stands there and looks down at me with the gentlest expression I've ever seen on him.

I stare back at him, dumbfounded as my mind races for explanations. So much is different now, I didn't think it could possibly change any more but I'm slowly learning that I keep severely underestimating Sal Fisher. Neither of us can make up excuses for this. 

I quickly fit the puzzle pieces together though and realize he's right in front of me because I'm blocking the trashcan. What only solidifies it is that a little upside down smile quirks his lips upon seeing me connect the dots. 

Now, we move the the awkward, embarrassment stage that comes with deep connection. Yea, making friends really sucks, especially when I want so much more than friends.

What?

The unwarranted thought flies out of my head as Sal braces a hand on the counter beside me when I don't move, caging me in as he bends forward. His face passes right beside mine and his hair brushes my cheek, making a chill run up my spine.

His body heat encases me like a warm duvet on the coldest of winter days, his scent wrapping around my soul, squeezing tight, comforting. He's so familiar now, it feels so normal being close to him like this. So much so that I ache to hold him right here for hours. Forever, even. 

Maybe it's the dim lights in the kitchen, the dark night filtering in from his balcony windows. But when he moves backward, he doesn't go far.

He hovers near me, his hand still pressed into the counter beside me. He's close, very close. Closer than he's ever been, I think. 

I map the curve of his lips, my eyes drifting to where the deep scars elongate and change the shape of his mouth, dragging up his cheek and to his eye-- the eye that I can clearly tell is a prosthetic now that he's so close. It looks so similar to his real eye that I genuinely couldn't tell the difference before. 

"You have freckles," I whisper upon noticing them, my voice barely above a whisper. Before I can stop myself, I lift a hand between us and gently run my fingertips over his skin, tracing every little light spot along his nose and cheeks. 

His eyes glance back and forth between mine in my peripheral vision and at the same time, a light pink dusts his cheeks that I'm so focused on. He swallows, licks his lips. Unable to form words.

He opens his mouth, almost like he's thinking of saying something, but he doesn't. He simply lets out a breath, delicately holds me in his gaze.

I let my hand drop between us, marveling at the feel of his soft skin beneath mine. I don't want to make him uncomfortable though, I'm already ogling him enough as it is.

At the realization that I really am looking at him so hard, I tilt my head down, dropping my gaze. After what that awful woman texted him tonight, I doubt he wants to be looked at like this. Picked apart, observed. The point of this is to help him, not point out everything he probably hates about himself. Though, there really is nothing to hate. The me from a couple months ago would passionately object to that statement, but that's past-me for a reason. 

Things change. I changed. Sal's changed.

My breath catches in my throat when his hand presses against my cheek, using the leverage to tilt my head up again. To look at him.

My heart leaps in my chest and I'm unable to breathe when I notice his dilated pupil, feel his thumb gently rubbing my along my jawline. His eyes track his digit's movements, but I can't even be bothered to look away from him. I'm bewitched by his fascination with me, haunted by the calm expression on his face, the wonder in his eyes.

His thumb drags down from my cheek and to my mouth, skimming over my top lip, then the bottom. I feel skittish, burning to move some part of my body to release the energy pent up inside me.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, entranced by my own mouth.

And if he were to actually try to kiss me this time, I wouldn't stop him.

A low hum spreads throughout my entire body upon acknowledging our situation and the tension that's suddenly filled the air. It's a tingling in every limb, down my spine, up to the very tips of my fingers and toes. I feel him everywhere even though he's only touching my face. I can see him so well, so easily. The slightly darker shade of his left eye and the golden flecks of stardust in his right eye. Pretty. So pretty.

"So pretty," he murmurs my own thoughts. Something about the way he says it, so unguarded and adoring, makes me think I wasn't supposed to hear it.

I don't know how to reply or if I even should. I simply watch him like I have been all night, feeling oxygen and rationality leave me with each prolonged second of this somewhat embrace of ours. We've found ourselves like this more than once today, could we possibly escape it again?

I feel so light and heavy at the same time, thrumming with energy but weak. The feeling of his skin, so cool against my flushed skin, is enough to have my mind racing but to make my body completely freeze. I'm stuck. There's so much... so much that I want to do with the way he's looking at me this way, but I can't make myself do it.

I don't quite realize how close we've suddenly gotten until his nose bumps my mask's. A quiet gasp leaves me and his eyes dart up, gazing into mine.

He's fighting himself and I can tell, the quick scrunch of his eyebrows gives everything away.

Things are really about to change-- again. As if they hadn't already.

There's something startling about the way his eyebrows draw together again, but this time in a pleading way, like he's silently willing me with his mind to pull away from him. Begging me to put a stop to his internal madness. To change his mind. His doe eyes look a little scared and a little dedicated– two very different emotions that just so happen to go hand-in-hand for the moment. 

The way he's looking at me... it's been so long since anyone has looked so pleasurably torn up over wanting me so badly. And not in a lustful way, but in the way that forms bonds. Connects us so intimately without the goal of chasing an orgasm or being able to get something out of the situation. The way he's looking at me screams curiosity and a need to sate it so bad that he's not fighting the battle he wanted me to pull him away from moments ago. He's just slowly giving in and trying to convince himself that he's not.

I'm no better than him in this moment. My hands are balled into fists, my entire body frozen and awaiting whatever it is that's going to come next. My fingernails bite into my palms and my heart drums against my chest, wishing he'd move closer.

I didn't think it'd be this way. I didn't expect to crave him so badly, to miss the feeling of his lips on mine without ever having felt it before. It's excruciating to yearn for him in this new way and hope that he doesn't back out before I can even feel him.

As if he read my mind, he's moved so close that I can feel his breath on my chin, his top lip brush over mine.

I suck in a choking breath and hold it, praying this isn't all a dream.

"Aren't you scared?" He whispers quietly, his mouth skimming over mine with each syllable. His words echo in my mind, his tone caressing my thoughts, coercing me into falling into him and never getting up again.

"No," I whisper back, shutting my eyes and waiting. It's scarier to look at him and fear that he'll move away. Almost as if to lock him into place, I grip onto the hem of his shirt.

He goes quiet and I feel every one of my neurons lighting up with anticipation when his forehead presses against my mask's. 

"Push me away. Something," Sal whispers, the words so quiet and pained that I don't dare open my eyes to observe his current state. 

He knows. He knows this is exactly what he told me wouldn't happen, but now it's about to. And we should be realistic, think about the consequences but I don't want to. I just want to feel him, have him near. I want to be selfish.

I lick my lips, forgetting he's so close. My tongue swipes over his bottom lip and I hear it-- feel it when he steals a breath that tries to escape him.

"I can't," I answer him hoarsely, unable to raise my voice for him to hear me better as I squeeze the fabric of his shirt in my fist. Every bit of me aches to touch him, to feel his skin on mine but I can't muster up the courage, not when this entire situation is in his hands right now.

I won't choose for him today, not with what brought us to this. If he wants me, he can take me.

"Please." His word comes out in a broken whisper, so full of yearning that a little whimper escapes my mouth.

"Please," I mimic him, entranced by the featherlight brush of my lips over his. I can't keep doing this. I can't... "I can't think. Do it."

He lets out the most pitiful sigh I think I've ever heard in my life, and then leisurely presses his lips into mine. It's slow, soft, careful. He holds himself there, suffocates in the sensation just as I do.

Everything I thought I had lost so long ago comes rushing back into me. Excitement, life, a want for more than basic necessity. And for once, I don't feel bad. I don't feel guilty for wanting Sal as much as I do.

I place a hand on his stomach to remind myself that this kiss is real, that he's truly standing in front of me.

My touch was the trigger, I realize, when his other hand moves to my other cheek, pulls me closer to him. He tilts his head a bit as his jagged lips part against mine, softly welcoming the slanting of my mouth against his.

My throat feels as though it's clamped shut as I move a hand to grab onto the base of Sal's neck, my fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt. I'm completely enraptured by the feeling of his mouth on mine. I feel like I'm going to faint, my heart beating so quickly, so vigorously that I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears. There's so much emotion that I've bitten down and hidden for so long regarding Sal. It's all coming out now.

Our lips move slowly, passionately. There's no rush, no heat. It's just feeling. Every movement, every moment of his lips sliding so delicately against mine, every ragged breath, every tightening of his hands on my face or my fingers bunching into his shirt. The feeling of our noses occasionally brushing against each other, plastic against damaged skin, and his chin skimming over mine just a bit. It's beautiful and so passionately smothering. The quiet morphs to mimic the simultaneous quick pace of our heart beats.

I feel the rapid beating of his heart like a drum right in the center of my chest where we touch, becoming one despite the heavy, loathsome origin story we were granted with. I'm sure he can feel just how much he's affecting me, his hand drifting over my neck and two fingers pressing against my pulse point like he did the first time we were together.

As sadistic as he is, I think he's only checking because he can't tell where his heart beat begins and where mine ends. 

Sal's lips close over mine again, the feeling eliciting a shiver that threatens to take over my entire being. I return his kiss, desperate to be closer to him in any way possible while my hand trails from his shirt to his cheek, brushing over the soft, scarred skin. 

He presses me against the kitchen counter, his hands beginning to roam past my face and neck as things gravitate from sweet to intense.

Our kiss becomes aggressive, his teeth biting into my lips and quiet breaths and whimpers passing from him and to me. He makes me feel crazy, filling me with exhilaration that courses through my blood quicker than adrenaline ever possibly could. 

Sal moves backward and I move to follow, but then his lips leave mine. 

I open my eyes, blinking up at him with barely an inch of space between our faces. 

He stares at me, looking like I've just torn him to pieces and hid every bit of him away and now he has to play eternity-long hide-n-seek.

But beyond that, his lips are flushed and kissed, his cheeks tinged pink and hair a mess-- when did I touch his hair? His eyes look a little brighter though, a little less haunted.

"Uh," he voices shakily. "Heat of the moment?"

He doesn't even sound like he believes himself.

The statement still makes my hopes deflate dramatically though. I chew on the inside of my cheek and force myself to look him in the eye as I lie to his face. "Yea," I rasp, taken aback by the sound of my voice. "Yea."

He watches me closely, never moving farther nor closer. As the seconds pass, he seems to sober up, the terrified look in his eyes slowly fading away.

If he decides this was a one time thing, at least I got to taste him once. At least we got one moment, one kiss. It's what I wanted and it's what he wants. 

Sal interrupts my thoughts, whispering, "You know..." One of his hands painstakingly and slowly trails along my side, making my skin erupt with  goosebumps. "I think we're still in the heat of the moment," he continues darkly, gaze falling to my mouth.

I don't let shock take control, I only try to control the smile that tries to quirk my lips. "I think so too," I whisper back, looking down at his teeth that bite into his lower lip like he's barely holding himself back.

As soon as he hears my response, he doesn't bother holding back. He smashes his lips onto mine and engages the two of us in the same dangerous dance we made the mistake of beginning earlier.

-------

A/N::::: BEEN HOLDING THIS ONE IN THE DRAFTS FOR A WHILLLLLLEEEEE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY TIME-- LIKE I ACTUALLY CAN'T BELIEVE IT WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO WRITE AFTER THIS

jk >:3

yea so as much as i adore this chapter, it also scares me because i feel like it moves way too fast (totally hasn't been nearly thirty fucking chapters ahahhaha). so yea, PLEASE let me know how we feel about this and what could have been better!

psa: i'm going to be starting student teaching august 1st, and college has me going to lots of meetings which means things are about to get VERRRYYYY busy for me… busier than they've ever been :( but!! i think things will be okay. lately, i've been teaching myself to fight through the lack of motivation and write any time i get even an inkling of yearning for it. exactly why y'all got this chapter so soon, actually! i saw something about how stephen king writes 5,000 words a day and i've been building to that! so while i won't be able to freely write as much as i know i'll want to, i'll still be writing. you guys know the drill though, even if it takes me a month or two to get something out, WINTER BREAK IS IN DECEMBER WHICH MEANS I CAN BEAT Y'ALL UP WITH CHAPTERS!!!

as always, i love you all SO much. more than you'll ever know. things have been tough on my mental lately and i'm going to be going through a HUGE shift in my life, but… that's okay cuz I know I'll always have you guys. thank you for being the most stable, non-toxic, and reliable things in my life! y'all going in my will fr

have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night my babies <3

I've had time to think about it and to grow absolutely petrified by the concept. How can I feel something if I'm terrified of it? That's proof enough for me. I was just too high that night.

And it's definitely not like I'm avoiding Sal now or anything. I'm doing great! He's helping with unpacking my things... even though I was the one who begged Ash not to invite him.

She offered up the idea last night after we finally finished unpacking everything in Larry and Sal's home. I was hoping that, since we finished our part, I would finally be able to catch a break from his presence. I can't explain the way my heart dropped when she said the boys would get here in the morning.

Given how difficult setting up this kit is though, maybe she realized what I couldn't. And maybe I just need to suck up all of these difficult emotions and just... get over it.

Ash had frowned at me last night and said something that made me realize I'm probably going insane.

"You know he thinks of you as a friend, right?" She'd said, putting her phone down to talk to me seriously. "You two still bicker, but I think it's because that's your dynamic. Other than that, he's changed around you and that alone says he cares to some degree."

I hadn't responded. I still don't know how I'd respond.

But given that Sal mentioned just a couple days ago, as we were packing up my things, something about us being friends... I've been thinking that Ash may be right. I considered him my friend up until that moment too. I had been thinking about how much our relationship had changed, especially during our trip to Nockfell.

Now, though, I feel like I've reverted backward. Even farther back than when we were constantly arguing. I've gone back to how things were before I even met him. I haven't said a word to him all day today.

There's an ominous crack beneath my fingers that makes me pause. I suddenly realize that I've tightened something way too much... a bolt. and I've damaged it in the process. Great.

Larry appears through the gaps in the instrument in front of me, his brows drawn together. "Damn, y/n. You good?" He asks, deep voice filled with concern.

Sighing, I plop into a sitting position, giving my calves a rest after leaning on my haunches for so long. "Yea, just distracted," I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm going run to a store to buy a new bolt. This one's fucked."

"Maybe you should rest first," Larry offers. I look up at him, noting a raised eyebrow this time and a small frown adorning his lips. "Seems like you have a lot on your mind."

I swallow thickly, knowing Sal is hearing every second of this being that he's just three feet away from me.

"Yea," I try to agree in a spritely manner, but my voice comes out hoarse instead. I clear my throat and try again. "Yea, I guess I'll... rest. You guys should, um, take a break too."

Larry waves me off, his face moving a way from the gap and being replaced by the top of his chest. "Nah, we've got this! Your task for now is to chill. No if's, and's, or but's."

I roll my eyes, my lips twitching in a smile that I try to stomp down. "Yes, sir," I reply sarcastically before standing to my feet. Damn, my back aches.

I try to stop myself, my mind and heart trapped in an endless, opposing battle as my gaze snaps to Sal. He's on one knee, the other propped up and his head tilted at what seems like an awkward, uncomfortable angle to look at something underneath my snare.

I squeeze my eyes shut and speed-walk to the door when a dull flutter lights up my chest at the sight of him. "Thanks, guys," I say quickly before slipping out of the room.

I walk leisurely down the hallway, trying to rid myself of the tingling sensation on my skin where Sal held me. As much as I love the hidden, forbidden moments when he touches me, the remnants make me itch. There's some part of me that's cowering in a corner, captured by fear and I don't know how to conquer it.

Sal already has his own issues going on with this woman who hurt him. It feels cruel to put a rift between us because I have my own problems too now. I don't know what to do, which causes my mind to drift to darker places, think different things. Like... maybe I should end things between us.

When I walk past our kitchen and into the living room, the first thing I see is Ash sitting criss-cross on the floor with a building manual beside her, a half-put together IKEA TV stand, and, funny enough, Nate's screw drive limply hanging from her hand as she reads.

The warm, afternoon light splashes onto Ash's angelic form from our large windows that cover a huge portion of our living room, allowing plenty of natural sunlight in. The sun's rays cascade down Ash's hair, illuminating the brown strands and causing a deep, sparkling red undertone to shine through.

She's just so pretty. Every one of her angles is the right one.

I walk over to her and look down at the manual. "How's the building going?" I ask. My voice makes her snap her head up to look at me. The light catches her viridian eyes and I can't help but marvel at the beauty captured in he gaze. "Need any help?"

She smiles at me, her expression softening upon realizing it's me beside her. "Nah, I think I've got it!" She says cheerily, flipping the screwdriver in her hand. "Why aren't you setting up your drums with the boys."

I purse my lips at the reminder. "I broke something," I murmur bashfully. "Need to get a new part, so that's where I'm headed. Probably."

Ash's brows furrow in surprise and she reels back to look at me better. "You broke something? You, of all people?" She blinks, eyebrows raising now as the confirmation settles. "Well, that would make sense. We're all stressed with the move and whatnot." She waves the screwdriver and moves to return to her building, but she pauses.

Unease boils deep inside my skin as I watch the gears begin to turn in her mind. She turns back to me with her eyes narrowed and continues, suspicion and disbelief tainting her voice. "Unless..." she starts, tilting her head. "You're avoiding Sal."

I cringe, pressing a finger to my lips to hopefully silence my friend. Gosh, this genuinely could not be worse. I feel like I'm gonna puke.

"I'm not avoiding him!" I whisper-yell to Ash, eyes practically bulging out of my head.

"Says the one who asked me not to invite him over this morning." She puts her hands on her hips and gives me a no-bullshit look.

I sigh deeply, scrunch up my nose in complete distaste-- in myself, of course. I shouldn't have been so obvious. Arguing about it isn't going to convince Ash otherwise and it won't change that her assumption is true either.

I open my mouth to tell her that that's not what matters, but she beats me to it.

The woman leans her head back and screams Sal's name at the top of her lungs.

I nearly jump out of my skin, my eyes widening when the impending doom of Ash making Sal and I talk or-- worse-- spend time together settles into my bones.

I hear a muffled curse, a laugh to follow, and then a door shutting down the hall. For fuck's sake.

Sal walks into the living room, stopping at the threshold with his arms gestured offensively at Ash. "What?" he scowls.

The beauty beside me rolls her eyes at Sal's attitude while I turn away from him, my cheeks catching fire. I hate all of this.

"You should go shopping with y/n," Ash chirps, ignoring the fact that she just summoned Sal with some kind of death call.

I spin to her, mouth gaping as I fight to bite down the resounding 'no' that desperately wants to leave my soul. Why would she suggest something like that?

"Why?" Sal asks the question I didn't have the voice to. "She seems more than capable of doing that on her own."

Aw, that's kind of sweet.

"Because," Ash shrugs. "You're..." she seems to think to herself, trying to find a good excuse. This is preposterous. "You're the only person that knows instruments like she does. Forceful bonding!"

Sal sighs deeply. I don't have it in me to look at him as he walks over to us. "What about Larry? He--"

"Yea, Sal," Ash says, her voice loud and reverberating around the room. "What about Larry?" Her tone is aggressive, suggestive. Like she knows she's about to shut him down.

Sal goes quiet.

"So," Ash's chipper voice slices through the tension rising around the three of us. I turn to her, noting the grin splitting her face. "See you later, guys!"

My gaze cuts to Sal. He's already watching me, his eyes portraying a multitude of emotions and thoughts that I couldn't even begin to decipher. He's so him-- he feels things so differently compared to me.

"Shoo." Ash hisses. I watch her hand wave us off in my peripheral.

There's no use fighting her. I should just get it over with. If we go quickly, it shouldn't take that long, right?

Not to mention, I'm the queen of avoiding absolutely anything and everything. My three identities says it all. If I can do that, I can do this. Sal won't even know what's hit him! We can let my awkwardness and issues fizzle out, let the silence consume until I'm better and then it can all go back to the way it was... unless it doesn't. Unless my sobering up takes weeks and Sal gets tired of me. Or worse, he starts asking questions.

With my luck, the latter will happen.

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth then speedwalk to me and Ash's kitchen. Grab my phone, my keys to the apartment, and my wallet then I head to the door. My mind buzzes the entire way, especially as I skim past Sal both times. I hold my breath each time as if being in his proximity drags me into the depths of the ocean. He's the equivalent to Leviathan in his watery, dark home and I'm doing everything I can to evade his monstrous presence.

Though, he isn't the true monster in this story.

I open the door and leave it open for Sal to follow, which he does. The door shuts softly once I'm a few steps away and toward the elevator.

It's maddening. The silence. It encases the two of us in a mourning veil that's already become a safe haven for the tears, lies, and grief of what's been lost. It's poetic in a sick and sadistic way-- watching everything that was carefully built up teeter on the edge of what could be-- all to fall apart. Crafted and mastered by hands more skilled than a Roman sculptor; a musical antagonist and his chaotic protagonist.

I suppose, if I'm a protagonist at all, I'm not doing much good by shredding our agreement.

I pick up my pace and whirl toward the elevator, not giving Sal time to percolate in our tense disquiet. I put my hand against the sliding door and wait for his presence with bated breath.

The moment I see his fluffy azure hair pop up beside the door, I move. I press my knuckle into the lobby button and burrow into a corner of the elevator.

To pass the time and fill the silence that echoes around in my head, also to ignore the way his scent infects every one of my senses, I pull my phone out to search for a music store.

He smells the way he always does-- clean, a little minty, and some kind of hypnotizing cologne. I can never think straight when he's so close. Which, speaking of, he's very close to my safety corner. Maybe a foot away from me.

He knows what he's doing, the bastard.

But the scenario is becoming easier for me to work through. There's a shop that specializes in equipment for instruments only about 10 minutes away from us, so they should have what I need.

The elevator dings, comes to a sickeningly slow halt that makes my skin crawl with nervous anticipation. The moment the door slides open, I blast past the threshold like an inmate awaiting their release. Don't have to tell me twice; green means go.

By this point, Sal must realize I'm either in a rush or want nothing to do with him. My neurons are misfiring, ensnared in a battle of good and bad. I feel terrible for what I'm doing, but even more so, I'm horrified of addressing this entire issue.

I skitter through a door and nearly kick myself when the better half of my mind reminds me to wait for Sal before I take off down the road.

The man himself lets the door to our apartment building shut as he joins me in the hot, dry air of Los Angeles.

He glances at me, hair a perfect mess and a twinge of apprehension and curiosity in his oceanic gaze.

I dare to glance back.

"You're avoiding me?" He asks, tilting his head, hands in his pockets. The spitting image of confrontation.

Yea, the glance back could only last so long before I regretted it.

I hold my breath and spin on my heel. Fuck, he heard Ash.

"I looked up directions for a music shop. It should be a little ways down the road," I say instead of answering his question, pointing a finger downtown.

"Vi."

I don't look.

"I think a 10 minute walk maybe?"

"Y/n, you—"

"Let's get going before they close— for lunch." I cut him off, jutting my chin toward the bustling sidewalk. I take a step forward— one that's so uncoordinated that I just know I look like I'm scrambling away.

Then his hand catches my wrist. And everything moves in slow motion; you know, hearts surrounding the two of us, smooth jazz playing and a pink tint to our bodies.

I send a glare at the invisible cameras just in time for my body to jolt to a stop.

His fingers squeeze gently around my skin and I suck in a breath of air, too terrified to look at him.

"Look," he says, tone shockingly tender to match the way his skin rubs against mine. I swallow past the thoughts. Bolt. Bolt. Drums. Must get bolt. "I don't know why you're avoiding me, but if you want this thing to continue between us... we're going to have to talk." I hear his scuffed footsteps grow closer to me right until his voice is just an inch or two above my head. "I can't fuck you if you won't even look at me."

I do my best to suppress a shiver. He whispered those filthy words, laid a path of roses and sin with his voice alone to lead me back to him. And, God, I can't stand that I slowly start tiptoeing along the path.

I have to think about a lot of things. Most importantly, what he's just said. Sal is a man of very few words— when he isn't screwing me into next week, that is. But I can tell by his diction of choice that... maybe he thinks he did something wrong. He's caught on to the fact that I can't bring myself to look at him. And this is Sal. The first thing he's going to assume is that I've finally started to think he's ugly. If that wasn't a worry of his, he wouldn't still be wearing the prosthetic. Frenemies with frenefits or not, it isn't hard to get a read on his insecurities.

Second, Nate prepped me for this. We talked about what happened between Sal and me the other night, about trusting him. So shouldn't I fess up and tell him why I can't look at him? That it's because, secretly, somewhere deep down, I've been squashing this overwhelming urge to rip that prosthetic off him and kiss him until we're both breathless?

I can hardly even admit the last bit to myself.

You know what, in fact, I'm not interested in kissing him at all.

No. I'm just avoiding my feelings.

If I had a coin right now, and Heads was labeled as "I won't kiss Sal" and Tails was called "I will kiss Sal," I would flip it. And the moment it would land on Heads, the "I won't kiss Sal option," I'd realize that I've been lying to myself. Because I would be disappointed to know that I didn't get Tails instead.

Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut, absolutely raving over the minute physical contact between us. This is turning into a problem for me. An obsession. I can't recall the last time I was so taken by a mere touch.

I turn to face Sal, my fingers quaking as I finally meet his pretty eyes. They watch me, narrowed and waiting.

"It's about the other night," I begrudgingly admit, my voice catching in my throat. "I— yea. We should talk."

Sal's eyes return to normal, no longer narrowed as realization settles upon him. "When you used our safe word?" He asks, but doesn't give me a moment to respond. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you want me to keep the prosthetic on or a safe distance between us, just tell me."

There's a pang in my chest again. This one isn't as dull as the others have been though— this one hits deep and it's raw and real and so pitiful because Sal thinks it's his face. Thinks he's the cause for this.

What have I done?

His fingers loosen around my wrist, hand beginning to fall away.

I reach forward quickly, grabbing onto his index and middle fingers. "No—" I rush to say. "It's not you. You're..." I don't know how to word what's going through my head. I don't know how to explain that the problem was never him— it's me. "I'm shockingly always comfortable with you. You know, despite the blood lust and arguments. You take care of me. It's not you," I can't help but repeat.

Sal looks down at our partially linked hands and that's when I realize that maybe I reacted a bit too passionately. Quickly, I release his fingers as a wave of heat rushes across my face. This is so embarrassing. Annnnd now I can't look at him again.

"Okay," Sal says, the word low and muffled. He sounds nervous. Awkward. "Then let's talk. My statement still stands."

I nod my agreement, voice caught in my throat.

If anything, he's open to communication. As scary as it all is, I owe him an explanation, right? The worst that can happen is he realizes I'm just insane and he wants nothing to do with me anymore. It could be so much worse.

The two of us begin leisurely walking down the street toward the shop. He falls into step beside me, eyes on the pavement beneath his feet. He doesn't say a word, simply waits for me to find my thoughts and my voice.

If I'd go this entire trip without speaking, he still wouldn't push me to explain. I both adore and abhor every inch of that generous ideal of his.

But the issue still remains-- I have no idea where to start. I don't know how to even comprehend my own emotions and problems, so how can I correctly portray them to Sal?

"I don't know how to start," I admit at some point, chewing on my bottom lip while my entire body freezes over with embarrassment and shame. Who knew communicating was so hard?

"I understand," Sal says comfortingly. What the fuck happened to him? Is this his serious voice? "I had the same issue. My therapist told me that not understanding your feelings is part of understanding them, confusing as that is. Give it to me in pieces and we'll figure out the rest."

Wow. Two weeks ago, he would have pounced on the opportunity to see me crumble beneath my instability. Now, he's coaching me through it. How much changed in Nockfell?

You know, the truth of the matter is that the change began long before we went to Nockfell. I just have a hard time accepting that. Change is terrifying to me-- that's no secret, so acknowledging that it's there in the first place is hard enough. But in all honesty, the shift between him and I began the moment he apologized to me in the bar where Dark Autumn Complex played.

That's where my downfall was born.

Instead of focusing on the root of the problem, I pay close attention to the sprouting leaves. The present. We can't change the past, we can only work on what's happening now.

"Change makes me very uncomfortable," I tell him, painfully aware of how emotionally bare I am to him right now. I'm the first to know that putting my heart in this man's disastrous hands can make all the difference in how things proceed. But if I want a positive outcome, this is my only choice. "And we've changed a lot."

Sal nods beside me. "We have," he agrees.

I suck in a breath, the perfectly timed scuffing of our feet vibrating through my body. He knows how our relationship has done a complete three-sixty too.

"And I think it's scared me. The other day-- in my room. That scared me," I continue, quaking fingers twining into the fabric of my shirt.

"I remember you saying you were scared," Sal builds on my words. This turned into the tensest therapy session I've ever endured. But, he's surprisingly good at this. "What is it that scared you, exactly?"

"Um," I start awkwardly, tilting my head as I backtrack to the events of that night. I relive it all, every single step. And where my heart seems to seize is when I recall the look in his eyes as they fixated on my mouth. "It was the way you looked at me." The words burst past my lips as the realization settles. "I thought you were going to kiss me."

A quick, muffled sound from Sal reaches me. I turn to look at him, seeing his head still bent toward the ground, but a hand covering the mouth of his prosthetic this time. Is he... laughing?

I lean forward a bit and see that his eyes are scrunched closed as his chest vibrates with laughter that I can tell he's trying his best to hold at bay. Whether it's to prevent embarrassing me further or to hold up the genuine part of our conversation, I can't tell.

I don't know why he's holding back, but, damn, am I relieved.

"Are you laughing at me, you asshat?" I pick at him, amusement making my voice waver with giggles.

"Sorry." He chokes on a short, wild laugh before holding a hand up to me. "I know it's serious, I just--" He chuckles a bit more.

A smile blooms on my lips at his reaction. I'd give anything to see his handsome face right about now-- to watch the way his full, scarred lips curl into a bewitching smile. To see his sharp canines and slightly crooked teeth on display. To watch the dimple form next to his mouth, his nose scrunch up, his marred cheeks lift with happiness, his brows furrow as he tries to contain himself.

I blink when Sal looks over at me, his eyes squinted with obvious amusement. My smile softens, so as not to give the true extent of my reaction away to him.

"That's not something you have to worry about," he says, catching his breath. He straightens himself a bit but stops his walking, fully turning toward me. "I won't kiss you. It's something..." He tilts his head contemplatively. "It's rare for me. I've only ever kissed Ash and, funny enough, your damn cousin."

How do I unpack that? Easy-- I don't. The first words out of my mouth are, "You kissed Ash?"

Sal nods, the action a tad reserved as he averts his gaze. "We were young. Both had a lot to drink and Larry's favorite kind of dare is one that no one wants to do-- he dared me to kiss Ash. So I did. Travis was much different though. It was a lot more..." He trails off and that's fine by me. I don't need to know anymore.

"Got it," I continue for him, the words clipped to tell him he doesn't have to say more. He snickers lightly.

"I wasn't going to kiss you. I just think..." he trails off again and that's when I notice he still hasn't looked back to me. He's biting his tongue. There's something he doesn't want to say. But, "I think you're pretty."

My heart stutters in my chest as I watch him, toss his words around in my head a bit.

"Everything that I don't have, you do. Your face is so... symmetrical, lovely. I can't help but watch how you do things sometimes. I was being honest— it fascinates me." Nothing but honesty in his tone. Dripping with honey and all things sweet. I didn't peg him as a sentimental guy, but when I'm wrong, it works out. I don't think anyone's ever said something so kind to me before.

How the fuck am I supposed to sleep tonight?

I don't quite know how to work through or accept what he's just told me. He thinks I'm so pretty that he can't help but watch me? That's a line out of a Disney movie. No, even better, it's Twilight. A Hallmark romance.

But I appreciate his honesty. He told me the same thing when I said our safe word-- that I fascinated him. That it wasn't what it looked like. He was never going to kiss me, he was just admiring me.

I can't tell if that makes me feel better or worse. His words were the coin and the side that landed is unfortunately the 'I won't kiss Sal' option. Maybe it's better this way. I don't have to worry about things becoming something they aren't.

I suck in a shaky breath and nod my head to show him that I hear him. That I believe him. There's this nagging in my head right now though. A little sliver of my brain that's fighting to get to my frontal lobe, begging for me to compliment him the same way he did me. And that sliver manages to work its way to where it needs to be because I start saying way too much.

"I hope you know," I start softly-- I can't speak louder or my voice will waver. I'm so nervous, I feel like I've done blood work without breakfast. "That you're very pretty. I was thinking to myself earlier that I'd like to see your smile."

Y/n, you're off the show. Pack your bags. Go home.

Sal's head snaps to me in a moments notice, the action so quick that I feel like he's given both of us whiplash. I definitely shouldn't have said that.

"So you get it then," is what he says, the words mumbled. "We both fascinate each other. We wouldn't have this arrangement otherwise, so that's settled, at least." He pushes a hand through his hair, ruffles his fringe. "Was anything else bothering you?"

Nope. That was about it. But I am curious. "You asked if we were friends?" I throw the question into the air, refusing to look at him as the sign for the shop becomes visible in the distance.

Sal hums in a disbelieving way. "I would never. Did you hit your head?"

My mouth drops open. "You literally told me, 'aren't we friends?' That's asking if we're friends."

"You know I didn't mean it that way. Can't you tell when I'm fucking with you?" Sal counters, scratching at his chipping nail polish.

I pinch my lips together, a flair of frustration painting my insides red. "So what are we then?"

Famous last words. This is exactly what MCR wrote about before they broke up. I'm fated to a chemical demise and, jeez, why would I ask that question? I'm making all the mistakes today.

The answer is that we're nothing. We didn't even start as something.

To my surprise though, Sal's quiet. He doesn't laugh, he doesn't freak out, doesn't argue. Like he's genuinely pondering my question.

"I'd say we're definitely past the enemies part, right?" He asks, looking toward me for agreement. His bright eyes that capture the suffocating sunlight meet mine and my body goes rigid on instinct. I give him a stiff nod and he faces forward, continuing. "We aren't quite friends though. To me, friends are people who know my secrets and still choose to stick around. Ash, Todd, Larry. Chug and Maple back home. I mean, The Faces are more like family to me, but you get what I mean." He cuts himself off for a moment before continuing. "I'd call us acquaintances. And you don't have to worry about there being any more change because you're the last person I'd ever tell a secret to."

I narrow my eyes at him. This dumbass. "I've seen your face. Isn't that a secret?"

Sal slowly turns his head to me, blinks. "You really want to talk about faces right now, sweetheart?"

I swallow, slapping a hand onto my mask as I realize what he's hinting toward. Fuck. And he called me sweetheart-- I need him to stop... I don't know. I just need him to stop existing or something.

This is the first time he's ever said anything about my face. I knew I wouldn't be able to escape it forever, but I wish it could have held off for a little longer. This is dangerous territory he's walked us into.

I'm openly gaping at him, I realize, with wide eyes and my fingers gripping onto my mask. His brows furrow a bit before he looks away. "Don't look at me like I stole your cat," he murmurs, aggravated. "I'd never ask you to take it off."

He wouldn't? "You wouldn't?"

He shakes his head, strands of hair falling onto the cheeks of his prosthetic. "Would you have asked me to take mine off if you hadn't seen my face by accident?"

As curious as I had been of what he looked like, he has a point. I never would have pressured him or even asked for him to show me his face. If I'd have discovered his face in another way, it would have been on Sal's terms. It would have been if he wanted to show me.

"No," I whisper, gazing up at the store sign that's just a few doors ahead now. "I wouldn't have."

"Exactly," he says matter-of-factly. "Do you feel better now? Are you done avoiding me or am I going to have a couple more days to relish in the fact that I made you fold?"

I purse my lips, desperately resisting the urge to punch him in the gut. "No one folded, dickhead. I was just confused." I spin to him, point an accusatory finger at his chest. "You switch up quick, don't you?"

A mischievous smile that's hidden from me makes his pretty eyes squint as he grabs onto my wrist, gently shoves it away from his chest. "You love it, don't you?" He counters playfully, though there's still some bite in the way he speaks.

I scoff, grabbing the door of the store and damn thankful for the distraction. "You are the ground I walk on, Fisher," I murmur.

"Mmm," Sal hums, a seductive edge to his tone. "Kinky."

A smile works onto my lips at the familiarity of our bickering. I don't know if he's started this up for my sake or simply because it's so natural, but I'm thankful either way. Things feel normal. There's still an overwhelming, underlying desire to have every inch of him I can get, but not having all of him is okay so long as the rest stays the same.

This entire situation was selfish of me. Sal's battling his own demons right now; I mean, part of why he came to LA was to escape his past. Who am I to take away the one thing that gives him a little bit of comfort? I can't help him much, but being a happily willing accomplice to his most sadistic desires is something, right?

I don't reply to him, especially since we've reached the store. So instead of entertaining his bad behavior, I pull the door open and hold it for Sal as he follows me inside.

As tiny and insignificant as the store looks from the outside, it sure has a lot of personality inside. The aisle's stretch as far as the eye can see and suddenly I'm intimidated by a little bit of stacked metal.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, thinking through my options and settling on the only one I've really got-- I need to go ask someone for help.

"I'll be right back," I murmur to Sal, distracted by the looming towers of racks and displays. Yuck, this is my worst nightmare, but it's for the sake of music. "I'm going to ask someone where to find the bolts."

"Why be social when you have signs?" Sal replies with logic. I look over at his skeleton-tatted hand when he lifts it to point at the aisle signs hanging from the ceiling. "Thought you were smarter than this."

"Shut up," I gripe shamelessly, pursing my lips as I navigate my way to an aisle that has something to do with drums. I pause though and throw an insult over my shoulder-- one I've been holding back for a while. "Repaint your nails before you take another jab at me."

Sal scoffs, a little miffed but not as offended as I'd hoped. "Never thought you'd be the one complaining about my fingers," he replies, snarky and proud. I hold my breath as heat travels through my entire body. Embarrassment and lust and everything in between. He knows just how to manipulate every situation to benefit him.

I wet my lips and slow my steps a bit, just for Sal to catch up with me before I can think better of my action. His fingers brush along the small of my back, just over the waistband of my jeans. "I have the high ground, Anakin," he whispers in my ear, voice muffled and raspy.

Dammit, not the Star Wars reference. It's even worse that he's right. I dug this grave.

Doesn't change the fact he's a nerd.

He passes me up, head tilted back so he can look at the signs, showing off the lovely tattoo on his neck. It doesn't help that he's in a black tank top due to his and Larry's working on my drum kit. The flower vines and geometric tattoos on his arms are burrowing into my soul the same way they wind around his skin.

He's so pretty. I hate him.

"Look," he calls a bit farther ahead, his head turning to see if I'm near. "You needed bolts right?"

I pick up my pace to meet him, looking toward the area where he's standing. Bolts and bolts drum covers and directions of how to assemble drum kits, all that lovely jazz.

"Perfect," I purr in complete delight, grabbing onto the size I need. "Maybe you aren't good for nothing, Sally Face," I chirp for good measure even if it is sort of a low blow.

"You could just say 'thank you' like a normal person, you know?" Sal throws the words at me, tossing his hands up in a shrug that all but baits me to fight back.

"To you?" I ask, tilting my head down to give him my best incredulous look. I turn away from him and begin walking to the cash registers at the front of the store. "Never."

I think I'm imagining it, but I swear I hear Sal chuckle a bit.

I ignore it, grinning as I pay for my beloved bolts. Sal is suspiciously quiet by the time I get my receipt so I spin around, expecting to see him behind me. But he's not there. I glance around only to find him hovering near the front door, his phone pressed to his ear and a hand on his hip.

Probably Ash.

I walk over, choosing not to say anything so he can finish his call.

His eyes meet mine when I get close enough and he holds a hand out toward me, distracted as he says a quick, "Okay. Yea."

I raise a brow even if he can't see it. What is he waiting for? Does he expect me to hold his hand or something?

Oh shit, what if he does?

He wouldn't, would he? Regardless, my heart races as I gaze down at his hand and wait for further instruction. My brain is short-circuiting and I don't know what to do—

Sal folds his fingers toward his palm, pushing his hand closer to the bag I'm carrying.

Oh, that's what he wants.

Still a little confused and hocked up on adrenaline, I pass the bag to him. His fingers graze mine and suddenly I have to fight off a shiver.

Now that he has the bag, he looks away from me to finish his call, fingers gripping the plastic handles of the bag.

"We'll be back soon," he says a tad monotonously. I can faintly hear a high pitched voice reply to him— yep, Ash. Then, he snacks his lips frustratedly and says, "No, I'm not getting vodka for you and Larry. You two make me play babysitter enough." Nothing but animosity dripping from his pretty voice.

I snicker, covering my mouth with a hand in an attempt to stop myself. Sal hears anyway and he throws me a dirty look. Mmm, kinky.

Sal grumbles a couple unintelligible words, then snaps out an irritated "Bye, Ashley."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and I hiss. "Yikes," I say sarcastically, watching as he levels his dead stare at me. Whatever Ash called him for, it's set him off for the next couple hours. I wonder how much I can fuck with him within that time range?

Sal releases an exasperated sigh and pockets his phone, gripping the bag tighter. I feel my eye twitch when the muscles in his arms flex with the tightening of his fingers. I should have directed that 'yikes' at myself.

"We're picking up lunch," he tells me, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Oh," I whisper, the word barely audible. I swallow and try speaking again, using the power of God and anime to peel my gaze away from his bare arms. I am no better than a man. "What do they want?"

"Good question," he answers, opening the door for me. How... gentlemanly. I pass through quickly, watching as he follows me out before jutting his chin toward me. "Can you look up the directions? It's some Greek place that just opened up around here apparently."

My brows furrow. "Uh, is it called Ambrosia?" I ask, thinking back on the news update I got weeks ago about a new restaurant coming to my side of Los Angeles.

Sal glances to me, eyes narrowed inquisitively. "How'd you know?"

I slowly look toward him, keeping my stare as vacant as possible. "I'm psychic," I say, deadpan. Sal has the audacity to look even more suspicious of me, so I roll my eyes and pull out my phone, searching up the directions. "Because I live here, dummy. I heard something about it when we got back from Vegas."

"For your information," Sal starts up, elbowing my arm. "I'm pretty smart."

"Okay, Todd Morrison," I scoff, smiling down at my phone. Restaurant's about a mile from here. That could be a problem. The food would be cold by the time we made it home.

"I'm serious," Sal says passionately in a pathetic attempt to defend his supposed high IQ (which, I'm sure he'd say something about that too). His voice sounds a bit higher-pitched. It's no where near Ash's shrill, but there's competition. "Before The Faces took off, I wanted to work for NASA."

That's interesting.

I look over at him, choosing to pretend the early afternoon light isn't beating down on him perfectly right now. "Really? So, you're into science?"

Sal shrugs, watching his feet the same way he did on our walk here. "Sort of. I wanted to do more of the mathematical work, though. Since there's so much we don't know about space, I figured a space station would be interested in someone who knew how to code or was familiar with physics."

I blink, eyebrows raising so high that I'm concerned they may hit the back of my skull. Sal is so reserved, never talks about his interests. I'm thankful for even the awkward beginning of this trip with him because at least I'm able to hear this about him. Had I never broken that bolt, I wouldn't be standing here having the craziest conversation of my life.

"I never would have guessed that about you," I tell him honestly. I can imagine him in a white lab coat, surrounded by other NASA scientists as he stands in front of a whiteboard full of math equations that I'd never begin to understand. He'd probably be a great teacher; animatedly explaining his work with his hands, a deep understanding and passion for the logistics of space. It's sweet to think about. Maybe he'd have been happier working for NASA, maybe he never would have had so much issues with this mystery woman. Maybe he wouldn't have had to bother with me.

Sal looks at me again and the shape of his eyes shows that he's smiling softly. I feel bewitched in the moment, captured by the beauty of him opening up to someone. Watching someone learn to trust is even more captivating than lust.

"Wanna hear something crazier?" He asks, leaning toward me. He tries to hide it, but the tone he speaks with practically screams that he's excited.

I don't fight off my smile this time as I answer him with an enthusiastic, "Sure."

"I have a degree in Mathematical Physics and Relativity, and I minored in Astrophysics."

I gape at him, thoroughly shocked and amazed. This man has a college degree? In fucking physics? "You what?" The words explode out of my mouth and Sal laughs heartily at my reaction.

This absolute lanky tank of a freak walking next to me knows more about space and math than I know about my own body. This is tragic and terrifying and so amazing. I think I could listen to him talk about astrophysics for hours.

Yea, I think I'd really like that.

I shake my head in disbelief-- at myself, at him, at the fact that I never would have guessed this about him. This goes to show just how much I don't know about Sal Fisher. "Where did you have the time for this?" I ask, fighting past my braincells who rush to figure out the mind fuck going on right now.

"I graduated last summer," he provides me with the answer I wanted, but goes into more detail. I never knew I'd appreciate an explanation so much in my life. "I was advanced in math, so I started taking college classes during my senior year in high school. After that, I went to our local college and finished everything out there. Four year degree-- I finished at 22. Here I am."

He holds his arms out as if to show me all of him, like he's proud. I nearly gush at the sight, watching his eyes light up with excitement to talk about something he enjoys. I know our relationship is the opposite of perfect, but damn, do I admire him. I had no idea of the genius hiding behind that hard exterior of his-- but it's there.

I regret talking shit about his IQ. I probably have the brainpower of a limp spaghetti noodle compared to him.

I pause my walking, forcing myself to focus on the food issue for a moment. "Okay," I tell him seriously, holding my hands out to him in a 'stop' motion. "Ambrosia is a mile walk. I doubt you want to do that, so let's catch an Uber or a cab or something. I definitely want to hear more about physics though." I didn't think his expression could lift even more, but it does. I did that. And for once, his prosthetic doesn't look so expressionless. "Hey, side note," I continue, subtly cringing. "What's your IQ?"

"Ahh," he voices, looking upward as he thinks. Oh, that's terrifying. "I think a 133 the last time I took the test. But IQ's are an inefficient way to measure someone's knowledge, so I don't like to introduce myself with that kind of insignificant number."

Yea, his explanation said everything about how fucking smart he is. I turn my head away and keep a hand up to stop him. "Don't talk to me anymore," I grumble, and I can't tell if I'm being serious or messing with him because this information really is horrifying.

"Come on," he chuckles, taking a step toward me as his head bobs with laughter. He is thoroughly amused. "I need to talk to you if we're going to get to that restaurant. And not talking is the entire reason we got into this mess in the first place."

I shake my head ferociously. "Uh-uh," I tell him, pushing against him when he walks right into my awaiting palm. I can feel his heart beating calmly against my hand. "I've been fucking a dude with a higher IQ than James Franco."

"So what?" Sal feeds into this whole charade happily. "That just means I'm hotter than him. Case closed."

"Not another word from you," I hiss, cheeks heating up from his relentless flirting. He chooses the worst times to do this-- it's always when I'm about as unstable as a failed egg drop project... now I'm making physics references. Oh, this is bad.

And Sal's interest in space explains his Star Wars reference from earlier, so I guess that's something.

"I'll leave you alone," he laughs softly. "Just this once," he adds. I can't look at him. "But we're going to walk back to the apartments and grab my car. To hell with spending more money when I can just drive."

"Aren't you a famous streamer? How is money a worry? And what happened to you not driving in LA?" I hit him with so many questions that I start to wonder if his science is rubbing off on me.

"To answer in order: yes, it's not-- I just like to save, and California is a lot more open about disabilities than small town Nockfell. Are you ready to go now?" He grabs onto my wrist for the third time today and uses his hold to force me to face him.

I pinch my lips into a thin line and warily watch him. Though, I think my nerves are needless. I don't think I've ever seen him look so light before. He seems happy for once, the emotion reflected in the brighter color of his eyes.

Maybe Nate was right. Maybe I do like Sal and it's time to stop denying it.

"...Fine," I mumble, gently pulling my arm away from him. He releases me then spins toward the way we came, gesturing to the path.

On our walk back to our apartment building, I make the best decision ever and ask Sal about black holes. The entire ten minute walk goes quickly. He tells me about all kinds of math and physics things that I don't quite understand, but it doesn't bother me much because he's so excited to talk about it. The way he animatedly explains gravity and density reminds me of the time he recited Annabelle Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. There was so much passion in his voice then, but now it's amplified to the max.

By the time we get to the parking lot for the apartments, Sal is still explaining parts of a black hole to me. I'm enraptured more by his voice than the explanation, but I try my best to follow along.

He unlocks the car, lets me get in.

"-- and there's this point at the center of a black hole, called Singularity. It's badass-- compresses matter down to the equivalent of a needle point. Actually, infinitely smaller than that. But that's where all time and space is completely broken down. Everything you are, everything you know becomes nothing the moment you face the Singularity point."

He goes quiet and shuts his door, staring at me.

I blink, beating down the butterflies in my stomach with a bat. "Damn," I murmur. "Singularity would be a badass name for a song. Such a simple name for a terrifying concept. Imagine being completely erased from existence."

"Exactly!" Sal exclaims, turning his key in the ignition, making the car roar to life. "Funny that you mention music. There's a song called Singularity by a band that Larry introduced me to when we were younger. Ever heard of Sanity's Fall?"

I recognize that name. Larry's told me about them a number of times too. "I heard about them from Larry as well," I laugh softly. "Think it's related to physics?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

Sal snorts. "Probably not." He glances toward me, a smile still present in those pretty eyes. "But we can pretend it is."

He looks away and begins backing out of the parking lot, hand on the back of my headrest. I thought asking about his interest was my best decision today, but letting him drive us to Ambrosia definitely takes the cake. The hand-headrest move will always be my favorite.

But, as Sal began driving to the restaurant, an uncomfortable awkwardness settles over us. I don't say a word, he doesn't even glance my way. I realize almost immediately that we connected today-- after saying we wouldn't connect. I think Sal's realized it, too, given his abrupt silence after going on and on about black holes for so long.

We order and pick up the food quickly. Despite me arguing with Sal about how I can pay for my own food, he bought it anyway, claiming that, "Ash told me to get food, not you."

I hate it. I hate every second. Things were so nice earlier and now it's taken a complete turn because we've realized what's going on.

Making friends sucks.

We return to our new apartments, silent the entire way up to mine and Ash's apartment. We stand as far apart as possible, too wary to even share the same air. 

Everything is unbearable to the point that I start counting the steps until we make it through the door. Even Sal in his sleeveless shirt can't entice me to spare him a glance right now. The weight of our day is just too heavy.

I burst through my front door with a relieved sigh, heaving a bag of food onto the kitchen counter. I shed a bit of my anxiety when Ash and Larry flock to the food, Larry ripping into the bag that Sal's still holding.

The man hisses when the food threatens to fall through the hole in the bag. Sal impressively chucks his keys onto the counter then grabs the containers before they can hit the ground, holding them up with a hand beneath them.

I watch him with pursed lips, turning away when his head turns toward me-- I won't wait for eye contact.

"Oh, sweetness," Ash chirps beside me in her sing-song voice, poking my arm. I turn to her with a pleasant smile to encourage her to continue. "Friday, I'm leaving for Anaheim. Got a meeting with some streaming execs. I'll be back Saturday afternoon."

I blink, letting her words marinate. "I'm gonna be here alone?" I ask to clarify.

Ash doesn't quite understand that the question was asked out of fear because she answers with an excited little, "Yep! You get to do whatever questionable shit you'd like-- just as long as you clean up."

I gulp. I don't have the heart or the lack of dignity to admit that being alone in this huge apartment seems terrifying. I mean, I should be fine. There's nothing to be scared of, especially knowing that people have to check in at the lobby to even make it into the elevators.

Yea, I'll be fine.

So I hesitantly nod, giving her a not-so-confident smile in return.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a welcome distraction from the internalized terror that's yet to come.

I pull the device out, holding it in front of me to look while my friends flock around me to get their food.

@violove keep tagging our mother she needs to know that her bf has betrayed her @toddslefttoe @VIOLETVIOLENCE @VIOLETVIOLENCE @VIOLETVIOLENCE MOM NORTH IS A NO-GO GET OUT WHILE YOU CAN @veeveehehe he only ever wanted to hurt you bb, go fuck his bsf @ashers10 i knew he'd hurt her, i just KNEW ITTT @larbearrrr bruh i thought they were just rumors bffr???

I gape at my phone screen, quickly scrolling to see the hundreds of comments on my most recent Instagram post. They all consist of the same thing-- something about North betraying me. 

With furrowed brows, I look up at my friends. 

"Uh, guys?" I start, tilting my head as the gears turn in my head. What the fuck is going on? "People are freaking out in my comments saying that North betrayed me. Do any of you know anything about this?"

Ash mimics my expression. "I have no idea. That's... weird? Maybe someone spotted him in another girl's comments."

Oh, well, that's not bad. I don't care about him going after another girl. He and I haven't spoken in weeks. Still, I jokingly tut and reply, "Guess I'll have to start planning a SpeedBump Grave." I groan. "Men."

I smile a bit, ignoring Sal's gaze as I look down at my phone again. I'l just ask everyone to fill me in.

@VIOLETVIOLENCE guys i'm lost-- what's going on????

It takes about .5 seconds to start getting some replies in.

@lerryberryuwu @VIOLETVIOLENCE omfg you haven't heard? @toodswithoutthed MOM oh thank god you're here we need to do damage control @ashypoo99 ur never gonna guess @veeveehehe STOP BEATING AROUND THE BUSH EVERYONE OMFG. some fan leaked that sally face and DAC are working together-- THEY'RE GONNA BLACKMAIL YOU AND GET REVENGE @violove @veeveehehe no one said anything abt blackmail? they're just working on music.

Oh. So that's what it is. Maybe Sal is going to be playing guitar for a song. But this is also a leak, according to my lovely sources.

Begrudgingly, I look up at Sal who has his prosthetic lifted enough to show the bottom of his chin while he eats. For a brief moment, I wonder why he didn't just take it off, but I have to remember that it's his life. Just because I want to see him doesn't mean that he wants me to see him.

"Sal," I call out to him to distract myself.

He looks up, eyebrows risen as he situates his prosthetic back into place to listen to me.

I wet my lips and look down at my phone again, feeling my cheeks warm. "Figured I'd let you know. Everyone's freaking out in my comments because, apparently, someone leaked that you and Dark Autumn Complex are working on music together."

He curses lowly, the word full of malice. I hear his fork drop and that's when I look up-- but he's already rushing to our apartment door, ripping it open and slamming it behind him.

I watch the spot he was in just moments ago, letting the odd scene replay for a second before I address Ash and Larry.

Larry looks rattled, Ash just looks confused. 

"I'm gonna go check on him." Lar says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I don't think he wanted anyone to know about that."

And then Larry's gone with him.

It's not much of a shock that they're working together. They're friends; I know that. What's shocking to me though is all of my fans coming to defend me, and then Sal's reaction.

For now though, I hope that the situation gets figured out for Sal's sake. As much of an asshole as he is, no one deserves that. Least of all him.

-----------------------

A/N:::: y'all i'm tired as FUCKKKKKK

i have no words. i honestly really fucking love this chapter FUCCCKKKKKKKKK x2

When he would regain a bit of his clarity come nightfall, when the moon and stars occupied his empty days, he would stream. It was never for long-- he couldn't bear to engage in something he couldn't find it in himself to love anymore. She had stripped him of the few things he had once adored.

His birthday was approaching. He would be twenty two. In his past years, he feared the fated day. What if everyone forgot about him? What if no one wished him a happy birthday? But this year, he didn't even consider that, nor did he care. So what if everyone forgot him? He was beginning to forget himself too.

Sal glanced to the side, the weight of his own head too much for him to carry with benzodiazepines coursing through his veins. His internal enemy had transformed into his friend-- the medication he cursed for so many years had become his safe haven. He beheld the bottle, wondering if he could turn the pills inside into an eternal bed for himself. He could rest. He could finally leave it all. 

All the elderly scholars claimed that Aphrodite had been the greatest temptation, but Sal had found a substance that topped the goddess in that department.

He didn't want to continue in a world where he wasn't even living. Why continue to suffer when everything could be silent forever? 

The monster that haunted Sal laughed at him, mocked him as it towered over his limp form on the bed. The wispy trails of its shadows slithered around Sal's body, only adding to the chains that stood out against the fresh cuts along his skin. Its wicked grin failed to strike fear in Sal's heart this time. He looked at the abomination he was destined to become and didn't cower. With each passing day, he assumed he wouldn't be alive long enough to see this empty shell of a creature he'd eventually turn into. The land-born leviathan that made his life into a laughing stock had nothing on him if he could end it before it began. 

Sal lazily glared at it-- at the imitation of himself-- while his hand stumbled around his dresser for the bottle of medication.

"Sal?" Three knocks sounded on his bedroom door, painfully echoing around the dark vignette of his drugged mind. The bottle clattered to the floor. "Wanna come out with me and Lisa for dinner tonight?"

It was his father. Sal bit down on his scarred, chapped lips as the hallucinations of his greatest fears, conjured up by his own mind, dissipated into nothingness. Gone like that, in the blink of an eye. He cursed the odds. How come he couldn't fight his own battles?

He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth, waiting for an excuse to come to him. "Not tonight, dad. I'm still feeling a little sick." He slurred, giving his father the usual excuse, claiming he was suffering with allergies.

A muffled, defeated sigh. Sal waited with bated breath for his father to leave. The sooner the better. He didn't want the man who raised him to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him this way, which is precisely why he only left the room in the dead of night and early hours of the morning.

"Son," the words were gentle, sad. "Talk to me, please. You've told me you're sick for months now. I know that's not it." 

Sal gulped over the lump that suddenly formed in his throat, cutting off his airways. Tears sprung to his eyes, but he stayed quiet.  

"Your friends say that they don't see you anymore. You don't answer their texts or calls. Hell, you don't even open your bedroom door for them." Henry's voice cracked, the sound causing Sal to launch into an upright position. His weak arms were barely able to catch his weight when the room began to spin around him.

Sal squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to clear his head, to right himself. His dad was outside his door, close to tears. He hadn't seen his father cry since the passing of his mother.

And his friends. Every day, without fail, they would try. Ash messaged him at least three times a day, called a couple times. Larry, Neil, and Todd would knock on his bedroom door to check in once or twice each. He would ignore them or give excuses every single time. He knew he was letting them down, but in this state, he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see anyone.

"We have Gizmo at the apartment." Fuck, Gizmo. Sal's little man. After the first few days of falling into himself, Sal started asking Larry to take care of his cat in his stead. He didn't have the strength to look at his boy knowing that the feline could sense his downward spiral. "He's been with us for a few weeks now. He misses you. We all miss you."

Sal dropped his face into his hands, his fingers quaking with the revelation his father had bestowed upon him. Leaving his friends and family behind was already one thing, but the cat who saved him? He felt terrible. The monstrous version of himself was right for cackling at him. Sal was a pathetic excuse of a human.

"And I just want you to know that I love you. You're my boy, Sal. I adore every bit of you and I desperately wish I could hold you in my arms again the way I did the day you were born. With your little hands and feet." Henry took a deep, shuddering breath. "You know, I'm proud of you. You're talented at so many things. You're polite, you're strong, you're kind. Despite all the obstacles, you've... you've pushed through it and you've become a wonderful man. I'm proud of you, and I'm proud to call myself your father."

Sal felt a sob working up his throat, his heart pounding inside his chest. He gripped the front of his shirt in weak hands, squeezing the fabric as the pain of causing his father so much anguish became too much to bear. 

Hot tears slipped down his cheeks and he sniffled, feeling attacked by the onslaught of guilt, of fear, of regret. He thought he had conquered these emotions, finally beaten them. It created a hole in his heart, forced a deep ache to surface in his chest. Everything his medicine was meant to do failed on him now as harsh pants wracked his body, his thoughts on a rampage and his body suffering the consequences of the abuse he put himself through. 

"Sal," his father's voice was a bit frantic now. Sal knew he could hear the breakdown he was tumbling into. "Please, buddy. Let's talk. Let me help you."

Sal rushed to stand, his legs too tired to support him. He stumbled to the wall, another agonized sob breaking past the barriers he thought he'd built up. His hands trembled against the white wallpaper and he used it to guide himself to his awaiting father. He needed to get to him, tell him he was sorry. Tell him he loved him, beg his father to forgive him.

He gasped for breath, his chest so tight and his mind so muddled with negativity that he couldn't take a full breath. He was slowly slipping beneath the waves, barely able to keep his head above water.

Sal didn't let the terror of leaving his emotions bare to his father stop him when his quivering hand finally wrapped around his doorknob, unlocking it the moment he realized he'd had it locked for two days now.

He ripped the door open, the wood slamming against his bedroom door viciously.

Henry stood past the threshold, his eyes red-rimmed and a lone tear running down his flushed cheek. Sal was sure he looked much worse than his father, especially when Henry's gaze softened into something somber, something far more heartbreaking than the word 'sad' could truly encompass.

Sal launched at his father, wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing. Henry rubbed his hands up and down Sal's back, trying to soothe him, comfort him in the only way he possibly could.

"I'm sorry," Sal cried, his tears wetting the front of his father's shirt, his shame leaking onto the solidity Henry brought him. "I'm so sorry."

The grief that overtook both Sal and his father weighed even more than the after effects of the drugs he had been abusing for so long. Burdened them more than the depression and pain that Sal had been suffocating with all this time. All of his problems were sharp pins and he was the voodoo doll. It all came back to drown him-- and now it was drowning the people he cared about most.

Sal spilled everything the moment he and Henry sank to the floor. He relived the exact moment he confessed what had happened to Ash just a few months ago. Once was enough, but twice couldn't be a coincidence. 

How many times was Sal going to blame his bad luck before he could finally see that he was the one tearing himself apart now?

On the floor, a heaping, sobbing mess before his father, Sal wondered how he'd be able to pick himself back up whenever his actions had thrown himself down this way. Henry tried to tell him he understood, that Sal was never to blame. That Sal never deserved all these things that happened to him. But Sal had resolved his mind to one thing-- falling apart in front of his father like this was something he never wanted to do again. Ignoring his friends and family, neglecting his Gizmo. They were all things he never, ever wanted to do again for as long as he lived. 

He didn't know if he'd get better, but the least he could do was try, right?

With Sal's permission and a conversation with Lisa, Henry helped in admitting Sal into a rehabilitation clinic.

It was the scariest and most revitalizing thing Sal had ever done for himself. Even if he wasn't sure about what he wanted from life anymore, it at least showed that some deep, hidden part of himself wanted to live. Maybe not for himself, but for those around him, at least.

Sal made some friends during the weeks that he spent away from streaming and away from the temptation of tearing himself apart. The first week and a half was miserable. He had to learn to survive without the help of more drugs than he needed. The dosage of his anxiety medicine was lowered to better accompany his journey toward healing. Worst of all were the constant headaches and nausea of withdrawal. Part of him believed his attempts to improve were in vain, especially during the sleepless nights where, sometimes, he could hear that monster clawing at his barred windows.

But, then the headaches began to go away. He was able to eat more than just crackers and soup once a day. He felt like going outside, walking around the garden that his clinic had. And, damn, he felt like talking when he and his hall-mates would meet with a counselor to discuss their day and their thoughts. 

Not being alone in his darkness inspired him. And that was when the writing began.

Sal's pen flew across the blank sheet of paper he had taken from the lounge down his hall. It hadn't been the first time he'd done this-- the past week, he had filled up a full stack of paper with words that came from the darkness that had tainted him for all these years. 

This paper, though. This one mattered the most.

He hardly had to think, his gaze flying across the page and his pencil scratching against the paper. It just came so easily to him.

"Preserve my youth Through words I write-- Forbidden truths Soaked with venom in the night.

Enslaved to my pen, Chained in this cage; Ink stains on my skin For my friends beyond the page.

Blood soaked rose thorns And bones for my quill-- Trapped in beauty that adorns The violence of a kill--"

Sal blinked when the paper slipped out from beneath his pencil, no doubt leaving a long, graphite mark across the page. 

He whipped his head to the side, looking at his roommate who pursed his lips at the paper. Sal relaxed a bit upon seeing him. He may have been Sal's roommate, but he'd also quickly become a friend. Quite a curious friend, at that.

Sal didn't know much about him, but the man encouraged his healing habits. That seemed like reason enough to consider him a friend.

His friend picked up another paper that lied on Sal's small desk on his side of the room. He glanced over it, his lips quirking up in a little smile. A smile that made Sal suddenly grow nervous. Poetry wasn't new to him, but he hadn't realized he had such an affinity for it until he'd come to rehab. His counselor had instructed his group to write a poem about their healing journey a week ago and Sal realized he'd loved the escape that came with it. It was about as freeing as playing his guitar, but much more creative and meaningful than the mediocre poetry he'd written before this.

Sal snapped himself out of the memory when his friend began reading the words on the page he'd just picked up. 

"Look at what I've become-- My mother's careful knitting is undone. Sixty stitches and a price never paid, Might as well have sliced me with a blade.

All gaping wounds and pity, Disgust has never looked so pretty. My own disgust or theirs;  Or is it just hospital rooms and wheelchairs?"

Sal snatched the paper back before his friend could read anymore. This one was personal and he didn't want all of his internalized anguish out in the open.

"That's enough," he rasped, tone quiet. 

His friend frowned. "It's good stuff, Sal. Don't be ashamed." Sal took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way the man's smooth, captivating voice seemed to lull him into feeling false confidence. And still, his friend continued. "Why don't you like people reading your work? You didn't read yours during the meeting the other day."

"It's embarrassing," Sal grumbled. He could feel his cheeks burning up beneath his prosthetic. "Give me the other."

His friend raised a defiant eyebrow.

Sal rolled his eyes as anxiety gripped him whole. He gestured to the paper and, through gritted teeth, forced out, "Please."

His friend grinned at him. "I'll give it back under one condition."

Sal sighed, beginning to grow frustrated, but he heard his friend out.

"Whatever the issue is, whether you're just shy or if you don't want people to see the scary parts of yourself, your poetry's good. That's undeniable." His friend's grin softened into a reassuring smile. "I have a band back home. We're just starting out. Why don't you write music for us? It would give us an excuse to be friends after all this."

Sal's lips parted in surprise. Write music for a band? He hadn't considered giving his poetry to anyone.

Sal's voice was hoarse as he managed to say, "I-- I don't know..." His poetry was his. He felt possessive of it-- he couldn't possibly let anyone else express his mind, even if it were through sound, could he?

His friend shrugged, handing his poetry back to him. "Think about it," he said to Sal. "No one has to know you write the lyrics. Might be a good way to express yourself and heal, you know? Music has been healing for me. Maybe it can do the same for you."

The man gave Sal a gentle smiled then walked out of their shared room. Sal watched him leave with ideas swirling around his head. 

Recently, he had begun to see a light at the end of the tunnel. Eating properly, going out into the sun, admiring the sunset, reading literature and poetry, writing poetry again, making friends... it had all begun to mold into this infectious hope. Something he thought he would never, ever feel. And now this opportunity to write music for a band... he felt like he was standing at the door that let in all the hope that swelled within him. He just had to choose how he would walk through that door and if he would take the offer his friend extended to him.

The tides had turned. Maybe music could be an escape for him again.

He thought about his friends proposition, considered his options, thought about all the other things he could do in his life. He thought about his friends back home, thought about his streaming career, other projects he'd been working on before things started to go downhill.

He made his decision, but he'd talk to his friend about that later.

Until then, he'd scratch away on his paper, pull the last broken bits of him out of his body and splatter it against the page.

------

A/N:::::::: i know this lore chapter isn't long, but the next one while be a little lengthier!! :3 i also think the next one will be the last for sal's lore as well.

as always, i'd like to address the heavy hitting topics included in this chapter. we've explored sal's suicidal thoughts before, so the main focus here is his addiction to his medication. As many of you know, there's been an opioid and drug epidemic in the US that has been around for over a decade now. many doctors abuse the option for medicine and prescribe it when it is not needed, or they prescribe much more than needed. of course, many people do need their medicines-- i'm one of them. the issue lies in the possible effects not being explored nearly enough. opioids, OTC's, and prescription medication can be very addictive due to the job that they do to regulate our system. it creates something of a euphoria or an escape when taken in excess and that's where the addiction can begin. while i'm not knowledgable enough on the topic to say much more about it, it is something i'd like to raise awareness about. addiction is heartbreaking, life-altering, and crippling. my father fell victim to addiction-- to the same type of medication that i've had Sal take in this chapter. it broke my family apart and it broke my dad. witnessing him slowly falling apart and being away from him during his time in rehab has completely altered the trajectory of my life. seeing his tears as he finally came to understand what had happened to him is genuinely some of the worst pain i think i've ever felt. i'm very happy to say that my family has been back together for a few years now and Father Ryver is doing so much better, but i can't say the same for other victims of addiction, especially considering that my aunt is going through the same thing right now.

remember that you are NEVER alone. i see you, i hear you, i love you. addiction is no one's fault, nor is it something to feel guilty over. it's a horrible thing that can happen during attempts at healing or completely unplanned, but it isn't forever. pain is temporary, love is forever.

if needed, i did some research on international hotlines as well as some in the US:

USA - Emergency Substance Abuse Hotline: 1-800-662-4357 EUROPE - Samaritans: 116 123                      Give Us A Shout: text SHOUT to 85258 AUSTRALIA - Sane Helpline: 1800 187 263 CANADA - Wellness Together (for mental health and substance abuse): 1-866-585-0445 or text WELLNESS to 741741 SOUTH AFRICA - Narcotics Anonymous: 0861 00 6962 NEW ZEALAND - Alcohol and Drug Helpline: 0800 787 797 PHILIPPINES - Substance Abuse Helpline: 1550 INDIA - National Toll Free Helpline: 1800-11-0031

I yell her name, let Ash know where I'm going, then jog over to my friend who looks so pleasantly excited to see me.

"Y/n, holy shit!" She exclaims when I'm close enough, careful not to say my name too loud since Mike undoubtedly told her that The Faces didn't know about me at the time. "Girl, where have you been?"

"Um, back in my hometown, actually," I tell her with a little grin, enveloping her slightly taller figure in a tight hug.

"I heard you got fired," she cringes upon stepping back, looking down at me worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yea!" I answer, retaining my easygoing smile. "I'm streaming with The Faces. It's proven to be good income. We haven't done any videos lately because we're busy moving into a new apartment, but things have been fine otherwise." I stop my ranting and focus in on the apology I've been meaning to give her. "Also, I am so sorry about what led to me getting fired. Please relay that to Mike, too. I thought he was going to have a heart attack in front of The Faces."

"I know," Ophelia cracks up, covering her mouth with a hand. "I was watching from the bar. Poor, Mike. He could not keep it together! The sperm bank thing was hilarious." She sobers up to tell me, "But congratulations on everything else. I'm happy for you!"

I laugh with her, giving her another hug. "Thank you. But seriously, once I'm settled in my new apartment, I'll invite you guys over to hang out. I miss you," I say honestly, holding her close.

"We'd love to!" She gasps excitedly, squeezing me tight before backing away. "Just send me a text and we'll be there."

"Sounds good," I tell her. "It was nice seeing you! Have a good shift."

"You too!" She says, waving. But she pauses thinking about her words, furrowing her brows. "You don't have a shift. Forgot," she giggles to herself as she backs toward the diner, giving me little finger guns. "Love you!"

"Love you, Lia," I call back with a bright smile. She's such a character.

I walk back to The Faces quickly and lead them up to my apartment, unlocking the door and letting everyone in. I haven't been here in a while.

The day after we came back from Nockfell, Ash and I stopped by to grab some clean clothes and necessities, but I haven't been back since.

I haven't seen my dad since I left LA about two weeks ago. I called him to cry about Ash inviting me to live with her and he fangirled with me over the phone, but besides that, we haven't spoken much.

And Travis, that little ass. When I came back earlier this week, he had left a sticky note on my bed that said, 'Since you wouldn't let me send a dick pic to the singer, here.' He proceeded to scratch out three failures before finally settling on the most mediocre drawing of a dick I've ever seen in my life. But he tried, I guess.

The point is, being back home is nice-- even if it technically isn't home anymore.

Ash, ever the goddess, brought a ton of stuff to cook lunch today. I think pork chops, french fries, and snack packs of chocolate pudding cups. Though, I think it was Larry's influence that got us the snack packs.

Ash sets up shop in my kitchen, outraged at the fact that Dad bought normal salt and not Himalayan salt for her 'exquisite five star meal.'

I sit with the rest of my friends in the living room and make the split second decision to start streaming from my phone. Since I'm not doing anything right now, why not? I've got to make this bread.

I turn my phone around the room, earning a middle finger from Sal who's laid back on my couch watching some kind of play through of a Call of Duty Zombie's Easter Egg. Odd stuff. But he seems to enjoy it so I don't mind, especially given the circumstances of him moving here.

He's been really quiet this week.

Todd and Neil wave, and then I flip the screen to show me and Larry. The man has his face squished against mine so he can get into the screen. I have to adjust my mask with my free hand to make sure the squishing doesn't reveal me at all, but I have a good laugh with him anyway.

After about fifteen minutes, Ash finishes her lunch so I show my subscribers her lovely food then end the stream, grabbing a plate of food to eat with everyone.

As soon as I finish my last bite, there's a knock at my door.

I rush over to the door, ripping it open to see a grinning Nate with a plate of brownies in his hand. What a godsend.

I hop up on my toes to give him a tight hug, feeling about as giddy as I can possibly be. I haven't seen him in weeks at this point.

"Hey, Ducks," Nate drawls in that silky, deep voice of his. His free hand wraps around my waist, his head leaning down to rest against my shoulder. His voice is muffled by my hair as he continues speaking, "Looks like you didn't die back home. Shame."

I swat at his arm, taking an opportunity to snatch the brownies away from him. The smile I give him is a bit of a petty one, but it's a smile nonetheless. "You'd never get that damn screwdriver back if I died, just remember that," I remind him, breaking away from his embrace. His warm palm follows my body though, attached to the small of my back.

Nate rolls his dark eyes, tongue in cheek as he contemplates my reasoning. "Fair enough. I guess it's a good thing you made it back." His gaze has fallen on the rest of my friends now though-- the friends who watch us silently. Ash's cheeks are painted a lovely rouge color but she somehow manages to look our way.

Seeing Ash all flustered around a guy of all things is hilarious. She's so confident with women, and now she's fumbling for the right reaction.

"These are The Faces, as you probably know," I tell Nate, a happy sigh falling past my lips. I start naming them from left to right. "Sal, Ash, Larry, Todd, and his boyfriend, Neil."

Nate nods his head in greeting, lips pressed into a tight line-- his version of a smile at the moment. It's the best he can muster up, poor guy. He absolutely abhors meeting new people.

Larry cracks the code immediately, walking over to Nate and offering a hand. "Nice to meet you, dude," he starts with a cheeky smile.

Nate cracks a smile, grabbing onto Larry's hand and shaking it. "You too."

The rest of the males in the group shake his hand, but Ash simply waves from her spot across the living room. She doesn't move in.

Oh, so she's got it bad.

Still holding onto Nate's brownies, I move toward my kitchen to set them down on the cabinet. "Ash was nice enough to make lunch," I tell my friend, gesturing for him to follow. "We've all eaten already, you can have what's left."

Nate trails in behind me, watching everyone in my living room since the only thing that separates us is the island table. I put down the brownies then move around the table to sit down. Everyone else is busy watching Ash's stream from last night. She gave a quick tour of our new apartment, explaining why we won't be active for a few days and whatnot.

Plate in hand and still the sole occupant of my kitchen, Nate leans against the table opposite me and digs into his food. With just one bite of a french fry, his eyes widen a bit and he tilts his head as if he's just switched realities. "Shit's pretty good," he murmurs, focusing on his plate again to finish his bite.

I watch him with a fond smile, fisting my hands beneath my chin.

That is, until a tatted hand surfaces at my side and snatches a fry off the platter beside me. Nate and I both focus in like a cat to a laser, watching the hand move.

I follow that hand to see Sal leaning against the table, his hair hanging over his shoulders and prosthetic face aimed at Nate while his shoulder brushes mine. I search for his eyes to get a read on him-- figure out why he's here-- but with him facing away from me, the attempt is futile.

Worse though, he doesn't say a word. Just watches my friend. And Nate watches him, a contemplative expression beginning to take over his face.

Are they sizing each other up? My antisocial, shy Nate is actually looking Sal Fisher dead in the eyes without cowering?

I fight the urge to sink in on myself as I watch them and ponder what to say. I don't even know why they're looking at each other like this. It's getting tense. So tense that it suddenly feels difficult to breathe within the boys' general vicinity and I just have zero clue of what's going on.

Then, Sal snaps his head to me. I flinch when his vibrant eyes meet mine.

He looks into my eyes before his gaze begins traveling over my face. He glances here and there, taking in each curve and tilt of the mask shielding me from him. His hand lifts toward me, pushing a strand of hair away from my mouth and I blink at him. A torrent of abusive flutters infest my stomach and my body grows warm. I beg myself not to blush, wishing I could stomp down every single thought about Sal being sweet that suddenly floats into my head.

Everything begins falling apart.

"Oh," Nate mutters from in front of us. I turn to address his sound only to find his eyes a little wide and his mouth gaping a bit. "Oh," he emphasizes the word.

In my peripheral, I catch Sal switching his attention to Nate as well.

Nate immediately throws his hands up in surrender. "I think-- I think I get it." His voice is low, wavering. "We're just friends. It's not like that."

It's my turn to widen my eyes. Are they communicating telepathically or something? Is it just a weird, guy thing? Nate deciphering Sal's wordless claim is even freakier than him claiming me in general.

Sal ignores Nate's words at first, simply looks down at the plate full of fries and grabs another. "Good."

And he's gone.

I stare at the spot Sal populated just a moment ago, flabbergasted beyond belief. Just the slightest touch was a warning, a claim, and acknowledgment all in one. I can't quite process it, but thank God Nate did it all for me.

"What the fuck," he hisses lowly, leaning over the table to talk to me more privately. "You have something to tell me?"

I look at Nate again, noting his hyper finger-tapping and dilated pupils. He just got his drama for the week. No, the entire month.

Meanwhile, I'm short-circuiting. I'm still living in the moment when Sal's fingers brushed the corner of my lips and his gaze pierced through every layer of my skin. But the icy cold, overwhelming fear that suddenly slices through me like the dagger on Sal's neck brings me back to the present. Because Sal just told Nate that we're fucking without saying a single word. Now someone knows.

I can trust Nate with anything, I know that, but I'm dreading the conversation that comes with his knowledge of the situation.

Panicking, I leap up from my chair and lean toward Nate, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Not a word," I whisper to him, trying my best to keep my voice as quiet as possible. "We'll--" I pinch my lips together, shake my head. I can't believe this is happening to me. But I ground myself and do my best to remember that things are fine. Everything's okay. For now. "We'll talk about it later."

Nate nods vigorously beneath my hand, so I slowly pull it away-- watching and waiting for him to screw something up. He doesn't, but he starts conjuring up an evil plan. I can tell by the rabid smirk that begins to form on his lips. "You know I'm going to fuck with him, right?" he whispers to me, narrowing his eyes in some kind of psychotic glee.

Sighing, my head droops and I dread the full day ahead of us. "Please don't," I practically beg him.

"Even getting on your knees won't stop me from taking this opportunity," Nate cackles, grabbing his plate and moving around me to the living room. He even has the audacity to plop down beside Sal, giving him a cheeky grin before popping a fry into his mouth. Sal watches him incredulously before turning back to my TV.

The Faces, Nate, Neil, and myself spend the entire day clearing out and packing up my room. many of my belongings were already packed, seeing as I only moved to LA a year ago. We didn't have to go through the trouble of figuring out my drum kit since it's already in a bunch of boxes.

By the time nightfall came and went, we all grouped up in my living room. Surrounded by boxes and eating food that Larry so graciously ordered for us (Raising Canes, to be specific), Ash took the courtesy of trying to turn some music on to aid the relaxing atmosphere after a hard day's work.

My dear best friend is standing in front of my dad's speakers, scrolling through all of my music to pick a song while the rest of us sit in a circle. To my left, Nate, then Neil, Todd, Sal, Larry, Ash.

The balcony curtains are open to let in the beautiful city lights that manage to reflect into our apartment. Green's, blue's, and yellows engage in a passionate dance along the lines and grooves of my living room's ceiling. Such a hypnotizing light show for myself and my friends.

Ash finally settles on a song, grumbling when an ad plays as soon as she comes over to sit down. "I'm trying to play sad Bullet For My Valentine songs and Spotify won't let me!" she exclaims, plopping down on the floor beside me.

"Sorry," I snicker, dipping a fry into some sauce. "I refuse to give them any of my money."

"I'll pay for it," she scoffs, sending me a playful wink to say she's just joking. I simply roll my eyes and eat my fry, enjoying the lax atmosphere.

We fall into silence for a few minutes and I try not to look over to where Sal sits. He's been incredibly tame today-- so much so that I find myself worrying for him a bit.

He's sitting in front of my sofa, his head laid on the seat cushions. A few tendrils of his cerulean hair clash against the dark color of the fabric. And with his head bent the way it is, I can pick out just about every dip and curve along the length of his throat. A constellation to map out with my lips when the time comes.

"What's the craziest thing you've ever done?" Larry suddenly asks, probably put off by the silence or expressing his boredom.

I pull my attention away from Sal, especially when he picks his head up to look over at Larry.

I turn to Larry too, finding him fidgeting with his septum piercing and gazing at nothing. So his question was for anyone, then.

"I've got a story," Nate says from beside me, his tone a little too chipper for my liking.

I've mentioned before that Nate and I go way back. I mean, way back. So far back that he and I have witnessed the typical teenage depression and feeble attempts to be badass. The difference is that Nate and I went a step farther. We didn't just attempt to be badass-- we were badass. Not that I regret it, but it's something that I sickeningly assumed he would bring up at some point tonight to 'fuck' with Sal. And, dammit, Larry just gave him his opening.

In a moment of weakness, I grab onto Nate's wrist and throw him a look. Furrowed brows and wide eyes to portray that I really don't think this is a good idea.

Nate mimics my look though, leveling with me. This will be his one statement for the night and he's done. That's what his look means... but is it worth it?

I spare a glance at Sal and immediately regret it. His gaze is set on me and Nate's connected limbs, making me immediately let go of the man's wrist. Sal's already jealous enough as is-- I think that's more than enough.

But, my mind wanders back to the time Sal had a woman nearly sitting on top of him when we were in Las Vegas. All the times he was a jackass to me. You know, maybe he's better now, but that doesn't mean I can't screw with him a little too, right?

I wet my lips then turn back to Nate and give him a little nod.

I'll probably regret this later.

"Okay, so," Nate starts, scooting in closer with a winning grin on his face, hands in the air to accentuate his story-telling. I start counting my blessings. "Back in high school-- junior year I'd say-- y/n was dating this total asshole, right? I mean, this abusive, two-timing, unfaithful--"

I cut him off with an embarrassed cringe. "Get to the point, Nathaniel."

"Right, right." He rolls his eyes, waving me off. "My bad. So anyway, yea. He fucking sucked. He was also my best friend at the time." Nate tips his head toward everyone, earning lots of 'oohs' to add to his already hugely inflated ego. He continues with a dramatic bravado. "I caught him cheating again, so I let y/n know. Also cut off my friendship with him by that point."

Ash snorts. "As you should. Continue."

Nate's grin morphs into a bit of an evil smirk as he turns to Ash, talking directly to her now that she's shown more interest than everyone else even thought they're still listening intently.

"So y/n had finally had enough, thank God." He shoots me a pointed look that I only raise my eyebrows at. "And she broke up with him. She was mad. I mean, so mad that the next day she stomped up to me in the hallway, and-- get this-- with no hesitation whatsoever, said to me 'Let's fuck.'"

I hide my face in my hands at the same moment lemonade spews out of Larry's nose.

I hear a few muttered curses from Ash before Nate continues with the story.

"And I was game, duh, but I had to ask what the occasion was 'cuz the day before she was holding hands with my ex-best friend. So she explained everything to me, and..."

I peek through my eyes to see Nate who's smiling proudly at me, giving me an opportunity to continue the story. So with a breath, I lower my hands and try to ignore Sal's blazing gaze on me.

"What better way to get revenge than to fuck your ex's best friend?" I say tentatively, shrugging.

"Best part of that was he got a pic of me hitting it from the back." Nate leans away from the group with a content smile stretching across his face.

Ash giggles while Larry and Neil reach over to fist bump him. Sal looks a tad amused by the prospect too, but a completely different emotion overshadows his pretty eyes.

Todd, ever the scientist, has his own inquiries about the situation. "So, did you two ever date? I can't imagine neither of you were confused after something like that."

I shake my head. "We'd set up ground rules," I answer him. "Nate was a lousy lay," I can't help but chuckle when Nate lightly punches my shoulder. "But revenge made it erotic, I suppose." I continue, at least giving my friend a couple props.

"So no other feelings?" Ash asks, clarifying with her hands held out.

"Never," Nate declares. "No feelings other than the coolest fucking friendship in existence."

Aw, that's cute. I poke out my bottom lip and turn to him. "That's so sweet, Nate." He sends me a genuine smile that almost makes me feel bad about my next words. "But your mom's still cooler than you."

Nate groans, shoving a hand into my face. "The both of you probably beat me up together in your dreams. I don't know what the hell she see's in your evil ass."

I laugh heartily, catching Sal standing up in my peripheral. My attention leaves Nate who starts talking about the many times I was present for his chancla chucking mama's outbursts. Sal walks into my hallway-- most likely heading for the bathroom.

And you know what, I have things to confront him about right now. For one, I need to know how things are going to progress after Nate finding out about us and I can't necessarily wait to find out.

So I wait for a minute before getting up with an excuse about needing something in my room. Then, I wait in front of my bedroom door-- right across from the bathroom.

When Sal opens the door and shuts the light off, his head instantly snaps up to meet my neutral expression. He glances toward the sounds of our friends conversing from my living room then looks back to me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hiss quietly, gesturing toward the hallway with a hand.

Sal takes leisurely steps toward me. "I should be asking you that," he challenges, voice low and words clipped. He's certainly not happy.

"I think I have a good reason to ask first," I counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "Nate knows about us, so what do we do?"

Sal doesn't answer right away, not until the toes of his shoes tap against mine. I suck in a breath and hold it when his prosthetic nose bumps my mask's. His nonchalant response is, "We fuck."

I swallow against the monsoon of butterflies that suddenly start flapping around my insides. We must stay focused, brothers.

"That's not--" I try to start, but cut myself off. I don't know what to say.

"That's not what?" Sal asks, stooping a bit lower and twisting the knob of my bedroom door. I stagger backward when the door gives.

My heart begins to race, pounding away at the fortress of ribs in my chest as Sal backs me into my room, softly shutting my door behind him. He follows me, cornering me against a wall. I can't even look at him, not when my face is flaming hot and my body is having these ridiculous reactions. I can't even confront him without freezing up now. His anger, his dominance, the upper hand he always has. Something about it is just so enthralling.

"Answer me," He says, voice a bit louder this time. "That's not what?"

"That's not a good excuse," I say quietly, taking a step to the side to move around him. But my attempt at an escape is met with a hand gently wrapping around my throat.

I swallow against his hold, imagining he can feel the action across each of his fingers. He watches me curiously as if that's exactly what's going through his head.

"It's not an excuse," he repeats my claim, tilting his head a bit to look me in the eye. "Was your story about fucking your friend an excuse, then?"

I open my mouth to say something, but shut it. I shouldn't have let Nate tell the story. It had the desired effect-- Sal is clearly feeling some kind of way about it, but I feel like it definitely wasn't necessary. What was the point?

"Are you going to fuck him again?" Sal asks, dropping every hint of emotion to portray how serious he is about the topic.

"No," I rush to say, tripping over the word. I catch my breath that won't stop running from me. "It was once. I was... I was being honest when I said he was a lousy lay. We were seventeen." I mentally apologize to Nate, knowing he wouldn't care either way because I doubt I was any good at sex either.

I haven't talked with Sal in a while. Not one-on-one. Not since right before we left Nockfell, which was nearly a week ago at this point. Everything else has been the two of us sneaking glances and scooting past with a quick 'Excuse me.' Was I so desperate to get his attention that I had to make him upset to do it? I could have just texted him on Discord or something.

Sal's quiet, letting me think about the consequences of my actions, I'm sure. But the longer he doesn't speak, the more I notice the aggression in his eyes lessens.

His thumb slowly begins to rub along my pulse point, feeling my erratic heart race the same way he did the first time he ever gripped my throat. The skin on his finger is rough, calloused. Guitar playing hands and all. The repercussions of art scratching along such a sensitive part of me.

He taps against a spot on the side of my neck, his gaze snapping to the area he's focused on. "I want to bite you right here," he murmurs quietly.

I guess he's been craving me too.

"So do it," I whisper, drunkenly taking in the way his eyes suddenly meet mine again. I don't need alcohol when Sal's around. He's proven to be more than enough intoxication.

"I can't," he replies lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. "If I do that, I'll fuck you."

I bite down on my bottom lip and think about my poor friends who are waiting for us to return. I also think about how much I've worried for Sal and how badly I've wanted to be near him all week. I can just tell them I dragged him over here to help me look for what I needed, right?

"So do it," I repeat myself, giving him the go ahead.

Sal closes his eyes for a few seconds, probably weighing his options like I just did. It seems that lust wins his internal battle though because within the next second, he leans toward me, buries his prosthetic face into the side of my neck.

I turn my head toward him, shutting my eyes when the scent of his hair envelops me whole. His azure hair, silky against my cheek, moves with him as he trails his nose lightly along the length of my throat.

"I've wanted to taste you all week," he admits quietly, the words a breathy whisper that I can hardly hear due to his prosthetic.

I try my hardest to suppress a shiver, but I can't help but clutch his hair in my hand, tugging at the long strands.

Sal hums, releasing my throat from his grip to hold me to him by the nape of my neck instead. His other hand ghosts up my body, softly trailing up my side and across my breasts all the way over to where he hides against me.

He pulls away from me just a bit, pulling his prosthetic over his head before returning to his place against my neck. I can't help but hold my breath as his scarred lips skim along my throat, leaving the smallest of kisses only when he feels the need.

I pinch my lips together and tug on his hair again when he drags on the slight touching for far too long. He chuckles quietly before finally obliging me, digging his crooked teeth into the spot he so desperately wanted to bite earlier.

I yelp, melting against him just as he pulls me closer to him with a hand on my waist. He slaps the other hand over my mouth to shut me up and I blink at the action, just a little miffed up until he licks the abused skin to soothe it.

He sucks the flesh on my neck into his mouth, leaving marks in a horrendously obvious spot that I know I'll regret later but... I don't regret it now. I can't even find it in me to care about having to hide the dark red marks he'll leave on me.

Sal continues mapping out his artwork along my skin, holding me hostage against his body. His leg finds its way between mine and he lifts his knee, creating friction against my clothed clit. I moan against his hand, making him press harder against my mouth. I grab at the hem of his shirt, squeezing the fabric in my fist as my other hand buries itself further into his hair.

I feel faint, not because of a lack of air, but because of a lack of him.

Sal moves his way up my neck kissing along my jaw before pausing in front of me, his marred nose brushing along mine. His lips are parted and swollen, the tips of his canines peeking past his top lip. And his gaze tethered to the hand that covers my mouth. I watch him, crumbling a bit as he pushes his knee into me again.

He smiles a bit, showing of a hint of that dimple that could bring me to my knees faster than anyone or anything else.

I gently bite down on his finger, causing him to slowly pull his hand away from me. I gasp for breath when his hand finally moves, running my tongue along my bottom lip. Sal's eyes track the movement and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

His knee drops and he pulls me just a fraction of a centimeter closer to him by the back of my neck.

Something about the way his gaze doesn't leave my lips makes me freeze up.

No. No.

"Twitterpated." The word leaves my lips before I can even realize I thought of it.

Sal's hands are off of me the exact moment I formed the first syllable and he takes a baby step away. I warily watch the way his eyes widen, like he's surprised himself. And he's still close, just a hairsbreadth or two away, but he has room to regain some clarity.

I'm about to apologize when a knock sounds on my door, followed by, "Ducks? Can I come in?"

I gasp, my knees going weak for a moment-- and this time it's not because of Sal.

Unceremoniously and without reason, I shove Sal away from me. He stumbles backward, catching himself with a hand on my bed and an offended grunt.

I reach a hand toward him to offer help that's far too late, my eyes wide as I cringe at the sheer audacity that this situation has slapped me with. But remembering that my dad is literally outside the door, I motion to Sal's prosthetic that's limply hanging from his left hand.

"Put it on!" I whisper harshly.

Sal realizes I'm saving him, saying his thanks through wide eye contact alone as he buckles the prosthetic to his face again.

"Um," I say, loud enough for my dad as I glance around my room. I spot an Amazon box and chuck it at Sal, managing to smack him in the prosthetic he just finished placing onto his face.

He throws his hands up and narrows his eyes at me while I mutter an embarrassed, "Fuck!" To my surprise, Sal chuckles.

I take a breath and sit down in front of my computer, ripping the drawer on my desk open to look like I was rifling in it. "Yea, dad," I call and I watch Sal's body go rigid in my peripheral. "You can come in."

I glance back at Sal who frantically unfolds the flaps on the boxes, practically burying his head into it. I can't help but laugh at the visual.

My dad cracks the door open, peeking in with a hand over his eyes so he doesn't see anything unsightly. "Sorry, just wanted to check in. I'm stopping by to grab my laptop and, apparently, Raising Canes. Then I'm heading to the airport." He gives me a reassuring, gentle smile.

I stand up, ditching my prop excuse and walking over to hug my dad. "No problem, we were just..." I look back at Sal who's finally poked his head out of the box. "Looking for Nate's screw driver," I continue, turning back to my dad.

My father, Bruce, bacon king himself, slackens his expression to tell me he's not buying it and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I rub a hand over my forehead before gesturing to Sal. "This is Sal," I tell my dad, "Sal, this is my dad."

"Good evening, sir. Nice to meet you," Sal says politely and it takes everything in me not to snap my neck on my way to look at him incredulously. Where the hell did these manners come from?

My dad smiles at Sal, waving to him. "Nice to meet you too, son."

Then he leans toward me, his grey eyes beyond amused as he says, quiet enough so Sal doesn't hear, "You have a hickey the size of Australia on the side of your neck, sweetheart."

Oh my God.

I loose a pained breath, slapping a hand over the side of my neck that Sal had attacked just moments ago.

"Other side, honey," Dad says and I think I'm seriously going to faint while I slap my other hand to the opposite side of my neck-- just in time for him to cackle and continue with, "Just fucking with you. You were right the first time."

I watch my dad with wide eyes, fumbling around my brain for words. All I manage to come up with is, "Is blood really thicker than water, Bruce?"

My dad chuckles lightheartedly, clapping a hand onto my shoulder as an apology and squeezing gently. "I'll leave you be, Ducks. I'm going grab my things-- I'll check back in a bit to say goodbye."

And then he shuts the door again. That bastard, I hate how much I love him.

I turn back to Sal with a troubled sigh, but I feel a bit revitalized when I see the mortified look in his eyes.

"Oh my God," Sal voices my thoughts and I laugh lightly, walking over to take the random Amazon box from him.

"Don't worry, he isn't crazy," I try to reassure Sal as I drop the box into the corner behind my desk. "Can't say the same for when he heard about me and Nate though."

"If you were seventeen, I can just about imagine," Sal murmurs more to himself than to me. "Sorry. About your neck." He says a bit louder this time, but remorse taints his tone. "About all of it."

His tone and words tug at my heartstrings. "Don't worry about it," I tell him, making my voice a little gentler than normal. "I was..." I pause, thinking of how to word my reaction properly. "Scared."

Sal snorts. "Me too. I didn't mean for it to look the way it did, I was just fascinated."

"When are you not?" I quip, closing the drawer to my desk.

"I thought we were being nicer to each other," Sal counters my statement with one that bites. I turn my head over my shoulder, noting the fire in his eyes. He's hungry for a fight.

"Since when?" I turn to him, leaning back against my desk with a minuscule, barely there smile on my lips. "I thought our arrangement was sex, not friends."

Sal tilts his head a bit. "We're not friends?"

I straighten, blinking at him as embarrassment flares within me again. A tremor of flutters makes my heart skip a beat at the same time and my mind goes completely blank.

"I--I mean--" I rush to say, swallowing past the stutter. "Yea, we're friends. I guess. If you want. I don't--"

Sal laughs. He closes his eyes as the lovely sound echoes around my room. Then he stands and saunters to my door, quick to make his exit.

He turns the knob, back to the door as he says his parting words. "You don't stand a single chance, y/n."

No, I really don't.

I sigh, grabbing concealer and foundation to dab onto the pretty mark on my neck, making sure it's covered as much as possible before I follow after Sal.

When I get through the hallway and resurface in my living room, I find my dad standing right outside my friend's little circle on the floor. He turns to me when I walk in, his dad radar making him look directly at my neck. When he finishes his visual examination, he throws me a thumbs up. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the shame coursing through me.

"Hey, Ducky-Duck," Ash chirps from the floor. "The guys and I are about to head out. Are you coming tonight?"

I smile at my dear friend. "I think I'm going to stay here tonight, hang out with Nate before I move out for good."

Ash nods her understanding, bright smile still lighting up her entire face. "Sounds good! We'll start bringing your things over tomorrow, right?"

I nod back to her, "Yep, I'll be up bright and early."

"Cool," she says, looking over to Nate who watches the exchange. "And you're always welcome at our apartment too. Just so you know." Her smile widens a bit.

Some part of me thinks they're going to end up hooking up somewhere in the future.

I watch the moment Sal realizes he has nothing to worry about. Nate smiles wickedly at Ash, all but confirming that we can expect that to be a thing at some point.

I hug my friends and my dad goodbye, watching as they file out of the apartment. When I return to my living room, Nate's sitting on my couch with a joint between his fingers.

I fight the laugh that bubbles up my throat, especially when he glances up at me with raised eyebrows, asking an unspoken question.

"Let's go to the balcony. Dad would kill me if I burned his couch," I say, grabbing Nate's arm and pulling him up to drag him outside.

We keep the doors open, sitting beneath the clear night sky while passing the joint between the both of us. Smoke materializes in the air through various, white puffs that dissipate as they climb higher and higher.

It's quiet for a bit-- well, as quiet as city nightlife can be. Muted laughter, music, and car honks echo off the wall of my apartment. Makes my nights a little less lonely.

"You gonna tell me what all that was about?" Nate breaks our silence, taking a hit from the joint before moving it toward me.

I take it between my index and thumb and examine it. "We've been..." I pinch my lips together as I ponder the situation I've gotten myself in. I take my own hit before passing it back to Nate. I blow the smoke into the open air before continuing my explanation. "We've been fucking around for... jeez, like, two months now."

"Two months!?" Nate repeats, flabbergasted as he holds the butt of our shared joint between his index and middle fingers. "That long?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek. "Yea, it's been a while. It started online, shockingly."

"Damn." Nate releases an audible breath, dark eyes glancing between my own. "Phone sex?" He quirks an eyebrow.

I grin. "Yea."

He fist pumps the air, giggling to himself. "So, does anyone else know? You seemed a little apprehensive about me saying anything."

I shake my head. "The rest of our friends would tell us to call it off if they found out, which is why we haven't said anything-- or, well, that's what I think they'd do. No one else knows. Just you-- and my fucking dad now." I rub a hand down my face at the reminder, whimpering at the sheer fact that my dad knows that something is going on between Sal and I.

Nate chokes on a cackle, leaning forward in his chair to launch into a coughing fit. I watch, pretending to be unimpressed even as a little smile works onto my face. I guess it's a little funny. What are the odds, right?

"Your dad? That shit's priceless," Nate sighs, catching his breath. "Why not try a relationship?"

"God, no," I shoot the words out immediately. I don't even want to think about it. "He and I have an arrangement. It's just sex. Neither of us have hinted at anything else. And besides, I don't want a relationship." My voice grows quieter toward the end.

Nate's expression is filled with pity. "Y/n, I know your last relationship wasn't great. Hell, we relived that bullshit tonight with the story." He laughs lightly at the reminder of everyone's shocked reactions to him and I hooking up in high school. "But don't let that stop you from pursuing anything new. Sally Face seems to be pretty into you," he continues gently.

I snort, looking away. "It's just basic attraction. I think he has his own shit to work through and I do too."

"You're throwing excuses at the wrong fucking person," Nate says knowingly. "I saw you stealing glances every two minutes."

I turn my head to him, glaring. I throw a quick, discreet punch at his arm and don't feel bad about it when he hisses in pain.

But I have to think about what he said too. Sal and I had a rather frantic run-in with each other tonight-- one that ended just as frantic as it began. I used our safe word for the first and probably the only time ever. Part of me feels guilty about it, but another part remembers that I was justified. Sal has always been understanding. He wasn't mad, backed off as soon as I let him know.

I let the thoughts marinate for a few moments before expressing them to Nate.

"I think he tried to kiss me tonight," I admit quietly, cracking my knuckles as I watch the stars light up the sky. My cheeks grow pink as I voice the idea, afraid that it'll somehow prove to be true.

I catch Nate's head turning toward me in my peripheral. "And how do you feel about that?"

I laugh humorlessly. "Not great considering I used our safe word."

Nate sits up a little straighter, still looking at me. "Oh, damn. That bad?"

I nod, tilting my head down with a mixture of shame and fear. I don't know how to feel about it because a small part of me wants it, but the rest of me is terrified.

Nate takes a deep breath. "If it's what you said, a sex arrangement, then you have nothing to worry about. It's surface level, right? So what's wrong with a kiss? I'm honestly pretty shocked you haven't kissed at this point. Most people do, especially for hookups."

He has a point.

"I know," I tell him honestly. "When things started, the prosthetic was still a barrier. He's... he's started taking it off around me though. So we've been able to do... more."

"If he's taking the prosthetic off, then he trusts you. So why don't you trust him?"

Nate's question hits me a little deeper than intended. I gulp over the words, organizing them in my head and thinking hard about it. I do trust Sal. He hasn't led me astray, he's been kinder lately, he's always done exactly as I asked. If I express my worries about kissing, I don't have a single doubt in my mind that he'd take it seriously and accommodate me as best as possible. I just have to work up the courage to let it happen.

The next issue though...

"He played it off though," I sigh, shifting in my seat to face Nate. "He apologized, said it wasn't what it seemed like and that he was just fascinated. But, the way he was looking at me... I don't think he was telling the truth."

I peek at Nate through my lashes, noting his concerned, serious expression. "I think that your fear of it scared him. Maybe he didn't want you to call things off over that, so he didn't tell you the complete truth."

I tilt my head, considering. I've done the same exact thing with Sal-- fibbed and left out information to ensure that we'd continue our arrangement. It makes sense, as sad as it is.

"Are you sure you don't have any feelings for him, y/n?" Nate asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

I open my mouth to spit out a very loud 'no,' but I stop and think about it. Damn Nathaniel for making me actually think about things tonight.

Everything that made me hate Sal in the beginning is practically nonexistent now. All the anger, the pain, the fights. Sure, we still bicker here and there, but it's for fun now. It's never serious, never deep. It's a lot like Nate and I's friendly banter. Besides that, Sal has been excellent in pretty much every box on the check list.

So, do I like him?

"I mean," I whisper. "I definitely have a crush." I admit, albeit with a bit of force considering it's the last thing I want to admit.

"Well, duh. He's got a crush on you, too. Why else would you guys be fucking?" Nate sighs dramatically, flicking his wrist with a prideful flair I haven't seen from him in a very long time. I think he had fun tonight. The thought makes me smile.

I shrug in response even though the thought of Sal crushing on me does make me feel a bit gooey on the inside.

Wait, gooey?

I groan, slapping my hands over my face and grumbling a muffled, "Fuck."

Nate guffaws, his chair creaking as he sits up quickly. He shoves my arm. "You do like him!"

I shove his arm back, swallowing back tears of surprise, fear, and regret. The audacity of my own emotions. "If I do like him," I start, leveling a glare at Nate which makes him sober up quickly. "It's not enough. Nowhere near. And besides, he's still a shitbag." I don't mean those words as much as I used to.

"That's true," Nate mumbles to himself. "You two have a little feud online, don't you?" His brows furrow and he looks down at the small space between us. "Oh, wait." He snaps his head up to me. "What about that other guy? What was his name..."

"Oh, shit," I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand. I've been so blinded by Sal that I forgot about him. "North."

"Yea! That's it," Nate points at me, eyebrows raising now. "People online are saying you're dating."

I shake my head. "No, I've only met him a handful of times. Spoken even less. I think he's definitely got the hots for me," I snicker at the idea. "It's nothing like what's going on with Sal and I though."

"Doesn't seem like that online," he murmurs, brows raised suggestively. I scoff in retaliation, rolling my eyes at him. But then he narrows his gaze in my direction, scrutinizing me from the minute distance between us.

I watch with bated breath, waiting for whatever's brewing in his head to leave his mouth.

"Why the hell are you still wearing your mask? In fact, why are you wearing a mask at all?"

The reminder washes over me like a bucket of ice water. I suck in a quick breath, hold it as humiliation alters my expression. Nate takes my reaction seriously, sobering up the friendly banter we had going on for a bit.

"You're... going to get a kick out of this one," I whisper, chewing on my lips. At this point, the situations I've stuck myself in are becoming ironically hilarious. Who does this to themselves?

Nate's face drops as he seems to catch the hint that I buried myself in something stupid again. "What did you do."

Statement, not a question.

I suck on my teeth, averting my gaze to avoid seeing the dumbfounded look of pity and awe that'll take over his handsome face the moment I spit it out.

"I met him once. Before I ever talked to him online. He was at the diner-- he hated me. I... I panicked. So beneath the mask, my face is a girl named Lexi to him. She has no relation to myself or Vi." I spit the words out quickly, frantically, so much so that I worry he may not have been able to catch all of it.

I scrunch my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as my body grows warm. Saying it out loud feels so much worse than thinking it.

Why am I doing this to him? Isn't this just... insanely cruel? To look Sal in the eyes and play with his head. To know he thinks I'm two different people and never say a word about it.

I mean, at least he doesn't think I'm three people anymore. And besides, he took my reveal as y/n well, right? So maybe the same would go for Lexi's reveal.

"You're such a dumb fuck." Nate shakes his head, flabbergasted. "What are you going to do about that?"

Tongue in cheek, I ask myself the same question. What do I do? Hope for the best, that he just somehow never finds out or grows curious? Wait until he gets tired of me?

I blink around the frustration and fear that starts to rip at my insides. "I really don't know."

Nate hums, pursing his lips. "Well," he says, voice much lower now. "Seems like you have a lot to think about, huh?"

"When I'm not high? Yea. Definitely." I laugh lightly as Nate sends me a reassuring, friendly smile before turning to watch the sky. I mimic him, gazing at the cloudless night.

Every once in a while, I find that the color of some of the stars matches Sal's eyes perfectly. I wonder if he'd think the same.

-------

A/N::::::::::::::: happy 100k everyone!! to ALL my readers, i want to start by expressing my immense gratitude. I just know that 14 year old ryver has tears streaming down her face knowing that we got here. never in my life did i think this would actually happen to me, but even more than that, i never expected to make such wonderful friends in all of you along the way. 100,000 views on a piece of work i created feels absolutely impossible, but i would not be here without all of you. through this process, you've all been so kind, helpful, loving, and wonderful. the right words to explain how much i love you do not exist. this feeling is incomparable to any other and not a single concept on this earth could possibly capture it's essence completely. THANK YOU! from the bottom of my little heart, thank you so much. i love you all with every fucking bit of me. we're all little fish floating down a lone river in appalachia-- we're all together in some universe or another and i wouldn't have it any other way <3

all week, i've been thinking hard about this chapter and how much i've wanted to give you guys a good one to celebrate! when it started i was like :/ don't like itttt. BUT i had a couple drinks (DO NOT RECOMMEND-- DON'T DRINK ALCOHOL FOOLS) and managed to pump out about 5,000 more words in one night! 5,000 that were completely unplanned, but ended up working out really well. i fell IN LOVE with nate and y/n's little interaction at the end :3

as of right now, it's 1:49am on wednesday, june 12th. we sit at 99.5k and i've been tweaking all day to come home and finish this chapter for you guys. i'm counting down the minutes, counting down the views left to go and listening to twenty one pilots. i feel like i'm living the life i've always wanted and it's all thanks to you. thank you for everything, my loves. i love you all with my entire heart and soul! have a wonderful morning, day, evening, night! until next time <3

p.s. you won't have to wait longer cuz GUESS WHO'S FINISHING A SAL LORE CHAPTER TO CELEBRATE TOO WOOOOOOOO!!!!

"He likes my coddling," I murmur, tipping my head to the side as I peer at Sal both out of curiosity and admiration. The sun beating down on him, illuminating all the shades of blue in his hair. It's still chilly here, Nockfell's norm. 

Which explains why Sal starts pulling the hoodie over his head, but I still have to try my best not to gape. What happened to him being terrified of my cooties?

"No one likes your coddling," he responds, deadpan.

I regard him nonchalantly, pursing my lips. "Your mom does."

Sal's eyes go wide, the action setting off a warpath of alarm bells in my head. I watch him warily, but then the corners of his eyes crinkle and he whips his head away from me to choke on a... giggle.

My mouth twitches in a smile that I desperately attempt to stomp down. His laughter is so symphonic, so heavenly, so rare. Worst of all, it's infectious. And, most concerning, the joke wasn't that funny. So I hesitantly inquire, "What?"

Sal takes a breath, tucking a strand of cobalt hair behind his ear. Like he's purposefully trying to display that damned dagger that haunts my every sleeping and waking moment. "There's a punchline to that joke," he croons, eyes alight with such mischief that I brace myself, hold my breath.

"My mother is dead."

The breath I held punches past my lips, expelled in a gag-cough tag team on my lungs, my throat, my fucking brain. My cheeks flush scarlet, the warmth of my embarrassment rippling through my body. Sweat beads at my forehead as utter dread courses through me.

His mom is dead?

"I— I'm sorry, I didn't—" I sputter, rushing to get the apology out as soon as possible. Because, while I wouldn't bat an eye if my own mother left this plane of existence for eternity, I certainly would if my father did.

Sal shakes his head, eyes shutting and head tilting forward as if to say he accepts my apology. "You didn't know," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, it's nice not to have to talk about her so seriously. I wish people didn't tiptoe around the topic."

"They tiptoe for a reason," I hiss, although halfheartedly. I'm just relieved he isn't suddenly snapping at my heels with rage again. "Because it is serious."

Sal shrugs, a calm and relaxed glow to his cerulean gaze. For once. I almost forget that he's public enemy number one for a moment. "Yea, well," he sighs dramatically, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Gave me a reason to scare the shit out of you again. Seeing you ready to kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness is just such a lovely sight."

He does all of this on purpose. And screw him for using me as his comedic act constantly. "Suck it, Fisher," I sneer, feeling the terror in my veins finally transform into muted contempt. The anger isn't so bad, not like it used to be.

His gaze snaps to me, and just like every other time we look at each other, I can't tell what he's feeling as he murmurs, "So long as you consent."

I gulp, ditching what wrathful thoughts had gathered in my fortress of a mind. It's all quickly replaced with a throbbing in my very bones, another tinge of color to my cheeks, and a wild replay of all the times he had his head buried between my legs recently.

Hands clamp down on my shoulders and I flinch with the agility of a cat who just lost it's second to last life-- since Sal has taken all my other damn lives.

"Hey, angel," Ash coos from behind. I peek over my shoulder to see her grinning down at me. But her happy expression doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Sal's going to drop us off at the airport. As much as you two live to hate and loathe each other, we need to talk."

Oh, no. Oh, fuck. We need to talk? That statement never, ever ends well. Does she know about us? Is she about to kick me out of the group— or Sal? Or is there going to be this brutally mortifying conversation about how she knows but she'd never tell anyone and she absolutely requires an invite to the wedding?

I suppress a shudder.

Instead, I purse my lips, tongue cemented to the roof of my mouth as every one of my four limbs goes completely rigid. "I'd rather hotbox in a car full of Larry's farts," I declare, more than ready to do just that. He ate about half his body weight in tamales last night.

Ash's eyes go wide, her brows furrowing as a guilty smirk quirks her lips. "You would rather—" she cuts herself off, shaking her head and looking up at the sky to avoid the giggles she would no doubt conjure up if she looked at me for too much longer. "Just get in the car, y/n," she commands, voice wavering with hidden laughter.

I look back to Sal and take note of the lack of color in his eyes. Seconds ago, they were bright and full of mirth. Now... they're empty. Grave. Numb.

It snaps a little bit of clarity into me, so I do as Ash said and climb into his back seat, right beside Gizmo who chirps a greeting to me. I give the orange cat a smile as Ash shuts my door, but I'm roiling with too much anxiety to do more than that.

Ash is about to have a meeting with me and Sal. The three of us. She's either going to ball us out for fighting so much, or she knows that we're fucking. And if it's neither of those, then I don't know what else it could be. I think the unknown scares me more than the other options.

Ash plops herself into the passenger seat, using the 'oh-shit' handle to adjust herself before shutting her door and buckling. She throws her head over her shoulder, grinning at me. "So," she says giddily as Sal climbs into the driver's seat. "Hot rod, old ass, family heirloom. How are we feeling?"

I raise an eyebrow that she can't see. "It's a car."

"And a treasure," she finishes thoughts I did not have, watching me with eyes that say I should cherish this gift of a ride. "How are you not tweaking with excitement? This thing is older than you!"

"Because it's a car," I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her. I don't want to kill her short-lived joy, but I'm too paranoid.

The car suddenly roars to life and maybe— for a split second— I understand Ash's elation. It might be older than my grandpa (bless his heart) but it purrs like a newborn kitten. I'll give it that much.

Sal mumbles something I can't hear then situates his hand on the back of Ash's headrest, head peering over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. His eyes meet mine for a short moment before they avert to the window, making sure Henry's car is down the road before beginning to back up.

Oh, if I was Ash with his hand behind my head like that, I'd be feeling a lot of things. Horny being the most prevalent. I definitely wouldn't admit that though. 

"Hey," Ash mutters, eyes on Sal who switches gears and begins driving behind his dad. "Are you... are you sure?"

So it's something they both know about? A spear of unease slashes through my gut, a clear reminder of this conversation we're about to have. The acknowledgement of it makes the inside of Sal's car grow thick with tension. It's almost unbearable— even Gizmo's purring has halted.

"Just get it over with," Sal grumbles, eyes on the road and fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

I swallow thickly, watching the way Sal completely checks out of reality. Something about his position, his unblinking gaze tells me he's drifted somewhere foreign. He isn't here right now— he's simply driving.

"Okay," Ash whispers before turning to me. Her glossy lips are stretched into a tight line, a shadow of grief darkening her angelic features. "Listen," she starts, normally light and airy tone morphed into something a bit apprehensive, sad. "I'm not going to get into the details of this because it's not my story to tell. But Sal, Larry, Todd, and I agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to give you a heads up... and somewhat of an explanation."

I swipe my tongue along the seam of my lips, my mouth suddenly dry with the worry that skitters along my spine. I say nothing, simply wait for her to continue.

"We are moving to LA to be closer to opportunities, and since it's more fitting for our streaming careers," She tells me, viridian gaze zeroed in on mine. "But there's another, more pressing reason as to why we're moving."

I nod along, waiting, biting my tongue in nervous anticipation. This is where I crumble to ruins, right? When every bad decision I've made comes crashing down around me. I mentally brace myself, fingers closing around the door handle a bit tighter.

"There's a... woman." Sal's hands tighten around the steering wheel, unknowingly mimicking my own actions. "She really hurt Sal. She was put in prison for two years, but... she's being released next week. We don't want Sal to be near her, nor do we want to be near her."

Every bit of air leaves my lungs upon hearing Ash's words. Two years? What the hell did she do to him? I glance at Sal through his rearview mirror, noting how he stares disinterestedly through the windshield.

A kind of emotion I can't quite explain rushes through me. It's understanding, shared grief, fury, sorrow. None of it is aimed at him. It's for him. And part of me aches to avenge him, to find this girl and make her hurt the way she made him hurt.

The truth of it is painful, like some part of me is slowly being ripped apart from my body. It's all so unfamiliar. I can't understand why I feel so strongly about it, especially since I don't even know what this unknown woman has done. The sudden influx of emotions and undeciphered realization that's suddenly hit me overpowers every one of my brain neurons, but I make quick work to try and break everything down.

Now, I understand why he was willing to give me anything so long as I agreed to sex the other night. It was as much of an escape for him as it was for me. I wasn't the only one who needed a distraction.

I feel everything so deeply right now, and assessing the depth of all this emotion makes me realize that I must care for Sal a lot more than I originally thought I did.

Ash lets me mull over the information before speaking again. I feel my heart rumbling, echoing through the hollowness in my chest as she spills more to me.

"The reason we're telling you this at all is specifically because there are people shipping you and Sal together online. Of course, the focus on whatever the hell is going on with you and North has taken some of the heat away from you and Sal— but there's still enough going around that it's worth warning you." I suck in a shaky breath. "This woman has been known to target other women who have a close relationship to Sal. It's all via stalking online and harassment, but it's something I don't want you to have to go through. Something none of us want you to go through."

I'd take it all if it meant I'd get to enact revenge. For myself. For Sal. For both of us. I don't know.

Ash must see it on my face; the tidal wave of emotions that keep crashing into me relentlessly. She gives me a knowing look, a sad smile as if to say she understands. "So, keep us in the know, okay?" She says sweetly, reaching back with her hand, opening it for me. I blink, clutching her warm palm in mine. "If anyone messages you and it's really shitty, or if Sal is mentioned or something, tell us. We'll figure it out." She squeezes my hand, thumb running over my skin. "You aren't alone."

My eyes flit over to Sal again, trying to catch his gaze in the mirror. It almost seems as if he's avoiding me. I try to tell myself it's because he's driving, obviously, but it doesn't feel that way. He doesn't even bother to check if there are any cars behind us, just robotically stares ahead with the air condition gently ruffling his hair. Sleeping with Sirens softly playing on his radio.

My gaze drifts to him throughout the rest of our thirty minute drive to the airport right outside of Nockfell. I can't help myself. Can't help the weight that burdens me.

Eventually, Sal looks down from the windshield to shift his car to park once we get into the parking lot. Then he looks to Ash, gestures for her to get out of the car. And Ash, ever the goddess, snorts before opening her door.

I turn to Gizmo, stick my finger through a slit in his carrier, and scratch under his chin before parting ways, preparing to leave through the door that Ash has opened for me.

"Okay," Ash sighs, a cheery lilt in her voice. "Enough of the bad, more of the rad. It's moving time."

Sal throws open his door before it can even fully unlatch, a man desperate to escape the horrors of his past. The sight causes a twinge of pain in my chest, but I ignore it. I can contemplate this conversation when I'm safe on our plane and have nothing better to do.

I warily walk into the parking lot, surfacing beside Larry who has a blanket bunched in his arms and a pair of headphones around his neck. Something tells me his flight is going to be nice.

Larry takes note of me and throws an arm over my shoulder, offering me a sleepy grin that I try my best to fully return The comfort of his somewhat embrace is needed though. I'm still feeling the whiplash of the conversation I sat in on for the ride here.

I gently grab Larry's wrist and hold on, his thumb comfortingly rubbing over the inside of my palm.

"I think I've got everyone's bags ready to go," Henry says with a little sigh, hands on his hips and cheeks colored pink from handling everyone's luggage. I spot the backpack I came with and watch as Neil scoops it up, throwing a strap over his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're leaving," Ash mutters from beside me, frowning at Henry and Lisa. Her parents didn't come along to tell her goodbye. I hadn't asked her about it because the stress of moving is already enough on her shoulders, but I can't begin to imagine how painful the situation must be for her. I remember how tough it was for me to realize my mom didn't want to be a part of my life anymore-- at least, she 'wanted' to be a minuscule part of my life but not for the right reasons.

Henry smiles warmly at her, walking over to ruffle her hair. "You've said that about fifty times in the last 24 hours, squirrel." His dad chuckle follows and I find myself subconsciously smiling at their interaction. Henry became a stand-in dad for Ash the same way Lisa became a stand-in mom for me. Realizing this brings me some solace. It's a little sliver of light in the darkness of my overwhelmed mind. 

Ash smacks her lips then purses them, trying and failing to hide her affectionate smile. "I know, I know," she fusses, running lithe fingers through her chestnut hair. "It just... doesn't feel real. I've lived in Nockfell for so long."

"And I would be failing all of you if I let you stay here any longer," Henry says gently, helping Ash with her hair by tucking a strand behind her ear. "You're all blowing up. Your options and resources are astronomically limited here. We, as parents, don't raise you to walk in our footsteps. We raise you to walk beyond the path we tread. You're all doing that." Henry's gaze passes over all of us, his eyes watery with a mixture of torment and pride. "So I want you to thrive somewhere that you have a chance to exploit your gifts--" Another sweet smile and I'm getting emotional alongside him. I didn't think I'd wake up this morning with a constant lump in my throat. "Just come visit every once in a while, 'kay?'

Larry's arm flexes around my shoulders and I blink past my tears, squeezing his wrist in my hold. I watch as Sal walks up beside Ash, a hand grasping her shoulder as her bottom lip begins quivering.

I didn't expect this to be so... hard. I knew it'd kill me to leave Nockfell a second time, but taking my old friends with me and having to part with people who have slowly become family is deeply gut-wrenching.

I've learned a lot on this trip. I saw so many things that make it hard to leave because I'm afraid of never seeing them again. I found out that Sal Fisher has a heart, and it's a pretty good one. He has issues, some of which have no doubt influenced his personality, but he's not soulless. He can be kind, he can be funny, he can be a friend. And Henry has clearly been a large influence on the good parts of Sal-- his father is the most selfless person I've ever met, gentler than a mother with her newborn. He has a heart of gold with morals and values that defy modern humanity. The moment Sal took my face into his hands and averted my attention during a panic reflected all the things his father has taught him-- all the warmth he has that he's hidden for so long. Hidden from me.

Looking at Sal now, noting his hand that tenderly runs over the back of Ash's head in nearly the same way Henry did, just reinforces the difference I've observed.

Ash wraps Henry up in a crushing hug, squeezing the man close to her. And he doesn't seem to mind-- in fact, he holds her just as tight. The man presses a kiss to her hair before moving over to hug his son.

We all hug Henry and Lisa, our parting about as heart-wrenching as an ASPCA commercial. But the bright side is that we know we'll see each other again. With our jobs in the streaming industry, we'll have enough money to make frequent trips.

Lisa holds me for a long time, her head rested atop mine and her fingers threading through my hair. Giving me the mother-like comfort that I crave every now and again. And Henry, he presses a kiss to my head the same way he did for everyone else. It's a soothing relief to know that I matter as much to him as the rest of The Faces do.

As I break away from my embrace with Henry, I watch Sal pull Ash to him, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding her close. I can't quite describe the kind of emotion that zaps me when he pulls his dad's signature move and presses his prosthetic lips to Ash's forehead. It's such a precious moment to witness. Ash's response makes it even sweeter; she playfully swats at his arm before leaning down a tad to kiss the cheek of his mask.

I can't help but smile fondly at their sibling-like affection, even if it echoes a bit in the hollowness inside me. I want to be cherished so badly in this moment, to be loved the way this family loves each other.

Sal moves around, hugging Larry, Todd, and Neil before taking a step back as everyone prepares to say their final goodbye's.

The disheartened smile doesn't leave my face as everyone mutters saddened parting words. But I spare a glance at Sal to find him watching everyone the same way I am. His eyes are squinted, the sole indication of his smile beneath that prosthetic.

My breath catches when his eyes, a crystal clear image of the overcast sky today, meet mine. He simply looks at me for a moment, then holds up a hand, middle finger on display.

I blanch, oxygen rushing back into my lungs, filling the void I've refused to acknowledge. Compared to his refusal to even come to the airport in Vegas, I'd say this is a step up.

I bite down on my bottom lip in an attempt to disguise the smile that pulls at my lips and the fluttering in my chest as I flick him off in return.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Dragging my backpack onto this rickety airplane takes a lot of guts. It's so run down and beat up that I can't help but wonder if Amelia Earhart was the last person to sit in the pilot's seat. But hey, if I go missing, I'd be solving a lot of problems. Win-win?

I walk down the skinny aisle, pausing to find my seat-- only to realize that Todd and I are riding together for this trip.

I smile warmly at my dear friend, scooting past him and toward the window seat.

Sighing, I plop into my seat and fasten my seatbelt. "Hey, Todd. It's a shame you and Neil got separated."

Todd tips his head in a silent greeting, a little smile on his freckled face. "Not a shame at all. This is his punishment," he replies nonchalantly. I simply blink at him while fighting off an onslaught of giggles. They seem like the type to have random arguments and disagreements every once in a while. They're totally the couple that fully believes their hiccups make their relationship fun, too.

"I stand corrected then," I chuckle as I pull my phone from my pocket. "Just so you know," I continue, leaning toward him to whisper, "I'm on your side."

Todd laughs, the sound much like bells tolling on a lovely spring morning. He pats my wrist, gives it a little squeeze. "As you should be."

I give him another quick smile before looking at my phone.

I probably shouldn't message Sal. I should just leave it be. I'm not obligated in any way, shape, or form, but... the whole situation is weighing on me. I won't be able to stop thinking about our conversation until I extend my hand-- in whatever weird way that I can given this situation Sal and I have found ourselves in.

And, yes. Of course my messaging him is a split second decision that I'm bound to regret. I feel... closer to him. Like we've bonded somehow. 

Famous last words.

This is a true fool's rose-tinted glasses because Sal is complicated. All of this is complicated and I'm probably mistaking my relation and guilt for his traumas as us forming a connection. 

I swallow over the nerves that ravage me whole and pull up discord, clicking on Sal's and my private messages. His last text to me altered our entire situation. It started all of this:

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating his last message to me before typing up a quick message. I want it to be simple, easy, done. Without considering the past too much.

But I end up typing, deleting, and retyping up until our pilot announces that all passengers are boarded.

My fingers quake as I type up my last attempt and use every bit of willpower to refrain from deleting it all over again. My thumb hovers over the 'send' button and I force myself to look away, quickly smashing the button and pursing my lips as embarrassment rips me to shreds.

I spare a glance down.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm good for more than just fucking if you need a reminder

Why the fuck did I say that? Why couldn't I be normal and just tell him I'd listen to his problems?

He starts typing.

I slap my phone face down onto my thighs and refuse to breathe for a full minute and a half. I take the time to build up the confidence to look, give myself a pep talk. I don't really care how stupid it was. It's done-- I can't change it. It doesn't matter and I don't care.

So with my heart knocking on my ribcage, I hesitantly lift my phone and look down.

SALLYFʌCɛ: i know. SALLYFʌCɛ: thank you

The guiltiest grin blooms on my face. I try my absolute hardest to smash the expression down, to tell myself that his appreciation isn't that serious. That this is just basic human decency. But, damn, something about the way he bothered to say 'thank you' instead of just 'thanks' or even nothing at all...

I put my phone on airplane mode then shut it off, look out the window as our plane begins to power up.

"Hey," Todd suddenly says, his voice inquisitive and a little concerned. "So, sorry if this is prying too much but it's kind of fucking killing me."

I turn my head to look at him, brow raised at his tone. "Don't worry about it," I murmur. "What's up?"

His dark eyes stare into mine-- deeply, investigating my soul like some kind of spiritual detective. I can't help but squirm beneath his heavy gaze, waiting for him to share his thoughts.

He starts slowly shaking his head. "I can't tell which one you're fucking."

Mentally, my eye is twitching.

I catch the shocked cough that almost escapes my mouth. Fear claws its way up my spine as I search through filing cabinets full of words in my head. "Uh," I intellectually start with. "Who says I'm fucking someone?"

Todd blinks, something like clarity morphing his features-- like he just got his answer. "Because you have North bricked up in the supply room of Henry's music store and Sal tracking your every movement like a dog salivating over a steak."

My mouth opens and closes silently up until my mental filing cabinet of words flies open and forces unintelligible sounds and words to fly through my mouth. I choke over my panic and slap a hand over my mouth, watching him with wide eyes.

Part of it is absolute amusement and disbelief over Todd's claims, but the other half of me is petrified by the fact that he sniffed me out immediately. Well, he's trying to, at least.

"I'm sorry?" I snort, my words muffled due to the hand that stays clutched to my mouth.

Todd gives me a no-bullshit look. "I won't say anything," he promises with a shrug. "I know I outted you in Vegas, but that's why I'm discussing the situation with you first this time."

"I'm not--" I pause, dropping my hand from my mouth to properly speak to him. I'm trying to school this and keep the terror out of my gaze, but I think he already knows. "I'm not fucking anyone," I declare, tilting my head down to accentuate my claim.

Maybe he'll buy it. I need him to buy it, actually.

It's not that I don't trust Todd, it's just that I know what he's going to say. It's the same thing anyone in The Faces would tell me-- the same thing Sal has insinuated repeatedly. That I shouldn't be fucking him. I want to avoid that because I already know. I don't want anyone else burying themselves in whatever the hell is going on because I don't even fully understand it myself.

This group is tight-knit. They care. They care so much that they would immediately tell me and Sal to end things and forget it ever happened because fuck buddies are 'toxic' and we 'hate' each other. But with Sal and me, it transcends all of that. We don't have half the issues we started out with, not to mention, our arrangement is working fine. And I'll admit that Sal is the farthest thing from shallow. There are so many twists and turns in his maze of a mind that I'm urged to navigate through it.  

Maybe we're nothing remotely close to normal, it's the complete opposite of what constitutes as tradition. But everything before this pales in comparison. God forbid he hear my thoughts, but Sal is becoming a friend. I had to quickly accept that notion the moment I got defensive over his trauma. 

Todd smacks his lips, a clear sign that he doesn't believe a word I've said. "Fine," he sighs. He seems a bit disappointed... but understanding. Todd loves drama, but he's thoughtful as well. He won't push me to talk if I don't want to. And let's face it, I'm sure he's already set on his opinion of the topic. The only thing he doesn't have is my confirmation. 

"Just be careful, okay?" Todd's brows furrow a bit, a small frown pulling at his lips. "I know it isn't my business, but some secrets are a lot worse than you'd imagine. Fuck who you want, just don't get close enough to get wrapped up in feelings you'd regret."

Apprehension wraps its bony, ashen fingers around my heart and chokes the life out of it. I stare at Todd with wide eyes that have reacted of their own accord. I clench my teeth and think hard about how to organize my thoughts into something comprehensible. 

"Is there something I should... know? About either or both of them?" I decide to ask, clearing my throat when my words come out whispered and hoarse, tangled with anxiety.

Todd presses his lips together, showing off his short temper. "I literally just told you they have secrets and to watch yourself. Read between the lines, y/n. Shakespeare should have taught you as much."

The pounding of my heart dies down a bit at Todd's rushed, frustrated sarcasm. The tension and fear are slowly dissipating, so I'll take Todd's claim to mean that he's just worried for me. North's and Sal's secrets can't be so bad-- everyone has baggage. And I mean, Sal's quite literally been through the wringer. An accident so bad it marred his face, a shitty woman who hurt him, and a dead mother. It can't get that much worse, can it?

I scoff playfully. "I hate Shakespeare. He was the worst person to choose for a comparison, Todd," I say gently, giving him a hesitant smile.

That sets Todd off. For the rest of our two hour flight, he argues with me about Shakespeare's genius. He made some pretty legit claims, saying that Shakespeare knew just how to throw backhanded comments to petty royals who didn't have smarts to decipher the true meaning. That Shakespeare was damn lucky he didn't get killed-- unless he was! 

Yep, a whole debacle on his death came from that. It kept me entertained though. More importantly, it distracted me from Sal who, now that we've landed and are heading to our new apartments, I can't help but worry about.

Ash is sitting beside me watching the buildings of LA pass us by. She squeezes my hand here and again, smile widening when we come across landmarks she spent her own time searching up. It's so sweet-- all the places Ash couldn't visit on her first trip here are all available to her now.

Meanwhile, Larry's animatedly chatting with our Uber driver-- somehow he happened upon the topic of Speedos. Interestingly enough, our driver seems more than happy to let our friend talk. Neil chimes in here and again to add to Larry's outlandish remarks, making the driver nod in agreement or chuckle.

I watch the streets, slowly beginning to recall all the times I've walked these sidewalks within the past year. All my surroundings are starting to become familiar. 

It's comforting knowing I won't be walking these streets alone anymore.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I set my backpack on the floor, taking in the wide expanse of Sal and Larry's brand new living room. It's enormous; tall ceilings to accompany the loft to one side of the room, then a wall of windows with balcony doors across from me. As modern as it is, it has a nice, darker touch to it. The floors are grey oak, the walls a charcoal color, and the ceiling is bright white— a perfect contrast to the shade crawling upward.

I lick my lips, trying my best not to gape at the only room I've seen so far.

Larry whistles his adoration for the place, standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, inspecting every nook and cranny of his new home. He's but a speck of dust in a fancy cave. "This shit's pretty hardcore," he murmurs.

Neil places his bag on the floor beside mine, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Didn't you check the place out already, Lar?" he asks, a cheery edge to his voice.

Larry, in response, snorts and waves Neil's comment off. "Duh," he sarcastically answers. "This place has too much pizazz for me to not admire it like a middle aged man admires his new lawnmower. This is ejaculation material, bro."

Todd sighs obnoxiously, but Neil nods his head beside me, handsome smile on his face as he says, "Fair enough."

I seem to have found myself quite the group.

Ash glides her way through the entrance, giving the big room a once over and an approving nod that says she likes the apartment. She glances over at me, gestures with her elbow. "Looks pretty similar to ours, Vee," she chirps, viridian gaze glittering in the lovely sunshine that filters through the big windows. Sal and Larry didn't get an apartment, these dudes bought a house. In the sky. This thing is too extravagant to be undermined with the term of 'apartment.'

And then Ash's claim spins around my head, hitting all sides of my cranium to solidify the fact that we have a near identical home.

My eyebrows bunch together and I blink at Ash. "Wait, what?"

Ash simply shrugs, little grin plastered on her lips as she scrolls through her phone and plops herself onto the floor. She sits criss-cross applesauce and drags my backpack over to her, tucking it into her lap like a pillow. "I'm calling Sal to let him know we made it," she mutters, clicking on her phone a couple times before putting it on the ground in front of her.

I see a pig-tailed, really tiny Sal on her phone. His contact picture. He and Ash are standing side by side, both of them holding up bunny ears behind each other's heads. Ash looks exactly the way I remember her as a teenager. Sal looks the total opposite of what I thought though.

Part of me expected him to be this super lanky, scene kid. I mean, the hair said enough. But he just looks awkward and childlike here. His eyes are big and bright, happy. He's on his tiptoes to try and add some height to his small stature, so he doesn't look quite as short next to Ash. It's refreshing— clearly, he hasn't always been so... closed off, mean, and unhappy.

The call suddenly accepts and I'm forced back to reality, especially when someone who absolutely cannot be Sal Fisher answers the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart," he starts warmly, tone cosplaying as a literal cinnamon roll. Gooey, sweet, and cozy. "Did you guys make it safe?"

What brain slurping alien has taken over his body? There's no way that's him.

I think back to our night in Nockfell-- he called me sweetheart. He's calling Ash the same. Is this the true Sal? Laid back, caring, and gentle? Is that what he was trying to portray to me when we acted as distractions to one another?

"Sure did, mi corazón," Ash replies in a sing-song voice, rocking back and forth. "How are you and Gizzy? Staying safe? What's the ETA?"

I hear a low, content chuckle from the phone and swear I've been thrust into an alternate reality. "I'm fine, Giz is great. He's napping on my lap while I drive. Staying as safe as an eyeless guy can. And we should be there around midnight tonight."

Ash frowns. "Midnight? Why don't you guys stay the night at a hotel? Kinda risky to drive for so long."

Sal hums in contemplation. "My chances of finding a pet-friendly hotel are scarce. It's more trouble than it's worth. I don't usually go to bed 'til early in the morning anyway— you know that. I'll just get our bags down when we get there and save the unpacking for tomorrow."

"Let us know when you get here then," Ash murmurs worriedly. I grab my phone and check the time. It's six in the evening. Is he really going to drive for another six hours? "And please, drive safe. Don't forget to eat and stay hydrated. You literally take, like, two weeks off all our lives the longer you aren't around," she adds, tone much like a grandma fussing.

Sal laughs heartily on the line and my lips quirk up at the sound. "I will, I will," he replies to her, voice lovingly tender. "I'm about to stop to pick up dinner and feed Gizmo. I'll update you later, 'kay?"

"Okay," Ash chirps, satisfied with Sal's promise. "Ik houd van jou!" She kicks her feet after speaking, pinching her lips together and staring at the ceiling excitedly, waiting. Ash and her languages... I have no idea which one she just spoke, but usually if it's not in English, she's saying 'I love you.'

"You too, darling." Sal knows her as well as I do. This interaction is too precious-- I should not have been present for it.

Ash ends the call then looks over at us. "He's in such a good mood," she whisper yells, exhilaration scrawled across her face. She looks like she just did a line of coke. "He never says he loves me too!?" She whips her head to Larry, eyes narrowing as she inspects him. And Larry, he balks; holds his hands up in surrender to accompany his saucer-sized gaze. 

"Is he on drugs? Did you give him something?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow but never letting up that little glare she has going. 

"No!" Larry exclaims, voice cracking. His surrendering hands turn upward in an exasperated shrug. "Why the hell would I send him on a road trip with drugs? We're talking about Sal."

"Exactly. We are talking about Sal. Sal who likes to party with you. See where I'm going?" Ash counters, tilting her head to accentuate her point.

Larry opens his mouth to argue, but then his brows furrow and he snaps his mouth shut, looking off to the side contemplatively. I'm still reeling over this news about Sal supposedly liking parties. "Okay, I see," Larry grumbles. "But seriously, I didn't give him anything. Hell, I don't even have anything."

"I wonder what the hell has him so cheery then," Ash mumbles to herself.

"It's trauma, dude, I swear," Larry declares passionately, pointing at Ash with one hand while the other buries itself into his hair. He's just had an 'aha!' moment. "He's fucking coping. Let the man cope."

Ash stuffs her face into her hands. "Larry," she says darkly, voice muffled. My hair stands on end at her tone and I note Larry grimacing beside me. "That is not funny."

Larry purses his lips and takes two steps back. I watch him struggle, cheeks going red as his mouth works. Like he's trying so desperately hard to not say something. But when can he ever keep his mouth shut, right? This is King Cockblock. Emo Buff Daddy.

"Sal would've laughed," he says softly, wincing when Ash's head snaps up and she sends him a cold glare. 

I giggle when Ash launches into a full frontal attack, heading straight for Larry who squeals like a piglet. Todd simply sighs, pinching Neil's arm who laughs at our friends.

As unclear as everything is, I know that I can rely on the people here with me. The excitement on their faces just from knowing they have a new start, surrounded by one another. This is solid, this is good.

Ash and I eventually find our way three stories above Sal and Larry's apartment to our own apartment. It's at this exact moment that reality sets in. Not only will I be beside Ash every single day from here on out, but the rest of our friends are in the same exact building. For as long as I've felt alone, I feel stuffed with company and I love every bit of it.

She wasn't wrong either. Our apartment is essentially the lighter, more feminine version of Sal and Larry's. The floor is a dark, mahogany color but the walls are eggshell white, creating a lovely contrast in the room. Our ceilings are still stunningly tall, but unlike Sal and Larry, we don't have a loft. Just a lot of fan room, as Ash joked. 

We spent time having our 'ooh' and 'ahh' moment, exploring our spacious three bedroom apartment and its bathrooms. And not long afterward, we set up the one blanket I brought with us in the middle of our living room. We ordered ramen and had a picnic beneath the moonlight fluttering in through our balcony windows. 

It's a girl's night that I've been craving since the moment I first left Nockfell all those years ago.

Ash ends up dragging me and our little blanket out onto our balcony so we can stargaze. In fact, we're in the middle of discussing Twenty One Pilots's new album when pale hands suddenly drop onto Ash's shoulders. 

She and I both yelp, Ash's arms flailing and her eyes squeezed shut in absolute terror as she flings herself off our blanket. I flinch, spinning in my sitting position to see Sal who's absolutely grinning beneath his prosthetic.

I look past him, noting Larry and Neil hovering in our living room with bags and suitcases surrounding them.

Oh, an important note, all three men are completely shirtless. Even better, they're a little sweaty too.

"What the fuck, Sally!?" Ash yells, sighing exasperatedly as she lifts herself from the ground and walks over to Sal, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "You're lucky I'm relieved about you being here because I would so twist your dick if this were any other situation."

"Thanks for sparing me then," he chuckles, hand splaying across Ash's lower back as they break their embrace.

I've found myself wordless all day. I feel like a spectator-- like I'm not even here with them on this balcony.

Ash ignores his remark. "Why are your nipples out? Why do you smell like a wet dog?" she asks instead, wrinkling her nose and leaning away from him.

Sal rolls his eyes and moves his arm away from her. "Because I've been unloading. Why else?" He steps aside, ushering Ash back into the apartment with a gesturing hand.

She follows his unspoken command, walking through the balcony doors and beholding the sheer amount of smelly men in our new home. "You should have called us for help," Ash murmurs, hands on her hips as she comes to a stop before Larry and Neil.

Sal doesn't answer her immediately. Instead, he looks over at me with his bright eyes that have been phenomenally captured by the moonlight above. He tilts his head toward the door, silently telling me to follow Ash's lead.

Gulping, I lean down and quickly gather my blanket in my arms, trying my absolute best not to express the nerves ravaging me whole. Sal's here. I don't really hate him like I thought I did. And he hasn't spewed insults at me yet. It's awkward and I feel... shy?

I start walking to the door, making absolute sure not to look at him. 

As I pass through the threshold, I can feel the very tips of Sal's fingers brush along my side. Even in LA's smoldering weather, chills suddenly erupt along my skin. I don't know what kind of touch it was-- a greeting or a reminder of his presence-- but it was certainly something. 

I suck in a quick breath, counting my steps so as not to trip over my feet as I walk further into the room. 

Sal follows, shutting our balcony doors behind him and moving to point at all the luggage on the floor. And, oh, thank God, someone was either smart enough or kind enough to bring an air mattress. "This is all your shit, Ash," Sal sighs sarcastically, though there's some amusement beneath his facade.

"How did you manage to fit all of this into Sal's trunk?" Larry asks, gathering his hair into his hands, a ponytail between his teeth. "Everyone else had, like, three bags. Here you are, bringing your entire closet and then some."

"Uh, yea." Ash's attitude comes out full force, a glint in her forest eyes that says she's ready for this argument. "I brought my entire house, dude. I just moved states away, if you didn't know."

Neil cackles, grabbing onto Larry's shoulder for support. "I'm so glad we all moved together. I never get tired of you guys."

Someone get this man out of the room. Neil's a really handsome mouse surrounded by vultures, especially shirtless like this. Sal blinks at him then turns away and-- honestly-- I'm not far from having to do the same.

Ash smirks at Neil, shifting her weight to one leg to accentuate her little sassy pose. "You're going to get tired of us when we finish unpacking our stuff. After that, we're going pack up all of y/n's stuff to haul it here."

Neil tries to mask the way his face suddenly falls at the reminder that we're moving me here too, but he miserably fails. His quivering lips say enough and the group of us can't help but burst into laughter.

"It shouldn't be too bad." I send Neil a reassuring smile. "I'll rope Nate into helping us somehow--"

"Your hot LA bestie?" Ash squeaks excitedly. She turns to me with her hands fisted beneath her chin, her previous attitude mist in the wind now.

My brows furrow. "You think Nate is hot? You? Ms. Scissoring Expert herself?" I can't help but pick on her a bit.

Ash's excitement morphs into flattery at the name I came up with for her. "Oh, come on. It's not that shocking is it? I indulge in men sometimes."

"Yea, every three blue moons," Sal chimes in, watching us with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

Ash sticks her tongue out, mocking him before she focuses back on me. "Definitely invite the hottie," she tells me with raised brows.

Whatever Ash wants, Ash gets.

I grab my phone without another word and start typing out a message to Nate. Ash watches over my shoulder, her coconut and poppy scented hair brushing along my chin.

Me: hey, i'm moving. help pack???? pls???? :DDD

Nate: I swear I wasn't serious about revoking your brownie rights. You don't have to leave.

Me: LMAO i promise that's not the reason the faces just moved to la & ash invited me to live with her soooo

Nate: So you hate me is what I'm hearing.

Me: --_--

Nate: Lol. Kidding. You know I'm happy to  help with whatever you need.

Me: this is why ur my favorite ex <33

Ash gasps. "You dated the hottie?" I fling my head around to look at her, forgetting she was in on this entire conversation.

"Woah," Larry adds, hands waving like he's washing windows. "You dated the guy who tried to kill you before our stream?"

I shake my head disappointedly, glancing down at my phone to see if Nate fixed my fuck up. And he has, so I show everyone the message.

Nate: We've never dated. I'm not your ex.

Me: but you're clingy like one so you  might as well be... plus you literally drop everything to help me

Nate: Have fun packing on your own.

Me: I'M SORRY I WAS JOKING

Larry's cackling by this point, watching the conversation over my other shoulder. "I'm so proud of you for inheriting my good humor," he squeezes my shoulder in his big palm, causing a grin to split across my face.

The boy's start talking about something that I don't care to listen to. I just spare Sal a couple glances, noting his unfazed and easygoing persona right now. All day, I went against all that my DNA has decided about him. I've worried and sympathized, battled myself constantly at the expense of my own sanity just because he showed some of his truth to me once. 

Nockfell changed things. 

I left LA lustful and I've returned with a friend.

-----

A/N::::: WHO'S READY FOR THE GANG TO MEET NATE OMGGGGGG

so sorry it's been fucking FOREVER guys >~< this was kind of a hard chapter to write. i had a general layout with certain scenes and whatnot but i've had to do SO many transitions, as you can see. I kinda hate that cuz i'd much rather stick with one theme and gently lead into side pieces in one chapter rather than bouncing ALL over the place. but, as you can tell, this chapter was needed to address some of sal's issues, y/n's thoughts and feelings as of current, as well as the way their relationship has changed a bit :3

ofc the other reason i've been gone is cuz of that stupid accident i had o_O for those who don't know, the summary is that i hit my foot so hard it made me faint and i literally shmacked my head on the floor HAHAAAAA here's the update: it's been two weeks and my foot hurts even more than it did when the accident happened. the day of, i got x-ray's and my doc said that i just had a bruise but i'm going to another doctor for a second opinion. i'm literally not even bruised anymore, but still swollen asf and can hardly walk sooooo that's tomorrow's agenda. i'll update you guys again when i find out more!!! (psa, if my foot is broken/fractured before my beach trip in two weeks, the hospital i went to better start counting its MONEY not its DAYS because guess who'll be going to fucking COURT with my DISCHARGE PAPERS AND WORK EXCUSE STATING THAT I AM HEALTHY AND OKAY TO WALK AROUND??????????)

tell me how i can improve! how could i make my transition smoother? what are some thoughts and/or actions i could add in to make things more entertaining and personal? also give me some fun words!! i need to expand my vocabulary >.<

anyway, as always, i love you guys with all three of my working limbs, even my janky foot. smooches and squishes my loves <333

(p.s. sorry for the long ass note)

But then he releases my wrist, using the same skeleton-tatted hand to grab the chin of his prosthetic and lift it over his face. The action rustles up his hair to the point that he reaches back and pulls out the pony tail that had held up his hair for the day. And when he looks at me again, brandishing his handsomely marred face like my words gave him the little bit of confidence he needed to bare himself to me, I fear I may fall apart.

Big doe eyes, long lashes. Furrowed brows to accentuate the little bit of clear apprehension he still feels. Parted lips to show off the tips of his sharp canines that left bruises on my skin that haven't yet faded-- teeth that'll no doubt leave more bruises by the time we're finished. His would-be straight bridged nose that's missing certain parts and still littered with scars and freckles alike. The sunken in left side of his face and the long scar stretching up his cheek. The assortment of discolored skin and glistening scars all over him. 

I truly can't get enough of his unique beauty. 

He may be a total ass, but something about him-- something about the way he acted like a normal person today-- makes me want to kiss all the traumas on his body and let him know that it'll be okay. The same way he did for me today.

I don't. I refrain, if only for his peace of mind because intimacy as gentle as that would no doubt confuse both of us and probably put an end to our situation too. I have to fuck him at least once before something happens and we end up hating each other again.

Sal's vulnerable expression drops into one of mild aggravation; pinched lips and a lazy, uninterested gaze. He's tired of his least favorite part of himself being ogled I guess. 

I mirror his expression even if he can't fully see it with the mask, but stick my tongue in my cheek for added effect. His cobalt irises narrow in response and he smacks his lips to combat my attitude, which is his fault by the way.

"Aren't I lucky that we made a deal and you can't get snappy with me right now," I chirp, knowing that it's going to tick him off just a little more.

"I can disrespect you in more ways than one," he replies in his slightly raspy, smooth voice that feels like ice dripping down my spine. Oh, he's good.

"So do it," I tell him breathlessly, eyes glancing between his.

"I need to know what you want first," he cuts in before anything can begin, raising an eyebrow. He takes a little step backward, laying his prosthetic on top of a set of drawers. "We made an arrangement for tonight and I know it's a delicate one, so I don't want to do anything that'll make you uncomfortable."

Ever the gentleman. 

He did a lot for me today. It was completely out of character, but when I think about it, his actions could be his way of thanking me for not fearing him or treating him differently because of his face and disability. If I was suddenly revealed, like he was, I would appreciate not having it made into a big deal. Maybe he appreciates that too, and this is how he's showing it.

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable either," I note rather awkwardly. It's weird to have to... care. 

I watch Sal grimace like he feels weird about this new dynamic we have going on too. "Shut up, y/n," he hisses out. "I'm..." He takes an audible breath, sorting through his words. "To bury myself in you is enough, don't worry." He says it with some truthful clarity, so I only purse my lips and nod to myself. Makes sense.

He fills in the minute empty space between us again and his hands lightly run up my sides, feeling what little of me that he can with our clothing separating us. "What do you want?" He asks, voice low and quiet while his eyes meet mine again.

Simply feeling the pressure of his hands on me makes my chest feel like it'll cave in, the lack of air in my lungs burning my throat. I can't form thoughts for a second, my mouth working but no sound coming out.

A little smug grin quirks Sal's rough lips at my silence. God, and the dimple on his right cheek has me folding like a fucking lawn chair on the inside. 

I swallow and force myself to take in some air. "I've been degraded enough today," is the first thing I say to him. 

That smile of his is gone in a moment, his lack of expression showing his seriousness. He nods, waiting for me to continue.

"But," I add, looking off to the side. I can't say this to his face. "Fuck me hard enough so that I can't remember that I had enough degradation." I chew on my bottom lip, nearly curse to myself before adding a forced, "Please."

"So polite," Sal coos, the light praise being the sole reason why I can't turn my head to look at him again. "Can you remind me of our safe word?"

Not demanding. Still dominant, but... gentler. 

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth. "Twitterpated."

His hands leave my sides immediately. "Good," he purrs. "If you're in a position where you can't use your words-- which, at some point, you will be in this position-- tap me twice. I'll understand."

I finally find the willpower to look at him again, finding his hands hovering over me but never touching me and some kind of inebriated glint in his eyes. Like he's excited but won't allow himself to show it.

He doesn't move. Just watches me expectantly. Waiting. 

I release an impatient sigh. "Touch me, Sal."

I'm unable to see his reaction to my words, I only feel it when his hands fly back to my waist and grip me. He hides his face in my neck, those slightly crooked teeth nipping at my skin as he walks us backward.

I gulp, drunk on the feeling of his scarred lips against my throat and his teeth scratching at my skin-- his fingertips digging into my flesh.

I grab onto his shoulders to steel myself, a gasp falling from my lips when his hands find their way under my shirt, his cold palms a stark contrast to the warmth of my sides. Those same hands drag upward, reaching my ribcage and squeezing. 

"Jump," he rasps against my throat, pausing only to wait for me to do as he said.

I follow his command and he uses his grip on my ribs to help with lifting me up, quickly moving one arm under my thighs to catch me.

Sal's lips leave my neck, his head tilting sideways to watch where he's walking. He takes just three steps before throwing me onto his bed.

I suck in a breath, my eyes on him as he pushes his hair back with a hand, looking down at me with a predator's gaze. He tries to hide it, tries to be gentler to honor my wishes, but I can tell it's tough on him.

Makes me a little proud. His struggle is kind of cute.

"Stop smiling," he mumbles emotionlessly, leaning down to grab my hips and pull me toward him. 

I drop the unknown smile from my face. I didn't even realize I was doing it. "Sorry," I tell him, losing a couple braincells when he wraps my legs around his waist, his clothed cock pressing against me. Fuck. "Just amusing watching you try to be something you're not."

His hands, which had begun moving up my thighs and back to my waist, pause as he turns his gaze to me. Completely unimpressed. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he clenches his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a retort. "Just because I'm going easy on you doesn't mean you can act like that."

"There must be some miscommunication," I press, yearning for some bite from him. "I didn't tell you to go easy on me."

He breathes in slowly, eyes glued to me. I feel like a science experiment under scrutiny. So long as it's his scrutiny, I don't really... mind.

Sal looks like he has a lot to say, a lot to do. He looks utterly ravenous. But instead of acting on it like I want him to, he returns his gaze to my body and moves his hands to my jeans. He undoes the button, fingers dipping into the waistband to start moving the fabric down my legs.

"If we get interrupted again," he says in a gravelly tone, a bit of that dominance I'm aching for leaking into his words. "I'll fuck you in front of them."

Butterflies flutter around my tummy. He needs to stop talking or else I'll cum before we can even get to what he's talking about. 

Another reason he needs to stop talking is because he likes to predict shit. 

Oh, and his bedroom door just squeaked on its hinges.

My eyes go wide and my heart drops into my stomach just as Sal tilts his head up to me, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

And then a long, drawn out, pissed off meow echoes through his room. Now it's my turn to be confused.

Sal and I communicate through eye contact alone, his expression slackens and he lets out a relieved breath, blinking at the wall behind me.

"Gizmo," he says, tone gentle and sweet. I swear my eyes are about to pop out of my head as I watch his personality do a complete one-eighty. "Bad timing, buddy."

Sal backs away from me, moving to the side to reveal a chunky orange cat. Gizmo, if what Sal said tells me anything, stands in his doorway with all the might of a small army of men. His tail in the air, curled at the end like a question mark.

"You have a cat?" I ask exasperatedly, unsure of what, exactly, I'm witnessing.

Sal throws me a look that tells me he's not confirming the obvious.

He turns back to the cat and drops to his haunches. Gizmo bounds over to him, pushing his head into Sal's outstretched palm and purring excitedly. "Are you hungry?" Sal asks, voice baby-like in the same way a parent talks to their child. 

What the fuck is going on.

I think back to last night and being briefly woken out of a sleep-stupor to the feeling of purring at my feet. It must have been this little guy.

I watch Sal scratch behind the cat's ears, his other hand running along Gizmo's back. Gizmo chirps his response to Sal's question.

Sal turns his head over his shoulder, face angelic with all his features relaxed rather than harsh like they have been every time I've had a chance to see them. "Give me a second," he tells me, a bit of that tone he uses for Gizmo still evident. I blanch, mentally beating myself with a bat that has the words 'THAT TONE IS NOT FOR ME' etched onto the object. 

I don't say anything, too shocked to form actual words. 

Sal grabs Gizmo, lifting him into his arms and walking out of the room. 

I lean back onto his bed, blinking at the ceiling. I'm glad it was a cat that walked into his room and not an actual person. But regardless, seeing him be so sweet on purpose is odd. It reminds me of the time we ran into fans in Las Vegas. It's just so uncharacteristic of him to be nice... but then again, he was nice to me for nearly the entire day.

A few months ago, niceness coming from him was off-putting. Now, I don't really mind it. It's different, but not unwelcome. It shows me that he can be an actual person, not just an unfeeling asshole. In fact, it proves that he isn't an unfeeling asshole-- that his shitty persona is just a facade. Maybe a safety mechanism?

He feels the need to hide something. His vulnerability? Shield himself from betrayal? That would track if he's so nervous about his face. It's so frustrating that it took seeing his face for me to finally understand him. To make sense of his behavior and reactions and not immediately blame him for all of it. 

I chew on the inside of my cheek, pushing up and resting on my elbows. I glance around his room that's packed up for the most part-- it's just his bed frame, PC, and desk that are still set up. Proves that they've been planning on moving for at least a few weeks now. They probably had already decided to move when we were in Vegas.

There's still a little bit of him here though. An assortment of medication bottles on top of the dresser he laid his prosthetic on, different masks on the wall above it. Probably there for when he wants something other than his every-day prosthetic, even though I've never seen him wear these other ones.

I almost feel inclined to walk around his room and inspect everything like it's a museum exhibit. But I can't-- at the end of the day, as nice as he's been lately, this is still Sal. One wrong move and he'll take it personally. Besides, these are his personal belongings. It would be a shitty move to go and pry into anything that isn't mine to begin with.

Sal walks through the doorway in the middle of my observing, shutting the door behind him but making sure it's completely closed this time.

He walks up to the bed-- up to me and grabs my hips again. There's a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches me with those bright eyes. "Let's try that again-- while he's distracted."

The dash of humor makes a guilty smile form on my face too, and Sal's ghost of a grin widens a bit in response.

That is, up until he yanks me to him. His dick is hard against me and I nearly groan at the feeling. I note the little upward tilt of Sal's head. He's proud, clearly.

"I want to see if you're all talk," Sal purrs, smile morphing into something more sensual, the sight of his teeth making a shiver run up my spine. 

He takes up the task he'd set out to do before he left the room, pulling my jeans off of my body. Then he's gripping at the flesh of my thighs, feeling and enjoying it.

"You told me to be nice, but that you don't want this easy, right?" Sal asks, tongue running over his torn bottom lip as he towers over me. I nod my confirmation, just a few words away from drooling all over this man.

He doesn't ask for any more. He carefully grabs onto my panties, fingertips teasing me with their gentle drag along my hips, and pulls them down my legs. He doesn't discard them the same way he did my jeans though; he bunches them into his fist and looks back to me, tilts his head.

"I have neighbors." That's his excuse before shoving my panties into my own mouth to undoubtedly keep me quiet. My eyes widen and I glare at him, but I don't move them. He seems to bathe in my aggravation and my willingness to cooperate, eyes lighting up at the prospect.

He pushes me farther onto the bed and drops to his knees. Damn. That's a pretty sight.

His grip tightens on my thighs, painted nails deliciously digging into my skin. "Any last words?" He asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. He's dragging this out on purpose-- I'm bare to him, he can see my arousal he's just being a dick. 

Despite it all, my heart is running a marathon and my limbs threaten to quake in exhilaration with each second he looks at me as if he knows he's going to be my undoing.

A muffled, aggravated groan leaves me in response and he only chuckles a bit, dipping his head down and rewarding me with his lips closing around my clit. He doesn't tease me like he did last time, just goes straight to what he intended.

I melt into the mattress, shutting my eyes and drowning in the bliss of his tongue caressing my clit, his teeth occasionally scraping over the bundle of nerves, and just the soft feel of his lips alone. 

His hands are so tight on my skin that it hurts, but it hurts so good-- the combination of pain and his tongue dipping past my folds makes tears well in my eyes. The fact that he's gone down on me twice in two days is heavenly. Who knew I'd get this lucky?

The best moan I can muster up fills the quiet room when he gets more aggressive, his tongue licking up my pussy before he bites into the flesh of my thighs, sucking on my skin and making it sting on purpose-- because he knows I like it.

His thumb rubs along the inside of my leg to soothe the pain when my back arches off the bed, his teeth releasing me a moment later. He licks at the bruised skin before returning to my slit with a singular, panted breath of obvious enjoyment.

His tongue dances between my folds, drawing patterns that I don't have the brainpower to distinguish along my clit. His mouth drives me to madness, only adds to a quick-building orgasm that I can't control because he's just so good with everything-- in words and actions.

He sucks my clit into his mouth one last time before standing up and leaning over me, huffing breaths between those parted, glistening lips. He uses his hands on my legs to wrap them around his waist again, but moves one between my thighs, replacing his mouth with his fingers that he buries into me easily. 

I squeeze my eyes shut despite wanting to watch the expression on his face. I tilt my head back as his fingers slide in and out of me, eliciting a deep pleasure that makes my body react of its own accord.

"You don't want me to tell you about how you're such a good slut for me," Sal says breathlessly, the hand that isn't at my pussy moving to my stomach. He pushes my shirt up until he's able to lean down and press his mouth to my warm skin. I tense beneath him at the contact, the delicate feeling of his lips moving roughly above my navel. "So how about," he pauses, licking up my torso to my ribs. "I pamper you with all the things any normal guy would tell the woman lying beneath him."

I suck in a breath, eyes still shut as he slams his fingers into my pussy, curling them to hit a spot that makes my body jolt. There's so much going on, his hand bringing me to climax and his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin of my ribcage. 

He uses the hand holding up my shirt to maneuver it over my chest, haphazardly lifting it past my neck and over my head. My hair is a mess as he chucks it somewhere into his room-- but I don't care. He doesn't care as he adds another digit into my cunt, his thumb expertly rubbing my clit. 

He reaches underneath me, miraculously unclipping my bra first try and yanking it off me-- all the gentleness he tried to flaunt minutes ago disappearing entirely. 

He doesn't bother taking a look at my chest, he only moves upward to lick my hardened nipple, his free hand palming the opposite breast all the while he keeps pounding his fingers into me. "Someone normal would tell you that you look pretty like this."

Holy hell, I'm going to cum before we can fuck.

"That you look stunning in the low lighting with my fingers filling you up, and your flushed cheeks-- the tears in your eyes." I feel myself falling apart underneath him, his fingers reaching deep within me and his mouth latching onto my nipple, his hand running down the length of my stomach. And he must know because his lips stretch against my skin, moving away from my breasts to glance up and send me an inebriating grin that's so full of equally evil and sensual promises. "That you look so beautiful when you're losing yourself."

I can't look at him anymore. Not when there's truth to those words hiding somewhere deep in his cerulean eyes. Not with his fingers curling into me again and his hand roaming over my stomach.

But that same hand grips my chin, shakes it a bit until I open my eyes and look at him. His jaw is clenched tight, something sinister in the eyes that were praising me just moments ago. "Cry for me," he says in a guttural, assertive tone. 

I cum all over his fingers, my hand grabbing onto his strong bicep as the tears he asked me for slip down my cheeks even if he can't see them. I can't control them, nor can I contain the muttered pleas for more, or less, or for him that tumble past my lips only to be muffled by the panties in my mouth. 

He helps me through the sudden orgasm, lips pressing little kisses between my breasts while his eyes never leave me. He removes his fingers from my pussy after I come down from my high. I pant at the ceiling, finding it harder to breathe with the fabric in my mouth.

Sal notices and plucks my panties from my lips, causing me to shut my eyes in ecstasy as a fresh wave of air invades my lungs. I almost choke on the first breath. 

In my peripheral, I watch Sal stick his soaked fingers into his mouth and lick up the excess of everything he couldn't taste when his tongue was on buried in me. I nearly choke again.

"Such a good girl for me," he praises, standing to his full height but never parting our bodies-- my legs still wrapped around his middle. He does lean over though, opening a drawer on his bedside table. 

He pulls out a foil packet and drops it onto my stomach. "We're doing it the right way this time," he informs me, nodding at the condom.

I swallow past the unbridled excitement building within me. "Why didn't you use one?" I pant, sucking in a big breath of air before continuing. "The last time?"

Sal tilts his head disappointedly in answer, averting his gaze. I watch the way his scarred lips move as he says, "Got ahead of myself. Couldn't wait."

"Oh," I breathe, snorting afterward. "Proud of myself for that one."

"Remember that you didn't insist on protection either. You're as guilty as I am," Sal informs me and I roll my eyes, an action that makes him smirk a bit-- all the pride I felt returning to him.

Sal and I have learned, at least by this point, to not waste time on arguing when we're in the middle of sex. Because something always gets in the way of us continuing. So Sal grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head, dropping the article behind him.

I soak up the sight of him, my gaze roving over the various tattoos on his body as he stands before me. The dagger on his neck, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The map of depictions along his left arm and the vines down his right. The moon and stars peaking past the waistband of his sweats.

He's just so fucking beautiful. I don't have words to describe him.

"One thing I'm going to ask of you," Sal says, using a tone I haven't heard all day. He was serious with me early, but this sounds vital. "Don't look past my stomach."

I freeze, eyes moving back to his. I try not to let my thoughts show through my reaction, but I'm sure he notices what I'm thinking because he pinches his lips. Doesn't let up that dominant gaze of telling me I have to follow through with this condition. 

It's because of the scars on his thighs. I won't press him again-- ever. His reaction when I brought it up the first time, followed by Larry unintentionally spelling out the truth, told me enough. He doesn't have to tell me, he isn't obligated. He's always done whatever I ask and taken care to make me comfortable. 

I gulp, regulate the features of my face that he can see and nod my confirmation to him. "I won't look."

Sal blinks, nodding back to me and loosing a little breath. I keep my eyes on his as he pushes his sweats down, kicking them off. His boxers follow moments later and I feel the moment his cock springs free, brushing along the inside of my thigh.

My chest rises with the heavy breath I take, my heart racing in my chest and my cheeks growing warm. Sal watches me with lidded blue eyes and grabs the condom off my stomach, bringing the packet to his mouth and ripping it open with his teeth.

My eyes roll back and I close them as soon as possible to keep at least a little of my dignity. Sal saw it anyway though and he laughs a bit, the pretty sound wrapping around me like the vines on his arm.

"Open your eyes, y/n," he rasps. And I have to; he used my name. "Watch me. Stop being shy. There's no room for that shit once I fuck you."

I open my eyes and watch him as he instructed, never looking lower than his chest even as I catch his arms rolling the condom onto himself in my peripheral. 

And he's done in a moment, leaning toward me and hovering with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of me. His gaze falls to my chest before his eyes can meet mine. "You look scared," he mutters, filling me with deja vu at the repetition of our conversation yesterday.

I continue the memory with quiet, shaky words. "I am."

Yesterday, he asked me why. Today, his eyes dance over my masked face-- all nonchalance and a lion towering over a cornered bunny as he says lowly, "You should be."

I don't get time to sit and contemplate his words because one of his hands moves between my thighs. Then his dick presses against my folds, carefully and delicately pushing in just a bit. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath, eyes still holding my gaze. "Can you take all of me or do I have to go slow?"

My pussy dampens at his consideration and at the feeling of his warm cock gently pressing into me. "Slow," I answer him softly, feeling a fluttering in my chest. "For now. It's been a while."

Sal nods, taking his time pushing his length into me, allowing me time to adjust. I wince a bit at the burning feeling of his cock stretching me out, but I don't stop him. Regardless of the dull slice of pain, it feels good.

Good enough that I have to pant through how painstakingly slow he's taking this. Hell, I didn't mean this slow.

But he fills me up to the hilt and then stops, giving me extra time to simply feel him. Being so full and relishing in the throbbing warmth of his thick cock is otherworldly bliss. Even without him moving, having him buried in me is so pleasurable that a soft, satisfied moan leaves my throat. 

Sal takes that as his cue to move, pulling out of me before slowly-- not as slowly as before-- pushing in again. "You're okay?" he whispers, his furrowed brows saying more than enough about how good it feels for him. 

I nod, whimpering and shutting my eyes again.

"Fuck," he grounds out behind clenched teeth. "Thank God."

He unsheathes himself before slamming into me again, slow pace abandoned and replaced with something unchecked and monstrous. I nearly scream, only held back by the reminder that he has neighbors or what-fucking-ever.

His cocks pounds into me, his head dropping onto my chest as his hands grip my hips with brutal strength, no doubt leaving behind bruises that I can be proud of later.

The feeling of his hard dick sliding into me at such a fast pace so suddenly is heavenly, coating my insides with erotic pleasure that I haven't experienced before-- his hands on me and him panting against my chest, taking the moment and suffocating in it.

He lifts his head, a gratifying, sensual glare plastered onto his face as he watches me and picks up that barbaric pace. 

His lips part and he pants through each thrust, a hand moving away from my waist to wrap around my throat. My air is cut off as he squeezes and I feel myself falling apart again. Even more so when he uses his other hand to press down on my stomach as he continues to pound into me just to feel himself, feel his cock moving in and out of me.

My pussy clenches around him and he groans at the feeling, leaning his head down to nip at my stomach. "You feel so fucking good," he says breathlessly, licking at my skin. His lips skim along my flesh as he ruts against me, dick filling me up and showing me all the reasons why he swore I wouldn't be able to handle him. 

With a grunt, Sal stands up and pulls out of me, releasing my throat and wrapping an arm around my waist. He flips me onto my stomach with no hesitation or struggle and that alone is hot in and of itself. 

He grabs onto my hips, lifting them and pulling me against his waist. His cock, wet with my arousal, presses against my ass and he whimpers. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead into the mattress, gasping for air against the fabric. He's so vocal and it's so addicting that it hurts.

Sal adjusts himself, pushing his dick past my folds from behind. The change in position elicits a completely different kind of ecstasy compared to before. I moan loudly at the feeling, my fingertips digging into his bedsheets.

He doesn't give me a moment to recover; he grabs onto my hair and forcefully pulls me backward, causing my back to arch and my jaw to drop.

Sal slams into me again, one hand on my waist and the other gripping my hair tightly. There's no consideration in his fucking, no niceness. No gentleness. He's only chasing his own release and hoping I can reach it with him.

He uses that hand in my hair to jerk me back even more so that I have to get onto my knees. I fall back against his chest and he never relents in his fast, wicked pace. Sal grips onto my throat again, holding me to him and panting into my ear. "Do you like when I fuck you like this?"

I don't have the words to answer when he's fucking them out of me. I only groan in response, solely focused on the carnal feeling of his cock filling me up again and again.

"Still think you can handle me?" He whispers, lips brushing the skin of my neck since he can't speak any louder without his voice shaking. I can tell by the light tremor that's already in his tone, followed by the way his hands squeeze me tighter and his chest smacks into my back with the force of his harsh thrusting.

I can handle all of him. I told him he would be wrong about me. I was worried that maybe I was wrong for thinking I could take him. But I've never been so right.

I know he wants me to fall apart and beg him to go easier on me. So I tell him, "More." Moans erupt past my lips the moment I utter the word. I swear Sal stills-- but it's so brief that I can't be disappointed about it. He chokes on a laugh before sinking his teeth into the side of my neck and slamming into my pussy even harder than before. 

I cry out, grabbing onto his forearm with one hand and reaching back to grab onto his hair with the other. Sal sucks on the skin of my neck, grunting with each rough thrust into my cunt.

"My good girl," he moans softly, taking a deep breath to follow. "If you go and fuck another man, you're going to imagine me in his place for the rest of your life." I think he's right. 

His cock twitches in me and I groan, gripping his hair tighter while I try to hold myself together for at least a little longer, relish in his cock stretching me out and bringing me the most hedonistic feeling I've ever experienced. 

I don't know how the hell he's able to speak in these conditions. Maybe it's the pride of being in control.

Sal finally changes to a painstakingly slow pace. I feel every inch of him sink into me, every centimeter of his warm, throbbing cock fill me up and then leave me empty. Again and again and again until tears are sliding down my cheeks the way they were just moments ago. 

"I want the thought of me to plague you every time you fuck someone again," he hisses, every word separated by a quick breath that caresses my neck like a promise-- a secret that he and I alone will take to the grave. "You'll think of me every time. You'll taste me on your tongue like the most potent flavor to exist on this earth." He pauses, my heart slamming against my ribcage as his hand moves from my throat to brush my hair away from my face, his lips moving along my skin and his dick sliding into me so sweetly. The rest of me feels numb-- everything focused solely on my core and the second orgasm I'm about to have.

"You'll feel me on every inch of you like you're trapped in the strongest of spider webs." My thoughts are dizzying as he speaks, his teeth scraping at my neck and his thrusts so calculated. My mouth goes dry as he grabs onto my chin with his entire hand, keeping me still as a statue, controls me while he uses me. "See me even though I'm not there, haunting you every second."

This motherfucker is hexing me.

"Sal--" I say in a broken whimper, trying to speak past the chills that erupt along my body as the breath I'm trying to take catches in my throat.

"Shut up," he bites out, lips brushing along my jaw. "I want you to know that you're mine without me having to say a word," he begins, his voice raspy, deep, and wavering from the focus he puts into each sensuous thrust. So much animosity, so much destruction in his tone. 

His hand snakes down from my waist to my pussy, warm fingers working on my clit. I groan in response, throwing my head back onto his shoulder. "You don't get to cum until you accept that." And then his thrusts stop, my pussy clenching around nothing as emptiness ravages me, the loss of him disgustingly astounding.

I let out a disappointed, pained breath, gripping him tighter in my hands. "So," he purrs against my skin, marred lips stretching into a proud, feline smile. "Who do you belong to?"

I suck in a breath through my nose. There's a lot going on right now, and maybe he's just saying this for added effect, but I need to tread carefully regardless. We don't need to start something that shouldn't exist.

"What do I get," I start, trying to control the trembling in my voice. "If I tell you what you want to hear?"

"Anything you want," Sal whispers in response. I let out a breath, realizing that he's not even half as serious as he sounded. Being in control is just his kink. He needs me to give into that.

"Then," I start, gulping as pulsing heat and pain begin to take the place of his thrusts. I need him inside me, I need him to finish this. "I'm yours," I tell him sweetly, adding some sugar to my tone and loosening my grip on him to something more delicate. Becoming the puppet he desires.

Sal groans into my neck before shoving his length into me again, giving me the perfect pleasurable pain that I wanted from him. He keeps a steady, quick pace that makes me whimper, tightening my hold on him despite trying to submit. 

"Such a dirty girl," Sal says gruffly. "You're doing so good. Keep taking me."

I moan loud enough for the sound to echo off his bedroom walls and his fingers rub my clit faster in approval. 

"You let me fuck you so well, sweetheart," he utters the raspy words against my skin, his thrusts growing sloppier the more he talks. And, what the fuck, but all his yapping is pushing me closer.

"I'm going to cum," he warns me, "You better, too." His hand returns to my throat, gripping tightly as he growls, "Let the whole neighborhood know how good my cock feels."

I whimper at his command, luxuriating in the quickness of his harsh pace and his hands holding me so tightly, his fingers working me just as fast as his dick is.

The combination of his words and his hard cock sliding into me at such a bruising rate makes me go limp in his arms, the orgasm slamming into me out of nowhere. I cry out as Sal's grip tightens on me, both of us seemingly surprised by my sudden climax. But the second the warmth of my cum seeps onto him, he hums his approval, tongue lapping at my throat.

And yet he still says in a smooth, gentle, condescending tone, "You came before you were supposed to."

My breath stutters and I'm still seeing stars, my vision blackened in the corners and my thighs quivering. And he's still pounding into my pussy, overstimulating me with each thrust. It's so much, but it feels so good.

He seems to sense this, so he pulls his still rock hard cock out of me and steps away from the bed. I groan at the loss of him yet again, but don't have time to bitch and cry about it. 

He grabs onto my hair and yanks me onto the ground in front of him, pushing my shoulders down to put me on my knees. The entire action is so forceful, so careless and my already wet thighs dampen a bit more. 

Sal's request for me to not look below his waist is hard to honor in this position, but I keep my gaze angled at his face. 

Oh, his pretty face is flushed and sweaty, his hair sticking to his cheeks and neck. One of his pupils is blown out, the other normal. His lips are parted and he looks like he's about to explode.

I can't see it, but I can hear when Sal pulls the condom off and throws it into a trash can. He grabs me by the hair again, jerking me closer to him, the tip of his dick rubbing over my lips. "Suck," he orders, a glare on his handsome face. "And swallow everything that I give you."

Sal honors his only request better than I can by forcing his cock into my mouth. I struggle to take his length, but suck on what amount of him that enters me.

My tongue twists around him, licking up the excess pre-cum and sucking. My eyes stay focused on him the entire time and I take true pride in the way he hisses at the feeling, face contorting into one of immense pleasure. He bucks his hips, shoving himself deep into my throat and furrowing his brows, his mouth falling open. He watches his cock fill up my mouth like it's the best gift to ever be bestowed upon him.

I watch when Sal shuts his eyes and tilts his head back followed by a loud, pretty moan that leaves his open mouth. Such a beautiful sound-- I could cum all over again just from hearing him break like this.

His grip on my hair tightens and he continues thrusting into my mouth, not giving me a good opportunity to do any work for him. He uses me to chase his own orgasm, his hand in my hair to push me forward to meet each thrust. I take it, my gaze still glued to his face as he falls apart in front of me.

He whimpers before his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. Without a word of warning, considering he already warned me, he bursts in my mouth.

This time, unlike our moment in Vegas, I swallow everything. None of his cum falls to the floor. I groan at the taste, tongue flicking over the tip of his dick. Sal flinches, releasing a shocked breath.

But after a moment of clarity, Sal lets go of my hair and pulls his cock from my mouth. I release him with a pop and he groans. The second we separate, I look up at him so as not to breach the little bit of trust between us.

He watches me, towers over me. He's still recovering clearly and I think he fucked the literacy out of both of us. I don't have words and he looks like he's short-circuiting. 

"Fuck," he finally breathes, struggling to draw out the word.

I give him a little upside down smile and try to stand on shaky legs. Sal, chivalrous as he is even with the whole post-nut clarity thing, grabs my elbows to help me up.

I sit on his bed, fully aware of the mess between my legs. Sal doesn't complain though. In fact, he sits down next to me and stares at the closed door in front of us. We both do.

This feels like a scene out of a movie. Neither of us know where to go from here. 

I sigh, giving myself a moment to think through my options. I need to clean myself and then I need to drink an entire gallon of water. He fucked me good. There's no coming back from this, I'm afraid. He knew that. He warned me.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I say quietly my voice coming out hoarse. If I'm quick, I can make it there without worrying about anyone walking in on me naked. Hopefully.

Sal distractedly hums his acknowledgement so I stand up, legs still jello-like, and grab all my clothes. And then I fucking book it out of his room and across the living room.

I take care of myself in the bathroom, feeling some kind of lucid numbness. I feel great, I just had really good sex. But at the same time, there's a difference between Sal and I. I don't know how to feel about it, nor do I want to address it. But something's just... off. Part of me is afraid that he'll end things because of it, but maybe that needs to happen. Maybe this needs to be the cut off.

Thinking about it fills me with anxiety. As much as things have progressed, I still see the image of me crying back in Vegas. The same would happen if he were to end things now.

But I take a breath, brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and prepare myself to walk out of the bathroom. He might still be in his room and he may stay there. That's probably what he will do actually-- he looked pretty out of it.

And you know what, I'll reward myself with his beloved string cheese. Because, hell, if he ends things I'll just fuck someone else. Maybe he's right-- maybe he'll haunt me and no one else will ever be as good as him, but I'll still get to have sex.

Things will be fine.

With a quick, revitalized breath, I open the bathroom door.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Sal is sitting at the table in the kitchen. Now I can't sneak a string cheese.

I blink at his back, watching him scroll through his phone from a distance. I'm still parched though, so I walk over to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, intent on ignoring him since any phrase from me would most likely be a bad decision.

"If you're hungry or something, you can take whatever you want," Sal says in a voice that's both void of tone but insisting. Like he wants me to take all the shit in his fridge.

Not like I'll tell him no. Guess I can't get away with ignoring him though.

"Thanks," I murmur, grabbing a string cheese, opening it, then stuffing it into my mouth. I glance around then grab a bottle of water. My eyes cut to the milk and I purse my lips, biting off a chunk of cheese. "Do you have cereal?"

"Mhm. Bowls are in the cabinet next to you, spoons right under it in the drawer, and cereal is in the pantry." Followed by his words is the sound of his chair moving. And then he says, "Grab double. I'm getting the cereal."

Pausing, I glance over my shoulder at him. A shock runs through me when I watch him get up, noting that he did't bother putting his prosthetic on. 

I blink as I watch his figure disappear from view. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I slowly turn back to the cabinet and grab two bowls, then two spoons, followed by the milk on my way over to the table.

Sal comes returns swiftly, taking a seat beside me of all places. He grabs a bowl and a spoon, pours a considerable amount of Trix cereal into his bowl, then pours the milk. 

I can't look at him. I really cannot look at him.

He hands me the cereal and I pour some into my bowl followed by milk.

This is so fucking awkward. It's too domestic. Too normal. He and I are not normal.

The house is quiet aside from the sound of us eating, and I watch Sal scroll through Twitter from the corner of my eye. I'm trying my hardest to eat my fruity soup as normally as possible even though the silence is really starting to get to me.

My thoughts are weighing on me. I thought I'd be fine, I thought it wouldn't bother me. But Sal isn't saying anything and now I'm scared. I'm scared that this will be it and he won't want me anymore-- and, fuck, why does it even matter?

"Do you still want to fuck me?"

The words tumble past my lips before I can even decide I want to say them.

Sal's head turns toward me, so I look over at him. His mouth is full, the cereal puffing out the cheek that's usually sunken in. His eyes are innocently wide, like he didn't expect me to say something-- that, of all things.

I gulp, the action reminding Sal of the situation. He snaps out of his stupor and covers his mouth, turning away from me to finish his bite of cereal. When he finally turns back to me though, he's recovered a bit and slapped a nonchalant expression onto his face.

"Yes, I still want to fuck you," he says as if it's the most obvious thing.

I glance between his pretty eyes, watching as he does the same to me. I try to ignore the relief that infects my veins, the giddiness that fills me with adrenaline.

"Okay," I respond, turning back to my cereal.

Sal looks at me for a bit longer before also returning to his cereal. Quiet ensues again and I'm honestly about to just ditch my cereal and turn on the TV. What's worse than constantly bickering is the silence between us.

And then Sal breaks that suffocating silence with, "I'm sorry."

My brows furrow and I face him again. He doesn't look at me, but I watch as he chews on his bottom lip, staring at his phone like he didn't just say something really important.

"What do you have to be sorry about?" I ask him.

Sal looks to me and sets his spoon down. "For what I said in Vegas." His voice is sincere, but as in control as he possibly can be. He doesn't want to admit quite how bad he feels about it, but it shows in the fact that he's apologizing for a second time.

"You already apologized for that," I inform him, my voice gentle. I know I hate feeling remorse and it's hard to apologize, so I appreciate that much from him at least.

"Then I'm doing it again," he says, looking off to the side. "You didn't deserve it. And I don't deserve so many chances."

I almost feel bad seeing him so sorrowful.

"Don't worry about it," I sigh halfheartedly, going back to my cereal. My spoon clinks against the side of my bowl. "You fucked me good. That makes up for it."

Sal hums his agreement, a short chuckle following. "I told you I would," he chirps. Proud bastard. "You weren't too bad yourself."

"I wasn't 'too bad?'" I snap, thankful for the sense of normalcy. "Says the man who literally could not shut up the entire time. 

Sal shrugs before sending me a glare. "I'm vocal. Do you want me to say nothing during sex like you? That shit's awkward."

"You should be honored by my silence," I scoff, pointing my spoon at him. "I couldn't talk because you fucked the ability out of me."

His azure gaze darkens at my words. "Careful with what you say or you'll get fucked again."

I gulp. The way he's watching me with that dominant stare, his tattooed hand gripping his spoon tighter. The fact he's put his phone down to put all his focus on me.

"I wish we could," I whisper, my voice coming out raspy.

Sal licks his lips and he blinks, remembering that our friends could come home any second. That it's not worth the risk. "Yea," he replies, looking away to pick up his spoon with a sigh. "Me too."

Almost as if fate wanted to confirm our thoughts rather than us think we had a shot at round two, the front door swings open.

Larry and Ash walk through the doorway, hanging on each other's arms and giggling like a pack of hyenas. I pause mid bite, mouth open and spoon hovering in the air as I watch them.

They've definitely been drinking, but they aren't drunk. Yet. 

Larry looks over at Sal and me and furrows his brows, eyes going wide. "The fuck are you two doing together?" His words express his shock better than his face can. "Sal do you not love me? You never take your prosthetic off around me. Is y/n a better brother than me?" The words are joking, of course, but by the narrowing of Larry's eyes, I can tell there's a brotherly quarrel that's about to break out.

I expect about as much when Sal sighs sarcastically, already tired of the rough night ahead and drops his spoon into his bowl. 

Milk splashes onto my arm in retaliation and my first instinct is to bark insults at him. "Come on, dickhead," I snap, glaring at him. Sal glares back-- and suddenly, we've started up the game that I missed so much. It's just so easy to fall back into old habits.

"Better for it to be milk than cum, right?" He grumbles, teeth peeking past his lips with each syllable. I'm torn between curling up like a dead spider at the insinuation and admiring the little bits of him I don't see often.

"Shut the fuck up," I hiss in warning, narrowing my eyes at him. The retort is half-assed but how can I come up with one when one wrong step will only aid in Larry and Ash figuring us out?

"What if I don't want to, huh?" He counters, brows raising and lips pressing together as if he's challenging me. A little glimmer of something in his cerulean gaze. Something that begs me to pounce.

We have a glare-off for a couple, quiet seconds and I'm trying to think up an insult, a response, a diversion. Anything. But I can't-- I can't because despite the fact that things feel so normal between us, the arguing is more for a reaction. The bickering is just a veil over the truth now.

"Well," Ash cuts in, saving my ass. "At least you're in a better mood now, y/n. We were worried about you." I pull my attention from Sal and focus it on Ash.

She's watching me with big, green doe eyes that are silently asking if she can know now that I've calmed down.

That familiar pit in my gut forms at the reminder of my mother. At least now, compared to when Sal and I first got back, I realize that I can figure something out. Ash and Larry can help me come up with a solution. But-- "Where the hell are Todd and Neil?" I ask. It feels like they've been gone the entire time we've been in Nockfell.

Ash rolls her eyes at the mention, switching her weight from her left foot to her right to put a hand on her hip. "Those two rapscallions would rather be anywhere but with us even thought they're getting their own apartment. They've never been social butterflies but, hell, still. I feel like a restless mother!" She answers with a little sneer, flicking her wrist toward the open expanse of the house to reinforce her point.

"At least you're a mother who cares," I snort, sending her a half-grin that's faker than my own mom's hot-shot persona.

Ash's expression drops followed by her stance slackening as realization dawns on her. "Is that why you were upset earlier? Heather being cum-guzzling bitch again?"

"Damn!" Larry exclaims with an approving glance at Ash. They're still tucked under each other's arms. If Ash didn't have such a strong preference for women, I have no doubt that these two would have ended up together.

Ash throws him a sensual smirk before turning back to me. "What did she say?"

I chew on my bottom lip as I recall the short phone call I had with her. "She knows that I'm VioletViolence. I don't know how-- I guess she recognized me in pictures."

Ash's face morphs into a more serious, angry expression. Larry follows suit, mimicking her with near perfection.

"She threatened to expose her identity and face, pretty much," Sal pipes up from his standing position beside me. I glance over, noting his hands perched on the surface of the table, his body leaned forward and his face tilted up to address Larry and Ash. Horrible positioning considering his dagger tattoo is on full display to me right now. 

Ash quirks a brow. "Okay, were you with her or did she tell you?"

Sal tips his head to the side, gaze scrutinizing to go with an unamused upward tilt of his lips. "You think she'd willingly tell me about her mommy issues?" He asks his own question, tone flat to accompany his sarcasm.

With a sigh and frustration curling in my gut, I hide my face in my palm and take a moment to remember the task at hand is not to beat this man to a bloody pulp but to figure out how to resolve this... mommy issue.

"We were in the middle of you and Larry's game whenever she called. It was... messy," I confirm Sal's claim, making sure they know that I'd rather eat a toe before going to him with my problems. Ever. Even if he did make those problems go away for a bit.

Hey, maybe he isn't good for nothing!

"What are you going to do?" Ash asks me warily, ignoring me and Sal's little hiccup.

I avert my gaze and purse my lips. I have the same question for myself. Anxiety at the prospect of being exposed wraps around me, constricts my airways and nerves. Disables my rational thought and the ability to breathe. 

A little body brushes along my leg, followed by a chirped greeting and the loudest purring I think I've ever heard.

Momentarily distracted, I look toward the floor and see Gizmo at my feet. He notices me, pushing up on his hind legs to make biscuits on the top of my thigh. A mixture of surprise and pure glee kicks the anxiety away as I lean over and scratch the top of his head.

"Pick him up," Sal murmurs. I turn my gaze up to him to find him looking down at Gizmo with furrowed brows. "You're anxious, he knows."

I suck in a quick breath before glancing down at Gizmo again. He came all the way over here because he sensed my distress?

But with Sal's permission, I do as he instructed and lift Gizmo into my arms. I plop him on top of my lap and the cat practically climbs up my torso like he's hugging me. He rubs his furry little head on my cheek and purrs against my chest. Oh my gosh, I might cry.

I turn my attention to Ash and Larry who have little smiles on their faces, meanwhile I'm fucking gaping at them. Where did this heaven-sent cat come from?

Sal scratches behind Gizmo's ear and sends the fur-ball a little smile. "You're such a hardworking guy," he coos, like the complete change in his character is nothing to be shocked about. In-fucking-sane. I can't get over the way he dad's his cat.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and blink at my friends. "I don't know," I finally force out, rubbing Gizmo's back. "I don't know what to do."

Ash's smile disappears upon returning to the topic we were previously discussing. "There are a couple things you could do. One, ignore it. She either will put you on blast or she won't. And if she does, what proof does she have that it truly is you?" She brings up a good point. "We haven't seen your face since you were a teenager. I'm sure she hasn't seen you in much longer."

I wince. "Actually..."

Ash's eyes widen with disbelief. "She's seen you more recently than I have!?"

"Not willingly," I rush to explain. "Split custody between my parents. I didn't have much of a choice. Last she saw me was when I was 17."

"Oh," Ash chirps, feeling a little less offended. "Okay." She sends me a pleased smile. "Here's your other option: move out."

I furrow my brows. That would solve absolutely nothing other than adding another bill to pay. "How would that fix anything?" I voice my internal thoughts.

Ash looks away from me, a little blush on her cheeks. "It wouldn't necessarily fix anything," she murmurs bashfully. "Maybe I just need a roommate, I dunno..."

She takes pride in making me cry, doesn't she?

"Hold on," I rush to say, cursing to myself when my voice wavers. I cut myself off so as to retain some dignity, but I'm sure the look in my eyes tells her enough. 

Gizmo hops off my lap, having done his job. So I stand up now that he's gone and push past Sal to get to Ash. "You need to--" I lick my lips as an excuse to take a moment to collect myself. "You need to warn me or something before you drop shit like that. What are you saying?"

Ash sends me her trademark puppy dog eyes and I already realize what's going on. "Fuck, fine," she forces the words out. "I bought a two-bedroom apartment. I need a roommate. Or, more like I want you as a roommate. I know I need to start double checking with you instead of loading you up with surprises... sorry."

I don't even know what to say, let alone think. I just gape at her, trying not to cry the way she seems to love making me do. Well, her and Sal. 

"Is rent expensive?" I whisper, voice hoarse with how tight my throat is. 

"Baby," she starts, giving me a stunning smile. "You don't have to pay a single thing. I'm just tired of being away from you."

"Don't hit me with that 'baby' bullshit," I choke out, smiling despite the challenge of having to speak. "I'm paying rent. I just need to know what I'm getting myself into. And I need to make sure dad is okay with living alone."

Ash's comforting smile turns into a wicked one full of sinister glee. If it was any other person, I'd probably be terrified. 

"It's a good thing I already asked your dad if I could steal you, then, isn't it?"

------------ A/N::::::: not gonna lie, i managed to type up this ENTIRE hoe in one sitting. don't ask me how i did it, i have no answer for you. girl math, guys. i've been living a lie ever since because this has been on my mind for DAYSSSS. shoutout to my dearest Autumn for running this chunk through an editor, like, THREE different times?? omfg. such a big help and much appreciated <33

ummm... enjoy this cuzzzz you know meeeee... probably won't update again for like another montthhhhh lololol o_o....

anyways, might look like a filler smut chap but ya girl HATES filler. i want plot, i want development. so if it looks like filler, just know that it has meaning that is deeper than surface level!! >.< a lot will be revealed verrryyyy soon

I purse my lips, turning from Ash and Larry to glance at Sal. He's dressed comfy; in the same Breaking Benjamin hoodie I accidentally wore in Vegas-- I'm shocked he didn't burn the thing-- to go with black sweats and dirty shoes. And he did something different with his hair. Something that I hate him for.

Ash said 'the woods' and he proceeded to sigh, then put half his hair up into a little bun all while grabbing another string cheese. Then he walked out the house.

I really, really hate him for it. 

"Are you going to ask or what?" Ash's clipped words snap at the open air like a whip.

I pinch my lips together and focus on my darling Ash. "Why am I out here?" 

A stunning smile builds on her glossy lips. "I'm so glad you asked, bellissima! We are going to play hide-n-seek. You and Sal are going to be finding a hiding spot-- no context as to why you're paired up included." She holds a hand out to exemplify her point, stopping the obvious question before it can even form on my lips. My stomach drops out of my ass regardless though.

"Larbear and I will not be seeking you, we'll be hunting you." Her eyebrows raise as that smile on her pretty face turns cunning. "You have five minutes. We'll hike to Sal's, then back here and that will end your time to hide. I suggest you make haste, my lovely little victims."

I gape at her, the plan sounding more and more evil as she keeps running her freaking mouth.

Larry lifts a hand, index finger pointed in the air. "And you two are not allowed to kill each other either." Ash nods her head vigorously in agreement.

"So yea!" She chirps, hands behind her back as she grins mischievously at me, a malicious glint in her forest eyes. "Larry and I will see you two losers when we find you. Good luck!"

"Hold on!" I stammer over my words, taking a big step toward Larry and Ash as they... run in the opposite direction. Gone in the blink of an eye. I pinch my lips together, heart sinking into the depths of my despair. "This is going to end in murder!" I bellow for good measure even though they can't hear me.

I swallow thickly, blinking at the now empty street. It's just us two.

"If it ends in murder, I'll haunt you," Sal's voice makes me sigh. It's monotonous, nonchalant. No emotion. 

I spin on my heels to look at him. He's standing in the middle of the road, hands in his hoodie pockets. 

Half his hair is up in that bun, the rest hanging over his shoulders as he watches me, completely emotionless. And as empty as he seems right now, the nature around him still makes him glow. The sun setting behind him, the canopy of Nockfell's forest framing his body. What a sight to behold-- it's just a damn shame that he's the person that mother nature is admiring so lovingly.

A shiver takes hold of my body when the slight breeze picks up for a moment, but I do my best to mask it as a grimace instead. I can't let this monster of a man see me weak. It'll only end badly for me. 

Can't hide shit from Sal Fisher, by the way.

His eyes light up, his stance straightening a bit. "Are you cold?" he asks, a bit of something in his tone even if it was just to make his question actually sound like a question.

I grumble to myself. "It's Ash's fault," I snap. "She told me it would be chilly. Chilly in eternally autumnal Nockfell and chilly in blazingly hot LA are two very different things." I clench my teeth, begging them not to chatter. "Two different things she did not take into account."

My gaze gravitates to my black jeans and the tight-fitted, long-sleeved violet shirt that I borrowed from Ash earlier. Things could be worse, but this shirt is still thin as hell. 

Being that The Faces are so accustomed to the constant chill here in Nockfell, fifty degrees isn't cold to them. But in Los Angeles, I'm lucky to see fifty degrees in the winter. This, to me, is cold. Especially with the sun beginning to go down. 

I focus in on Sal again. He's staring at me. It's awkward, neither of us know what to do. Ash and Larry have taken off back to Sal's to count. I don't know where on earth to go. Sal looks like he'd rather be anywhere else and be stuck with anyone else. But hey, that makes two of us.

With a breath, Sal tilts his head down. Then he starts easing his arms out of his hoodie. For a moment, I fear that he's going to give that damn hoodie to me. But then I remember that this is Sal, I mean, come on. He's probably just warm because he's used to the weather here.

Was the fear of him offering me his hoodie wishful thinking?

No. 'Course not.

I purse my lips at the thought, continuing to watch Sal as he carefully pulls the hoodie over his head, careful not to mess up his styled hair. 

Where could we hide? Should we hide at all or just bump into Ash and Larry with a half-assed 'haha, wow you found us?'

My brows furrow when Sal walks closer to me, holding... out... the hoodie...

I choke on my own saliva, taking a staggering step back as the retaliation of my own traitorous ideas comes rearing it's fugly head. Had the thought not crossed my mind, I wouldn't be in this predicament right now.

Sal turns his head slightly, eyes narrowed like I freaked him out or something. Like I'm weird. Like I'm some kind of fairy with wings that suddenly popped out of the forest.

"Hell no," I cackle, holding a hand out in front of me and shaking it, hoping that my hand's movement will wipe away that damn hoodie. "Cut that shit out. Put your hoodie back on." The words come out in a maniacal shrill, but I don't know how to control myself in this kind of scenario.

My anxious, terror-ridden reaction seems to spark some kind of emotion in Sal. As if taunting me, he takes a step closer and presses the hoodie into my hand. I back away quickly like he's burned me and he has the audacity to laugh.

I have every reason to believe that he'd chase me around with that hoodie if I showed too much fear.

"Seriously, Sal," I warn, narrowing my eyes at him to show him I'm serious. "Stop."

In turn, Sal sighs. "Just take it. It's not to be cute or anything. You should know as much." Amusement tinges his raspy voice. "But if you freeze out here, you won't be able to pack all my shit tomorrow."

"Why would I pack your shit?" I ask, immediately offended. What does he think I am? His servant?

"I'm the only one driving. Most of our boxes are coming with me. Do you not communicate with anyone? Or do you not listen?" He inquires with a smack of his lips. "That's a fatal character flaw, Vi."

I scrunch up my face in distaste, rage flaring through me. He definitely does this on purpose. "For your information, no one bothered to inform me. At least know the full story before you start assuming my character flaws." I point an accusatory finger at him, watching him silently before my eyes flit down to the hoodie that he's still holding out to me. 

He called me Vi, not by my name. 

With a disgruntled groan, I snatch the hoodie from his grasp and start fumbling to get it on. I'm thankful for my mask in the moment since it hides the light blush working onto my cheeks. 

The hoodie's still warm from his body, wrapping me up in a lush embrace. I sigh as comfort takes hold of me-- I can't believe I initially fought this off. What was the point? Now I'm warm and I won't freeze to death. Plus, the collar smells just like him. A little minty, a dash of cologne that's a mix of pine and rainwater, and then a sweet detergent.

"I didn't know you drove," I grumble, popping my head through the hoodie while keeping a hand placed over my mask so it doesn't fall off. Sal tilts his head at me, hair looking completely untouched whereas mine is now a frizzy mess.

"You must not observe your surroundings," he replies. This time there's a little, lighthearted bite to it. His eyes seem brighter than they did just minutes ago. Some of his personality is coming back to him. I wonder what ever took it away in the first place. "Car in the driveway's mine."

I blanch, eyes practically popping out of my head. "That Camaro is yours?" I practically spit the words out, patting down my hair. "How are you even able to-- to drive? With the prosthetic?"

"Great question, especially considering I only have one eye." Sal's gaze never leaves mine, like he's testing me with that information.

While I didn't know that for sure, I could have assumed he was at least blind in one eye due to the dilation of only one pupil instead of both. But it's nothing surprising. The scars on his face said as much about him.

So I narrow my eyes as if I'm studying every move he makes. "How'd you trick 'em into giving you a license then?" I ask, nothing but scrutiny lacing my tone. "Did you kill them?" I point a finger at my temple. "Mind control?"

My aim was to aggravate him, but to my surprise, he actually chokes on a laugh. And it's an adorable reaction-- so much so that in the moment, I feel like we're friends. I like him like this. I feel... this feels...

His eyes scrunch closed and he tilts his head down, hair flowing over his shoulders and chest bobbing with his laughter. He even puts a hand on his stomach as the lovely sound continues to pour out of him. I can't help but add in a little chuckle of my own.

Sal takes a deep breath before standing up again, ambling a bit closer to me as his hair blows in the wind, only bits of it contained in his little bun. "That's a first," he says breathlessly. "And the best reaction to someone finding out I'm disabled."

I can't wipe the wide grin off my face as I shrug. "Seriously though," I say, giggles attached to the words. "How are you able to drive? Isn't that-- not being able to see fully-- wouldn't that be a hazard?"

Sal nods his confirmation. "I shouldn't be driving, but I can. My promise was to never drive outside of Nockfell, so once we get to LA, things are unfortunately going to change." His decent mood seems to diminish a bit at the mention. "And as for the license I have now, don't worry about it. Just know it's very, very illegal."

I tilt my head dismissively. "Alright then," I mumble. "I won't ask about the extent of your illegal activities." Even though I am really curious about it. "But where are we hiding?"

Sal, in answer, begins walking past me. He doesn't gesture for me to follow, but I do it anyway. I catch up to him in a moments notice, walking beside him and waiting for a vocal answer rather than a physical one.

"We aren't hiding," he murmurs, nodding at the road ahead of us. "We're going camp out at the apartments."

"Oh," I whisper, watching the buildings in front of us grow taller the closer we get to them. "So, they won't find us at all, will they?"

Sal snorts. "No. They'll be out here for hours."

"Karma," I say nonchalantly, stuffing my hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Hm," Sal hums to himself. "Yea," he says louder, looking ahead as we walk. "Ever heard of Darwinism?" he asks randomly. But something about his voice puts me on edge.

"Uh," I say hesitantly, wary of his next words-- or worse, his next move. "Charles Darwin? Survival of the fittest?"

"Yup," he pops the 'p', body leaned toward me for a moment as he adds, with a smile in his voice, "You are not the fittest, by the way."

I gape at him. Shock ripples through me at the audacity. Now he's just reaching for anything to insult me with. Sure, maybe I'm not the fittest. I didn't bring a jacket into cool weather. But that didn't warrant a Darwinism jab. "Fuck you," I snap, taking a step away from him. I grumble unintelligible insults to myself for a second. I'll curse Ash and Larry 'til the day I die. "Why did they send us out together anyway? They should have known this would be a clusterfuck."

Sal doesn't even spare me a glance, just keeps walking, sticks and gravel crunching beneath the soles of his Converse. "I don't know. Something about forceful bonding. I didn't care to listen," he replies and I want to punch him for it. That question was for myself, not him. And of course he wouldn't listen. That's just so him.

I keep walking, gaze glued to the buildings and darkening sky. I don't have words for him, not when he's being difficult on purpose. I can go the rest of this stupid little trip without sharing another word with him. See if I care-- he'll be the one to suffer. I can hold out. I don't need to fuck him here. My pride is bigger than his and my need combined.

In the middle of my solitary girlbossing, my foot catches on a pothole that I didn't see because I didn't bother to look where I was walking. Too busy bitching to myself about Sal. Nockfell's old. The roads aren't well funded. It seems I've forgotten that in my time away.

I stumble forward, ready to scrape my knees on the pavement and suffer the embarrassment of Sal watching me take a tumble. But I hear a grunt beside me as a hand latches onto my elbow, another grabbing my waist and hoisting me into a standing position. I gulp so hard that it hurts, gaze on my foot caught in the pothole while the warmth from Sal's hands envelops my arm and side.

"Watch your step, dumbass," Sal mumbles, a clipped laugh following the statement.

I pinch my lips together and swing my head over my shoulder to glare at him. He watches me, humor dancing in his sapphire gaze. Seeing him so unserious will always be shocking. Especially since he saved me without complaining for once. I half expect him to shove me back into my fall, but he doesn't. Puts a bit more of his weight into his arms and pulls me toward him until I'm able to free my foot from the hole.

"Had you broken your ankle, I wouldn't have carried you back, idiot," he says, voice chipper despite the constant back and forth of his emotions. Finally and thankfully he moves his dangerous hands away from me.

"And yet you felt merciful enough to lend me your jacket?" I ask, a sneer on my face. I'm still holed up with my pride... but it's slipping with every word I say.

Sal shrugs. "How can I fuck you if you're sick?" is all he says. And it almost sounds like an excuse, but... he isn't wrong either.

I shake my head, lips pressed together. "Are you going to tell me the truth or are you going to keep up with the fluff bullshit?" I ask him, inclining my head upward. Like I said, I don't have to fuck him here-- why is he so insistent on it? Does he need to christen his house before he leaves for good or something?

Well, we have a head start. We already checked his desk off the list.

Sal rolls his eyes at my words, a glimmer of aggravation in his gaze. "Can't you just accept help?" He kicks a rock with the toe of his shoe, launching into a walk toward the apartments again. I begrudgingly follow him. "I know I'm not trustworthy or anything, but not everything is meant to spite you. Yea, maybe most of it is for my own gain..." he trails off, a smug glance toward me that makes me want to kick his shins in. "But it works out for you."

"The more you talk, the less I like you," I force out from behind clenched teeth. Any kind of warmth I felt from his gesture with the hoodie is left colder than a piece of frozen meat.

"You like me?" Sal drawls, his body tilting toward me just to piss me off some more. But that prideful tone of his makes me shake my head again-- this time to get the smooth timbre out of my head. Is he flirting or being antagonistic? I can never tell with him.

"Not anymore," I chirp. "And when I did like you," I turn to him and hold up my hand pressing my index and thumb together until there's only a sliver of space left between them. "It was so little that it didn't fucking matter either way."

I watch as the bottom of his left eyebrow disappears behind his prosthetic. I can imagine the inquisitive eyebrow raise-- I just wish I could see the whole thing. "Is that anything to say to the guy who's made you cum how many times on this trip?" He holds up a hand, lifting fingers to count.

A snarl leaves my lips as I look away from him. "Once. You've made me cum once, dick," I inform him. "The point you were trying to prove is stupid."

"Dick?" He asks. My eye twitches when his slightly excited, very complacent tone travels over to me. "No, my dick hasn't made you cum yet."

I don't know what's gotten into him. And I don't know what's gotten into me when a little smile quirks my lips at his joke. But I hide it the instant it appears, shoving it deep down. "Shut up," I bite out, trying to come off as aggressive, but even he seems to catch the light, humorous tremor in my voice. 

All that anger has dissipated by now. It's almost as if he knew he bothered me and went through all this to make me forget it.

I purposefully ignore the flutters in my chest and cartoonish crush-y feeling as Sal and I fall into silence, continuing our trek to Addison Apartments. 

I'm thankful for the comfortable quiet, the only sounds around us being our shuffling footsteps along the street, birds chirping and rustling in the treetops. Other than life noises, Nockfell is quiet. Aside from the annual Pumpkin Fest, it's so quiet here that it nearly seems desolate. 

Sal is a specimen and whatever it is that's changed between us-- because there is a very obvious change-- I'm going to ignore it. I have to ignore it and focus on my career, on myself. Why acknowledge this growth in the first place? We're still fucking around and that's all it'll be. To do that, we have to hate each other a little less, right?

Sal turns a corner, so I cut my own steps to turn with him, stopping short when Addison Apartments suddenly towers over me. 

When I lived here the first time, the apartments were about to fall apart. But now... everything is refurbished. It looks like there are lights on in bedrooms on the fifth floor, where renovations had gone on forever it seemed. The building is a new color, no paint chipping or walls broken. It's pretty nice. There are buildings on either side now too, showing that there have been additions. It's nothing like I remember it.

"I take it you've met Lisa by now."

I turn my gaze to Sal, watching as he pulls out a set of keys. Has he had those this entire time? 

His head is tilted down, sorting through the same set of keys while his cerulean hair billows in the gentle wind. Cornflower blue Converse dusty and caked with mud in various spots. I take it these are an old, occasionally worn pair.

His prosthetic enters my field of vision and I snap back into myself. "Yes," I simply reply. I reserved that answer, but forgot what question, exactly, I'm meant to be answering. Because I was too busy ogling him.

He looks at me a moment longer, eyes narrowing like he can smell the fact that I got distracted. With the way he is, I wouldn't be surprised if he could smell something like that.

Sal opens the door though, passing through it and into the lobby as a nonverbal way of telling me to follow. I do, walking through the threshold and into the building.

It's stunning, reminding me a lot of The Faces' suite in Vegas. All white, pristine. I wonder who's keeping it all up, but the answer rings through my head. Most likely Lisa.

I hear hinges squeaking to my right, so I rotate my head to face the sound-- only to find a pair of ebony eyes gazing out of a mail slot about as old as these apartments are.

"Oh, Sal!" Mr. Addison's short, polite voice fills me with nostalgia. I smile warmly at the man. "Welcome back. Coming to visit, I presume?"

Sal nods his head once. "Ash and Larry are up to no good, as usual."

"Ah," Mr. Addison responds, followed by an endearing chuckle. "Who's your friend?"

"Not my friend," Sal answers, never missing a beat.

I roll my eyes. 

"Hi, Mr. Addison," I say sweetly, waving at him. "I'm y/n. Do you remember me?"

I watch those dark eyes widen in recognition and a little grin works its way onto my face. 

"My word," he says breathlessly. "It's been years! I hardly recognize you!" That mail slot opens a bit more as if he's trying to get a better look at me.

I giggle, leaning down a bit to talk to him more properly. "Ten years'll do that, I guess."

"I guess so." He laughs heartily. "Tell your father I said hello. Oh, and I shouldn't have to say it, but you two behave yourselves!"

A breathy laugh comes from Sal and I nearly mimic it. "See you later, Mr. Addison," I bid the man goodbye.

"Farewell." Then squeaky hinges and the disappearance of those ominous eyes.

I turn my attention to Sal, a glare clearly reflected in my gaze. I know he can see it because neither of us has to say a word to communicate what's happening. All he needs to do to rile me up in response is smile-- which he does, if the squinting of his eyes says anything.

I follow him into the elevators regardless of how I feel. There's still a thin veil of humor hovering between us despite it all, so I ignore his bullshit even if I desperately want to smack him for giving Mr. Addison a hard time.

He presses his knuckle into the '4' button and we slowly travel upward. It's a miracle that the elevators have been fixed in the years since I've been here. In fact, there's music playing. It's shitty smooth jazz, but it's better than having to listen to the elevator threaten to fall apart like I did as a child. I can still hear the janky, rickety sound of the elevator struggling to move.

We emerge on the fourth floor, still not a word exchanged between us. But I change that, curiosity getting the best of me.

"This place is nothing like I remember it," I muse, eyes trained to the little chandelier on the ceiling. Who the hell paid Addison?

Sal hums, as if to say he knows. "Once our streaming career took off, Larry and I shoveled a chunk of money into finishing renovations here. We had way too many close calls with death as teens to let it rot."

I nod, taking in the rest of the hallway. It's not much different from what it used to be-- a new paint job and some accessories here and there. "It was a good investment," I murmur.

"Larry would disagree," Sal snorts, grabbing the handle of a door to apartment 402. He pauses when the knob doesn't turn and grabs the keys he had prepared. "We had a failed ghost hunting Youtube channel going before this. Larry really wanted that to work out even though he was a chickenshit."

I bark out a laugh despite myself. Larry and Sal into ghost hunting? Preposterous. But believable considering all the rumors surrounding this place.

It's kind of sweet to imagine them walking around with a camera, going places they shouldn't with quivering voices and high-pitched, voice-cracking screams.

"That channel still up?" I prod Sal. He pauses at my question, never getting his key into the doorknob as he turns to me.

"Don't even try," he warns, head tilting in a half-heartedly threatening way.

I grin. "Well, I know what I'm doing tonight."

His eyes roll, karma for the eye-rolling he made me do downstairs.

Before he can retort, the door swings open and Sal whips around, making eye contact with Henry who beams at both of us. "We weren't expecting any visitors-- what are you guys doing here!?"

"Avoiding Ash and Larry," Sal simply states, keys back in his pocket.

Henry's smile transforms into one of understanding. "They're giving you trouble again?"

Sal releases a breath, clearly fed up with having to give the same explanation for his appearance multiple times. "When are they not?"

Henry lets out a dad-chuckle, clapping his hand onto his son's shoulder and ushering him inside, motioning for me to follow.

I could cry when I walk inside. This apartment looks the same way mine did. Sal and Larry didn't renovate this one-- maybe they didn't renovate the inside of any. It's a nice blast from the past though. I can almost feel Ash dumping her paint water on me in the corner of the living room; a fond but chilly memory from our childhood.

My focus transfers to Lisa though, a smile on her face as she wipes her hands off on her apron. But as I smile at her, her eyes narrow and she purses her lips. "You look familiar," she says, the statement sounding more like a question.

I walk over to her, my heart pounding the entire way. She was more of a mom to me than my own mother was. I owe this woman so much and it's been way too long since I last saw her.

"It's y/n," I tell her a bit bashfully. "It's me."

I pray she remembers me for a moment, but there was no reason to worry considering she breaks into a blinding grin and wrestles me into a suffocating hug that I'm more than happy to drown in.

"Oh, my little girl!" She coos, hand rubbing my back affectionately. Her cheek presses into the top of my head as she gives me a big squish. "Best day ever."

Of everyone I've met again recently, Lisa is the first person who hasn't prodded me about life recently or made the comment about how it's been so long. She hasn't said a word about the mask. She's just happy to have me here.

She pulls away from our hug and wipes a tear from her eye before it can fall. My heart about damn near cracks in two. "You're so beautiful!" She gasps, holding me at arm's length and looking me over. Best day ever. "How have you been, honey?"

"I've been alright," I answer honestly, smiling fondly at the woman. "How have you been?"

"Well, I'm wonderful now that you're here." She playfully scrunches her nose then pats my shoulder. "Come here and sit so we can catch up. I have dinner cooking right now."

Lisa leads me over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for me. So I sit and cross my arms over the table mat, watching as she moves over to the oven. This is exactly what I'd do every Thursday evening after school-- make my way down to the basement and have dinner with the Johnson's. 

"So," Lisa says excitedly, pulling out her famous lasagna-- fuck yea. "Tell me about what you've been up to."

I open my mouth to respond but flinch upon feeling my phone suddenly vibrate in my pocket. Fumbling to pull it out, I send an apologetic glance toward Lisa who only shakes her head, a gentle smile on her lips.

I look down at my phone, brows scrunching together upon reading "Heather" across my screen. Dammit. Is it really that time of the year again?

It's my mother. We don't talk much. And when we do, it's because dad hasn't paid her yet. For what? Child support? I have no siblings. She's just some important, top notch executive on Wall Street that still milks her ex husband and daughter of any asset they have.

Sighing, I debate on what to do. I should just decline it. But if I decline, she'll bother dad. And when they talk, I don't see my dad for weeks at a time. Not because he's avoiding me or depressed... it's because she convinces him to send her more money and that ends in him having to work much more than he already does.

I begrudgingly answer the call, bringing the device to my ear with a pounding heart. I don't want this. I never do.

"Y/n," my mothers brusque voice filters through the call and I grimace, jaw clenched tight. "Bruce is late."

"Does it matter?" I bite out. I have every reason to treat her this way. She couldn't even tell her own daughter hello after going silent for months. Why should I offer her any kindness?

My mother scoffs, disbelief in the noise. "Of course, it matters," she snaps at me, devoid of any kind of motherly affection. Not like it's surprising. "When we split, the deal was that I get $1,500 monthly. And when he doesn't have it, I have to come get it from you."

"Don't you have anyone else you can bother?" I sigh, thinking of the money stacking up in my bank account. Half of it's going to have to fall to her now. "Or are your other children from the rest of your failed marriages not talking to you either?"

Heather goes silent. I immediately regret my words, especially upon noticing Lisa, Henry, and Sal go still. Their attention on me. I hide behind my hair, tipping my head down so it falls in my face.

"You ungrateful brat," Heather seethes into the phone. I grimace, but it's not enough to make me back down. This isn't the first time she's said those three words to me. If anything, I'm used to it. "Don't you know how much I sacrificed to raise you?"

I pinch my lips together, wondering why she bothered to try and raise me at all. Not like she stuck around long enough to do much raising in the first place.

As if Lisa could tell things were beginning to spiral, she lays a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Is that your mama?"

I swallow thickly, nodding in confirmation. Lisa and my mom used to butt heads constantly. Lisa loathed my mom and the tight leash she held on me as a child. I'm lucky I got to meet Ash, Larry, and Todd at all.

"Put her on speaker for me," Lisa says in response to my nod, a maniachal little grin on her aged face. That must be where Larry got it from.

My mouth dry, I lay my phone down on the table, ignoring the curses and insults my mother spews until I click the button that puts her on speaker. And then her voice echoes through Lisa and Henry's living room, Heather's harsh and aggressive words splayed out for everyone to bear witness to.

"You and your little ploy of being something special. Pathetic," she spits, her voice cracking. "Did you think you could hide from me?" A humorless laugh. "That you could hide behind that stupid name? What was it— VioletViolence? Should I tell the world about what a disappointment you are? Or how about I show them your face?"

I suck in a shocked, shaky breath, my eyes going wide as panic rips my inside to ribbons. My heart threatens to burst from my chest as a tsunami of fear and and anxiety drowns me.

My own mother, selling me out for not getting her way.

With nothing else to do but pant down at the screen, ignorant of the other bodies in the room, I leap from my chair. My hands brace against the dinner table, my mouth gaping as I try to find words and rifle through my thoughts.

A hand snatches my phone in a split second. Lisa.

"You're on speaker, Heather dear." The words are laced with ice. With hateful promises of revenge so vicious, I couldn't even begin to dream of the possibilities. "I suggest you watch what you say."

My mother starts spitting out nonsense again, but Lisa takes her off of speaker and disappears into the next room, no doubt to give her a verbal beating.

Fuck. What do I do? I need to talk to Ash. I need to talk to dad. I need someone to ground me because I'm free floating through my own terror at this point. Shame and panic have gripped me whole, threatening to take everything that I am. Claim everything that I've built up for myself and tear it all down.

I don't know what to do. Heather is big enough in New York that she can slather my name across headlines and leak every personal aspect about me. For the entire world to see.

And how could I stop her? I'm nothing. I'm just a random streamer that maybe a few thousand people know about. I don't matter. I never mattered.

Hands cup my cheeks— warm, rough ones. They force my head to tilt upward until I'm gazing into pretty, azure eyes. And while I'm not surprised to see cerulean hair, I am taken aback upon finding that the hair is long, rather than short.

Of every possibility, I expected Henry over Sal. In every lifetime. So maybe Sal knows something that I don't about anxiety and averting attention because his hands on my face and his eyes gazing into mine shocks me into stillness. A pause. A moment where no thoughts enter or leave my brain. Everything just freezes.

But I watch his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, determination and confidence reflected in his light irises. A little spear of panic stabs at me upon seeing one of his pupils dilated. It's not a bad panic, but it's panic in the sense that he's very obviously worried for me.

I don't want his pity. But right now, with him conveying the words 'Everything will be okay' through eye contact alone, I grasp onto his pity. I hold onto it for dear life.

Hold onto the way his fingertips press into my cheeks and jaw, their grasp so tender but assertive. The cool bite of his rings against my cheeks. Our physical contact telling me to focus on him rather than outside issues. The warmth of his skin on mine. And when his index discreetly pushes a strand of hair away from my lips.

I latch onto all of it, the once in a lifetime comfort he's offering. I leech on the one tether I have to sanity, gripping his wrists in my cold palms and watching him the way his eyes beg me to.

"I am not doing this as a friend," Sal starts quietly, never blinking beneath that strong stare. His tone a perfect mask of calm, of stability. "I am not doing this as a companion. I am not doing this as someone who cares." All mistaken meanings combined— he's touching every base so that I don't misunderstand his approach. "I am doing this as someone who understands." His thumb rubs over my too warm skin, soothing whatever negativity is still roiling around inside. I try to ignore the sparks of want that erupt throughout my body. It's not insatiable, it's just an overwhelming desire to keep his hands on my face. To have him shield me from everything.

"Get your head on straight." Those words, spoken so gently but with a dominant edge— all to give me a mental launching pad so that I'm not fighting alone right now. "Remember that you have the power to sue the fuck out of anyone who comes for you. Okay?"

I swallow thickly, roaring at the tears that suddenly sting my eyes. Not now, not in front of him.

But I nod. And he pulls away. I feel the lack of his warmth immediately, the emptiness.

Another phone rings and Sal hisses in front of me, but I don't pay much mind. I'm too busy trying to reel myself in and remember that there's always a solution. I'll be fine, it'll all be fine.

"What?" Sal snaps, frustration lacing his pretty voice. Then silence, aside from Lisa getting real aggressive with my mom in a bedroom to the right.

I look up, noting his phone held to his ear and those baby blue eyes darting back and forth along the carpeted floor.

"Fine. We'll head back. When are you guys leaving?" Sal says, still a bit snappy but softer this time. I guess he's talking to either Ash or Larry.

Sal doesn't even say goodbye, just shuts his phone off and tucks it away before turning to his dad. "I'm sorry, but we have to leave," he says, voice emotionless like it had been earlier. My mood only seems to dampen at the sound. "Can you get Lisa?"

Henry knows the drill. He nods grimly then goes over to the room Lisa's in, pulling her out as she snaps a dark, "Rot in hell." into the phone before ending the call.

My eyebrows raise, a hint of amusement flitting through me at the remark. Heather deserved that.

Lisa rushes over to me, handing over my phone and cupping my face in her hands like Sal did just moments ago. "Don't let her scare you, honey. She's a mean old lady with nothing better to do," she tells me gently, smiling sadly.

A watery laugh leaves me, but being on the verge of tears, I really don't trust myself to utter a single word.

Lisa seems to understand. She rubs my cheek, kisses the top of my head, then pulls away. "Come visit me before you all leave."

I nod, swallowing thickly. Praying that I bounce back from this and set some boundaries with my mom. However that sliver of hell on earth will go.

Sal and I walk out moments later. Our journey back to his house is spent in the dark, crickets chirping and owls hooting. We don't talk. Sal was respectful enough in that sense, but I hardly remember the walk back. It went so fast, took so little effort with my mind trained on other things.

And Ash, unaware of what went down at Henry and Lisa's, greets me with a yelled, "Where the hell did you two even hide!? We checked, like, everywhere!" She pauses, assessing me. "And how the hell did you get into Sal's hoodie without either of you ripping each other apart!?"

"We didn't hide," I mumble, giving her a smile I don't feel and walking to the couch. I'm numb. Whereas the world was crashing down around me at the apartments earlier, now it's just stagnant. I can't find it in me to care.

Ash goes quiet, although I feel her gaze on me. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" She asks, tone comforting and sweet.

"Yea," I sigh. I don't want to worry her. I can tell her about what happened later if she's still concerned. "Just tired."

She hums like she doesn't believe me, but says, "Okay, so I guess you don't want to come out with Larry and I? We're going to a bar on main street."

I shake my head, turning on the TV and completely checking out of the conversation. My social battery is empty for the night-- I just want to be alone.

I vaguely hear Ash and Larry asking if Sal wants to join, but he declines. Walks over to his room in my peripheral.

Then the front door shuts, buffering the sound of Ash and Larry's conversation. Their voices are muted, hardly carrying into the house now.

I stay perched on the couch, turning to Sal when he doesn't immediately disappear into his room.

His one hand holds onto the door jamb, his chest and head poking out of his bedroom door while the rest of him stays hidden. His prosthetic turned to the front door, listening as his friends voices grow quieter with the distance they create as they walk away from us.

This should be an opportunity for me, but I don't have anything in me to start up a game with Sal right now. His pep-talk helped me earlier, but now I just... I don't want to socialize. I don't want to talk. I don't want to have to fight to get some short-lived distraction from Sal. Even if it would be nice, it just isn't us unless we're making it unique. Personal. Filled with hate and loathing. 

I realize I'm staring his way when his gaze suddenly cuts to me. Those haunting blue eyes glance around my body before settling on my face, both of us watching each other. Emotionless.

Then he disappears into his room, door shutting softly behind him. 

Sal may be a lot of things-- bad things-- but I have to give it to him. He knows how to read a room, when to be serious, and when to back down. He has never once disrespected my decision and he holds the championship for that kind of care even now. 

It's not much, but he treats me like an actual human being whenever I need it most. When I'm mentally stable is when he breaks free from that facade and creates chaos. And that-- that's fine. That's what makes being stuck in his presence fun.

I chew on my bottom lip, dissociating a bit as I watch his closed door, listening to automated laughter on the television before me. 

I blink out of my daze when Sal's door swings open again and he pokes his head out. He doesn't look at me at first, his fingertips pressing into the door jamb again. But when he finally does turn his attention to me, those darkened eyes catching my own, he says, "I don't know how to word this."

I'm unable to form my own words. He clearly wants to ask me something. Why is hesitant? It's unlike him. Unsettling. "You've never filtered yourself before. Spit it out," I simply reply. 

I hate that damned prosthetic. I wish he'd keep it off forever so I could see his expression. So I could get some kind of read on him, if at all possible.

Because he just stands there, just watches me. Hell, he doesn't even blink for what feels like ages. 

"Let me fuck you," He seems to force out, like the words weighed a ton. "With your permission, of course."

I don't know what kind of face to put on, what kind of reaction to have. I'm used to him being upfront like this, but the salacious claim still catches me off guard when I least expect it. I did not foresee him walking right back out of his room with a sex proposal. Never in a million years, at least not with the kind of mood I'm in.

But I debate it. I sit on the offer for a minute, let it percolate. I want it-- I really do. Our entire arrangement is for sex. But can I do it right now? Can I handle the arguments and strife that comes with our rocky situation?

"How about I lay down ideas?" Sal interrupts my train of thought, tone one of contemplation and hesitance, like even he's nervous about approaching me like this. 

I tilt my head, but nod nonetheless. I can hear him out.

Sal averts his gaze beneath my stare before he very obviously forces himself to look me in the eye again. Cute.

"You had a bad day. We all have those. So a distraction would be nice, right?" I watch his Adam's apple bob. "Lucky for you, I have a cock. I can't think of a better distraction to be honest."

I nearly scowl. Cocky as ever.

"I'll do whatever you ask of me tonight though. Just for tonight," he pauses, sensual gaze traveling over my body like he already knows his next words will make me fold. The same way the audible change in his voice-- from nervous to assertive, sure of himself-- makes me lean toward giving into him. "I'll let you make a request. You don't have to say a single word tonight. If you want it gentle, I'll give it to you. If you want it rough, I'll make you plead until Lar and Ash return."

My mouth goes dry as I hold his gaze, my limbs quaking at the prospect of him being my bitch for the night. What a day to be alive. No matter how tonight goes, whatever I ask for, I know it'll end well.

"I will do whatever you want."

My tongue runs over my bottom lip as my eyes travel down his neck and over the top of his chest, relishing in the edge of that tattoo on his throat. 

I suck in a quick breath. "Promise? Whatever I want?" The words are hoarse, raspy as they fall from my lips.

"Anything," he confirms breathlessly, impatiently anticipating my answer.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, already knowing my decision. 

My feet press into the floor as I stand, walking over to him with venom and adrenaline in my veins.

"Then let's see what you've got."

-----------

A/N::::::: y'all already know the tw for next chapter HAAAAHAHAHAHA

hiiii my babies :3 i liked this chap when i first typed it out like two weeks ago but now i kind of hate it o_e also, i planned on having this published MUCH sooner butttt unfortunately finals are approaching so that means i've been getting slapped with project and exams in preparation for said finals soooo.... i've been busy >~< haven't even had the damn time to come and think about my mean sal </3

PLEASE GIVE ME RECOMMENDATIONS SO I CAN IMPROVE MY WRITING-- what did you like here? what didn't you like? what's a suggestion for improvement? what should i omit overall? THANK U <333

I stay silent, watching the way Ash gives herself whiplash, mirroring the action with wide eyes. Larry makes a single sound, something caught between a screech and garbled choke. And Todd merely raises his brows a bit, setting his bag by the door and taking off his shoes.

Tongue in cheek, I stare straight into the kitchen, avoiding everyone's gazes even as Sal crosses my field of vision to steal the rest of Ash's cheese. I try not to watch the way he plucks the cheese from her lips then lifts up the bottom of his prosthetic to eat the rest. 

Ash's brows furrow, lips parted as if she's still holding her cheese, then whirls around to smack the back of Sal's head. The man hisses at the assault, ruffling his cerulean hair where he rubs his head to soothe the ache. 

"What the hell did you just say!?" Ash proceeds to bellow, her emerald eyes cutting into the Smurf's soul. Damn Travis for giving him that nickname.

"The obvious," Sal murmurs, buckling the bottom of his prosthetic back onto his face. His pretty face that I really wish I could see again.

This time, Ash doesn't snap back at him. Her eyes, still murderous, only hold Sal's gaze as her glossy lips press together.

"So," Larry hops into the conversation, seemingly trying to bite down whatever kerfuffle is brewing between Ash and Sal. "It's true then?" he continues. I turn my head, noting Larry's raised brows. He looks hopeful and a little... crushed all at the same time. "Why didn't you tell us all?"

My mouth opens to spew out whatever nonsense fills my head because he doesn't understand. And I don't know how to make him understand either. But I take a moment, snap my lips shut, and think about my response.

"We figured you'd tell us before Sal of all people." Todd's voice fills the hollow silence and that's when Larry's question finally clicks in my head. He didn't mean tell them all in general, he thinks I opened up to Sal about it before everyone else. It sounds like me hiding my identity doesn't even offend them in the slightest.

"I didn't tell this asshole a single thing," I bite out, gesturing to Sal who rears his head back as if someone finally told him he needs to repaint his damn nails. Offended. "He--" I purse my lips, trying to quickly reword this afternoon's events in a way that doesn't spell out the fact that Sal Fisher feasted on me like Thanksgiving dinner laid out on his gaming desk. I blink. "He walked out of his room, had an epiphany or something, and called me out by name. What was I supposed to do?"

It's quiet. Quiet in the sense that I could hear everyone's hearts pounding simultaneously if I focused hard enough. Up until: "I told her that we all knew. You guys were being nice about it and, well, I'm not. Case closed. Vi is y/n confirmed and now we can squash out the hiding and tiptoeing. Welcome to the real world." Sal's less-than-chipper, nonchalant voice echoes in the near silent kitchen as he explains himself, leaning against the sink beside Ash.

"Does Ash know though?" Larry raises an eyebrow at Sal and his expression is wary, concerned. Like he's afraid of the moment Ash squeals in excitement over this discovery.

Sal just gives his brother a bland look. "Brain, Lartholomew. Use your brain, not your cock."

Larry's eyes narrow. "I'll have you know that my schlong has never led me astray," he says pridefully. "But as for Ash," He turns his head and levels a glare at the beauty. "You didn't say a single word about this. What's up with that?"

It's my turn to cut in now. Ash isn't at fault here-- not a single bit of this falls onto her because all she did was exactly what I'd asked of her. She's been perfect.

"I asked her to stay quiet," I say, shriveling a bit as all heads turn to me, clearly waiting for an explanation. So I take a breath and tell them the truth-- at last. Shedding the weight of lying after dying to let it out and be honest for so long.

"A day or two before I came in as VioletViolence," I start, glancing between Todd and Larry. I'm talking to them-- Ash already knows the deal and I know Sal couldn't care less. "I watched the video where you guys talked about me. And I heard everything Sal had to say. I called Ash later, ended up having a short and quick chat with Sal--" I try not to aim a menacing glare at him while recalling the memory. "And then Ash... knowing that things kind of sucked for me in LA, offered to help me get started with streaming. You guys know I like games, she does too, so I decided to try it out. But in between that, I was terrified of Sal for whatever reason and didn't want to say who I truly was. What if he called me out online or refused to play or something? It just felt... it felt so dire," I try to explain, accentuating with my hands, desperate to portray what went through my mind. What led to this. "That I couldn't come out as myself. And I'm sincerely sorry for all of it-- for not being open with you guys sooner, for approaching the situation with a disguise to begin with. I'm sorry."

The words pour out of me and it takes every inch of my sanity not to fold in on myself. Admitting the truth is scarier than visiting the dentist. I should have just been honest from the start.

"So it's your fault."

I focus in on Larry who practically scowls through each word-- his head tilted at Sal and fury dancing in his pretty, chocolatey eyes. 

My eyebrows raise as I watch the stare down between both men, taking a mental note to bet on who would win. Maybe I can make a couple bucks.

Unfortunately, my bet is on Sal simply because he's normally incredibly calm with his responses-- unless it's him and I arguing, of course. "If it's any consolation," he says, watching Larry without an inch of fear in those azure eyes. "I kind of feel bad about it."

I suck in a quick breath as some kind of tie unfastens around my heart. It's not an apology, but it's an emotion. From Sal. From the aggravation and... acquaintance he's slowly turning into for me... that has ailed my soul for months now.

It's not an apology, but it means something.

"Then do better, Fisher," Larry warns playfully, smacking his lips. "Y/n's family. She's not going anywhere. You have to get used to it."

Sal rolls his eyes, slipping back into his usual, foul personality. "Joy," he blandly states. And like a phantom wind, Sal simply slinks over to the fridge, grabs another string cheese, then disappears into his room. No wonder he's so damn pale-- I have no doubt he has some kind of vitamin deficiency.

Todd sighs, breaking the temporary silence that had settled over us. And for what it's worth, instead of arguing that I'm not family, Sal silently accepted it instead.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The next morning, Ash has me up at the crack ass of dawn.

It's actually just 10pm, but it feels early enough considering Larry and I stayed up til 3am streaming together. We double-teamed heaping groups of poor, unfortunate victims in Among Us. It was really fun and our fans loved seeing us side-by-side on whoever's stream they decided to join.

Ash and I decided to spend the night too. Apparently, things didn't go down great at her house so she wanted to give her parents some time to cool off. I didn't want to pry, especially since it seemed like it wounded Ash too, so we pulled out the sofa bed and camped out in the living room together. The whole night, I could have sworn I felt something purring at my feet, but maybe it was just a dream.

I replaced my normal mask with a sleeping mask for the night. Doesn't cover as much but it's better than nothing, plus I had my head hidden under the blankets regardless. Either way, whatever I did managed to do the trick and no one discovered my other identity.

Both boys are apparently gone by now, having embarked on their own journeys that they claimed they had for the day.

"Come on, get up, time to go," Ash chirps like a mourning dove when all the morning glories begin to bloom. I am not having it, even as I follow her orders and change into some clothes for the day-- black skirt, Type O Negative merch shirt, and vans. Could be better, could be worse. Ash says I look 'smashing' though, even if the color of my outfit clashes with the violet of my mask.

When I walk into the kitchen, I grab a croissant resting on a paper plate and stuff it into my mouth for a quick breakfast. Ash grabs a crimson purse that looks like it costs more than my prospective college tuition would have, and gestures to the front door. "We're walking today, gorgeous," she tells me with a grin. "Nockfell's tiny. We get around on bikes or our feets."

"Feets?" I ask with a giggle, enjoying the cool breeze that flows into the house when Ash opens the front door. 

Ash nods proudly. "Yup. Feets."

So we use our feets and walk through the little town of Nockfell. It's everything I remembered it being-- a scene straight out of the Halloween franchise. Tall oaks shedding their leaves, glowing a golden brown and yellow in the dim sunlight. That is, whatever little sunlight manages to shine through the overcast clouds that threaten to spill their rainy contents every second.

The pumpkins aren't in season yet. The numerous, empty crop fields we pass on our trip onto main street tells me as much. But it's only a matter of time now, just a couple months until little pumpkins begin to pop up.

"For now, we're dropping by Henry's music store, mainly because I know you want to see it since you like music and all. After that, we can do whatever you want-- or just go home. Doesn't matter to me," Ash says as we finally reach Nockfell's main street. It's this one road that runs straight through the heart of Nockfell. The road that travelers take to get through the city as quickly as possible. 

I look over at my best friend, observing her wine colored lips that nearly match her purse, then her long-sleeved, grey crop top and black jeans. She's so pretty.

"Henry has a music store?" I ask once I remember that the goddess on my side spoke to me.

"Mhm," Ash hums, flipping her sort of short hair over her shoulder. "It's just a couple buildings away now," she continues, leaning toward me and pointing down the road ahead of us. I haphazardly glance, assuming that the giant record sign with an F in the middle is the store in question. 

Ash and I are walking into the store just seconds later. We hover near the door only until Henry catches Ash's eye. She launches into a speed-walk in his direction, but I admire the inside of the store before following.

Guitars of various types and colors litter the walls of the store. So many... so many that I can't even count. And then the floor houses different drums, add-on's for instruments, and a wide variety of records. It's stunning-- so much so that I swear I can hear seraphim singing all around me. Such an angelic thing to see; the makings of the best genre of music. 

When I snap out of my ogling, I walk over to where Ash is finishing up a conversation with Henry.

I smile at the man as he walks away from the front counter, moving over to help a young boy who's desperately trying to hold onto a guitar that's far too large for him. Sweet little thing.

I turn my attention to Ash who's chewing on the end of a pixie stick,-- I don't know where the hell she got it from-- gazing lazily at Henry's silhouette. Her eyes slide to mine, viridian irises shining in the various fluorescent lights that add a mystifying brightness to the space-y room. She gives me a bewitching smile, teeth imbedded into the stained paper of her candy.

With a smile back at her, I lean my elbows onto the counter I found her at and rest my chin in my palm. "Are we camping out with the boys again tonight?" I voice my internal question, watching as she purses her lips in contemplation.

"It's up to you," she murmurs, shrugging. "We've all been packed up for the most part since before we went to LA. We just have necessities to pick up— which, that's all at the boys' place because they all live together." I guess she's trying to avoid the topic of her parents. Her eyes glaze over me, thinking about the best option, no doubt. "We leave in two days— more than enough time to pack up their kitchen and get my boxes into a van."

"I'm fine with either option," I bashfully admit. I hate making decisions— I don't want to disappoint anyone, especially when I'm more than happy to do whatever.

Ash narrows her eyes at me playfully, scrutinizing me and my lacking decision lightheartedly. "I'll just ask Larry what he wants to do then," she chirps. Bless Ash and her ability to find a solution to everything. "Would you be able to put up with Sal for another night if we decide to stay?"

I snort. "Yea, don't worry about that. He seems to be the type to lock himself in his room for hours on end and never come out," I chuckle a bit as I think about how I was occupying a few minutes of those hours for him yesterday. "That means we'd hardly cross paths."

Ash tilts her head, lips quirked up lightly as her hair falls into her eyes. My fingers itch to push the strands away from the forest of green hiding beneath. "I think he's warming up to you," she counters my rationale with something so obnoxiously ridiculous that I nearly fall over.

"Yea, okay," I answer sarcastically, unable to hold back the crazed laugh that falls from my lips.

The music in the room suddenly grows louder, cutting off our conversation. Ash jumps out of her skin, eyes momentarily going wide. But then they narrow, brows bunched together as her gaze shoots to me.

"Why the hell is it so loud?" she voices my thoughts.

But that's the thing, it isn't just loud. It's suspiciously concert-like. "Is someone playing?" I ask, turning to see if Henry is the culprit— I hear guitar and drums. Someone is playing Save Me by Killswitch Engage beautifully.

Ash whips her head to the side like she got sucker punched. I watch as confusion flits across her features, and then stony concern. Clear apprehension exemplified by the pinching of her lips, but some frustration mixed in there too if her furrowed eyebrows are a hint to anything.

So I turn my head to look where she is too, finding that someone is playing. Well, people are playing. Todd's boyfriend, Neil, is going to town on a drum kit like a pro. I'd noticed the set up upon walking into the store but I didn't think it was usable.

I'm thinking Neil might play a big part in my life-- more specifically, he might play a big part in a very specific band.

And in front of him is a man with a guitar in his hands. A blue guitar and that red, gold, and black mask with music notes. Intricate, loud, mysterious. And I am one hundred percent hallucinating right now because why the fuck would North be in Nockfell of all places? The Faces' hometown or not, this is fever dream material.

"What the fuck." Words fall from my lips before I can really think better about them, my eyes darting over every inch of North's figure like an alligator staring at its prey-- probably something innocent like a bunny. I feel like such chaos compared to North who has been nothing but pure, sweet, and tender to me. But the way his fingers, clad in fingerless leather gloves, move along the strings of his vibrant guitar, his mask tilted down with his head as he watches his finger placement and movements, and the positioning of his entire body as he shreds through a guitar solo. What else is supposed to go through my mind other than unintelligible button smashing? My mental keyboard's letters are flying around my head like a fucking tornado.

A monotonous, mumbled reply from Ash makes me blink at the rockstar, my eyes never leaving his form. "Dark Autumn Complex recorded their music video here," she answers the question I failed to ask— she knows me so well. "I thought they'd left."

Tongue in cheek and heart racing a mile a minute, I say, "Why am I just finding out about this?"

"Because it didn't matter at first," she instantly replies, voice a tad louder. "But now I'm starting to wonder if what Larry said was true."

I gulp. I've been wondering about that too. About North's supposed crush on me. I assumed it was all in good fun, but Ash possibly finding some hidden truth in the matter makes my stomach feel queasy. And the queasiness isn't bad.

I bite down on my bottom lip, watching as North and Neil close the song, breaking off on a heavy chord before taking a moment to catch their breath. Neil wipes beads of sweat off his forehead, captivating smile enveloping his face and illuminating his mocha skin. Todd wasn't lying when he flaunted about his boyfriend being a complete catch.

North, on the other hand, lets his guitar hang from his chest and turns to Neil, uttering something quiet enough to the point that Ash and I can't hear. It's clear that the two men are communicating though because Neil is nodding his head in agreement, laughing heartily, and talking back to him.

I turn away, facing Ash who stands behind the counter. I don't need to get myself tangled up in another messy situashionship. Sal's more than enough in that department, plus North is too gentle for that. I wouldn't do that to him. I don't need all this strife and mess. It's probably better if I don't talk to North anymore, even if the thought pulls at my heartstrings a little too hard.

Ash is chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes slowly roving around and growing closer to my own body. My breath catches in my throat as I contemplate what to do within the next few moments. My best friend looks anything but content and I know her eyes are tracking North's movements. Her calculated emerald eyes say enough.

My lunch leaps into my throat when arms cage me in from behind, hands resting on the counter on either side of me. I have, like, five seconds tops to decide on a plan before I address the man behind me and his very bold approach. Wow, never thought I'd be shooting down a hot guy like this.

I run my tongue over the surface of my teeth, tilting my head up a bit to find that fancy mask hovering over my body and showing off what looks like grey eyes that are solely focused on me.

My heart thumps like there are a thousand little miners embedding pickaxes into the crevices of the organ, trying to dig their way through to see what lovely minerals they'll find. It's almost too much— the little intrigued, shocked twinkle in the masked man's shaded eyes and the way his fingertips dig into the wood counter in front of me, arms encircling my body like a shield.

I slap a smile onto my lips, a smile that undoubtedly looks nauseated and a mess. But it's a smile. "Hi, North." The words pop past my lips and I thank my body's natural instincts for a moment. I always babble when I'm cornered and I appreciate that weakness at the moment. It might scare him off before I have to possibly break his heart. Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

My head tilts downward again and I carefully shift myself, turning my body around to face the man as he takes a step away. In addition, his head tips to the side almost as if he didn't expect me to speak.

So I keep speaking despite how badly I wish I could shut up now. The babbling worked a second ago but this consistency— I might as well consider myself a pile of vines wrapping my way around this poor guy's legs. I can't stop.

"My cousin thinks you're hot." I seethe on the inside, willing myself to just shut the fuck up. I've said all of seven words to him in the span of a full minute and it's already getting worse. "Can I get a picture of you to send to him?" Y/n, please, for the love of everything holy.

I'd never truly be able to explain the panic that coursed through me upon seeing him playing his guitar, but having him suddenly right in front of me has sent me into flight or flight mode. My fight instincts are to bargain my way out or yap until someone gets bored with me so... here we are.

Much to my chagrin, North fucking nods. This walking, breathing, living piece of sex on a stick nods at me to signal his agreement to a picture. And now I'm stuck and Ash can't see my face so she doesn't know the fear roiling through my limbs right now, taking over my brain and turning me into someone I'm not. Arguably.

So I lift my phone with shaky fingers and slap the most pathetically petrified grin on my face to take a quick picture of us and send it to Travis because now I have to follow through with the stupid last minute plan.

But things always get worse when it comes to me. I make a mental note to stop putting myself in tricky situations the moment that North moves beside me and stands so close that his arm has to wrap around my upper back and his chest is pressed into my shoulder. I lose every sense, falter for such a long moment that I forget how to breathe.

The warmth radiating through the right side of my body is intense, alongside the cool fingers gently pressing into the top of my left arm where his hand wrapped around me. I hear a sigh from behind— Ash.

His mask taps against the side of mine and I realize that I can just make out the sound of his even breathing. Quiet, muffled, unbothered. This is nothing to him— likely something he does with fans quite often. Does he get this close to them too? Is he this intimate with everyone? Based on how comfortable he seems, I'd guess this is routine. I'm nothing special— and I don't know if that's relaxing or the reason my own bodily functions haven't returned to normal yet.

I gulp, flipping my camera to take a picture of us together. I muster up the best little smile I can force, a slight tilt of my lips and squinting of my eyes. North presses his face a little closer against mine, the plastic of our masks causing a dull scratching sound that reverberates through my entire skull. A tattoo in the lonely, forgotten, impenetrable part of my brain that swore off any little desperate feelings of tenderness years ago.

I snap the picture quickly and bring my phone down, hastily clicking onto Travis's contact to send the photo. "Thanks," I shakily chirp to North, "I'll keep it forever." I say it with a subtle tone of finality, hoping that it'll result in him moving away... but he stays, chin on my shoulder as my quivering fingers hover over the keyboard.

Okay. I guess he's curious. He must be enjoying the way I'm very obviously squirming.

I type out a quick text before sending the picture.

Me: guess what :3 Me: (1 attachment)

Travis's response comes no less than a full five seconds later, the little text bubble popping up the way North popped into Nockfell today. I hate my life.

Simp for the Entire Male Population: BITTTTTCCCCHHHHH Simp for the Entire Male Population: Hold on, FaceTime me so I can show him my cock.

That brings me a little bit of joy. I snort at the message, noting that it's the exact moment that North finally moves— but it's not away from me, it's a laugh he's barely able to keep hidden, a snort just like mine if you will. I could love this man, I really could, but I won't.

And then he plucks my phone from my fingers which sets me into fight mode again, but this time I'll actually drop kick him. I have a lot to lose with my phone in someone else's hands— if he clicks out of my messages with Travis, he could see my real name somewhere. He could see my messages with my dad, hell, he could see my messages with Sal— that perpetually unsaved number sitting in my messages with his last text including the name Lexi.

A flicker of unadulterated fear and failure makes me feel as if I'll vomit, sweat building up on my forehead at the mere prospect. But North, he doesn't move my phone from my view— holds it out in front of both our faces as he types out a quick message that says,

Me: no doubt mine'll be bigger -N

I swallow past the dryness in my mouth. What a brave guy to test my cousin like that. Travis enjoys a challenge. I'm lucky that I'm family because otherwise I'd have an unwanted dick pic floating in, I'm sure. Maybe these two should exchange phone numbers.

Travis hasn't messaged back, but North starts typing again.

Me: post our picture.

He doesn't send the message, just leaves it there for a second for me to see. Then he holds down the backspace button, deleting the message entirely.

I blink. Once, twice, a third time before I fully process his message.

"You want me to post our picture?" I ask him, making the mistake of turning my head to look at him. And he's close, too close— so close that even he finally backs away, keeping a safe but friendly distance between us. He nods his confirmation while simultaneously allowing me to take my first breath of air without shuddering since he first walked over here.

North nods again, shifting his weight into a more relaxed stance, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Dressed the same way he was at his concert. So Noah Sebastian-coded.

I nod back, wielding a mental knife that stabs and slices at the awkwardness I've caused. I can't stand myself— I shouldn't be like this. If anything, he should be. He's the one who called me his idol the other day.

Regardless of my current circumstances, I open up Instagram and post our picture, making sure to tag North and their band account. I don't bother putting a caption though. I don't have the brain power to come up with anything smart or witty. I don't have the brain power to come up with anything at all.

I post the photo then lock my phone with lightening speed and stuff it into my pocket. I don't want to be present when the comments and likes start to roll in, especially not in front of him.

My attention goes back to North who's still standing in front of me. He tilts his head down a bit, as if to show me he's pleased then takes a step forward. He moves fluidly, like a gentle wave in a calm ocean as his hand lifts and his fingers tap under my chin. It's a featherlight, minuscule touch that tilts my head up just a tad before he pulls his hand away again. A thank you, nice to see you, wish I didn't have to leave, and see you later. That's what that touch was. All in one.

He looks over my shoulder at Ash, offers her a wave, glances back at me then turns on his heel. And like he was never even here to begin with, his presence is gone-- disappeared behind a door labled 'Employees Only.' I feel like I went through something that dreamcatchers are supposed to keep at bay. The only remnants and confirmation that what I just lived through was real being the most recent photo in my camera roll, one that I don't have the balls to look at right now. 

And then my body betrays me. A fluttering deep in my soul makes me press a hand to my chest as if I'm trying to release trapped butterflies. Trying to scrounge up a lost breath, searching high and low for a medical explanation as to why my fingers tremble. Why my legs feel like jello. Why my stomach is twisted into knots that are too tight to unravel. Why my body feels so light, but my mental feels so drained. Why I feel drawn to chase that man behind the door while battling the internal faint feeling that has me swaying on my feet.

This feeling doesn't seem as terrible as it did when I felt it with Sal. The attraction. The tender affection that grips me in its ambrosia-drenched, quietly dangerous vices.

I stare at the empty spot where North stood just seconds ago. The spot that Neil suddenly fills up.

"Hey," he drawls in such a milky tone, pretty smile stealing my attention for just a moment. "You're Vi, right? I've heard a lot about you from Ash and Todd!" His umber skin, illuminated by the low lighting in the store, captures my gaze when just a singular bead of sweat drips down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. 

I'll never say it out loud but, damn, is Todd a lucky man. I feel like I'm looking at a god of old age right now-- the type that's too perfect even for statues.

I suck in a breath and force another smile on my face. I'll worry about North later.

"Hey, Neil," I start cooly, offering the man my outstretched hand. "Yea, I am Vi but I'm also y/n-- not sure if everyone else told you yet. But, nice to see you again."

Neil's brows raise in surprise. "Ah, no, seems Todd left me out of the teacup this time." He chuckles lowly, showing off that handsome grin again. "I haven't seen you since grade school! How have you been?"

I shrug, smiling in turn. "Not really thriving, but surviving," I admit with a chirp, drowning in Ash's silence while Henry's chipper form grows closer to us.

Neil tilts his head and purses his lips as if to say that he relates. But when he speaks again, it's the last thing I expected to hear. 

"You know, I noticed you kept perfect beat with my drumming earlier. Do you play at all?"

My eyes widen a bit. I hadn't even realized he noticed me, nor did I realize that I was keeping beat with the song he and North played. A little breathless, I reply, "I've played for seven years. Haven't for the last year though because of my living situation, but..."

"Wow," he whispers, leaning closer to inquire in that smooth voice. "Seven years?" He puffs his cheeks, blowing out a breath. "That's... a while. Would you want to play?"

Where my chest felt filled to the brim mere moments ago, it suddenly feels achingly hollow. Play? Again? It's been over or near twelve full months since I so much as touched my drum kit that's been packed away in three separate boxes. I've ached to wrap my fingers around drumsticks again and get lost in the beat of a good song. 

But there's anxiety deep in my gut because it's been so long. I don't know if I can even still play anymore.

"I don't know," I tell him weakly, glancing over his shoulder at the immaculate drum kit. Set up and spotless, drumsticks resting on top of the snare. "I don't think I'd be any good. Not what I used to be."

Neil shakes his head exasperatedly. "Girl, you played for seven years. That isn't just a talent anymore, that's second nature. Drumming is breathing. You could lose both your hands and still find a way to play. Get get on that kit before I drag you there." His voice is aggressive, but in that loving, coddling type of way. Still aggressive enough to make me flinch into a quick walk toward that daunting drum kit in the middle of the room.

Ash, Neil, and Henry follow behind me as I round the kit and plop into the chair, staring down at the instrument that haunts me night and day. The one thing that kept me tethered to this world when nothing else could. Cymbals, toms, snare, bass. It's all here.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and delicately pick up the drumsticks, flipping one around in my left hand. The little trick I used to flaunt in high school. 

My eyes drag up to Ash who's watching me with stars in her eyes. She catches my gaze and clears her throat. "I didn't know you played," she rasps out.

"You know I like my secrets," I croon, tilting my head a bit. "Got a song request?"

"Well knowing you, it's all rock or metal," she snorts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You're correct," I snicker, waiting for a song name or band, something. I covered a lot of songs during my free time in high school. If Ash gives me the one hard song she knows, I'll probably be able to play it.

"Wherein Christine Daaé Becomes Her Own Phantom?" Ash asks, eyes narrowing as her face contorts into a nervous cringe. A Dark Autumn Complex song. Of course. One of their first from however long ago.

I giggle as confirmation, readying my sticks and giving myself a moment to think back on all the memories that Neil was right about. I've done this long enough. It is second nature and it always will be.

With the first hit of my drumstick, I fall into a bridge between dimensions. A bridge only available when I immerse myself, lose myself in the art that comes with music. Comes with creating and mimicking it. Time slips by on a breeze, slow but so death-defyingly fast. Quiet, but pounding in every inch of my being. 

And I only return to reality when I realize I'm nearing the end of the song, drawing off with a final note and staring at the echoing drums in front of me, my fingers numbing and sticks hot in my hands.

I missed this so much.

I don't have time to wonder how I did or feel stage fright because my lovely best friend takes that opportunity away.

Ash's loud, reverberating squeal drags my gaze up from the kit. My eyes meet her teary ones first. She looks so excited, hands curled underneath her chin as she grins brightly. Beside her though, the only really attention-grabbing figure is North who's resurfaced from his hiding place at the back of the store. But he just looks at me-- his dark eyes don't crinkle in a smile, he doesn't walk over to me or make a move at all. Just stands next to Henry who looks like he could cry with the kind of pride only a father can have. And Neil, he's at my side, I realize, when a warm hand clasps onto my shoulder.

I whip my head to him, gazing up at his much taller figure. "See?" he exclaims, gesturing to the drums. "I knew you had it in you. You need to get back on a kit and keep working. Don't give this up. You're really good." He gives me an encouraging smile that has my mind reeling with possibilities. 

That smile gives me hope. So I smile back at that hope.

As I'm standing to leave this gorgeous drum kit behind, I notice Ash angle a blinding glare at North beside her. The man doesn't acknowledge the expression, or her for that matter. When Ash looks back to me though, I wonder if I really did see a glare because she looks so happy, so filled with positivity. Maybe the look was in my head.

The woman comes bounding over to me, her dainty hand gently wrapping around my wrist. "Let's head home," she says, ditching her plan of letting me pick where to go next in the city. "I have to stop by the Nockfell Psychward first--"

"I'm sorry," I cut in, watching her warily. "The psychward? Nockfell has one of those?"

Ash waves me off. "Not an actual psychward, silly. That's just what we call our local grocery store. Filled with all kinds of people, customers and employees alike, who really need to be admitted." She looks off into the distance like she's reminiscing about something before her forest eyes clash with mine again. "Let's go!"

Ash begins dragging me out of the music store, the grip on my wrist going from gentle to dominating in a quick second. It makes me wonder what kind of rollercoaster her lovers must go through when it comes to her.

I turn a head over my shoulder, waving at Henry, Neil, and North who watch Ash kidnap me like this is a normal occurrence. All three wave back just as we disappear through the doors, but I watch North until he's nothing but a speck of dust hidden behind those tinted doors. Until we're already walking far enough down the road that I can see Nockfell's grocery store just a little ways away. Or, as Ash calls it, the Nockfell Psychward.

Ash and I are finished with our shopping trip within just ten minutes, the two of us holding three bags each on one arm and coveting hot coffee in our other free hand. 

Ash sips from her coffee, licking her lips clean of the brown liquid before she turns to me with something fiery flashing in her eyes. Our walk back to Sal, Larry, Todd, and Neil's place is just about five minutes as far as I've heard.

I match Ash's steps as she watches me, holds my gaze, starts brewing something in that beautiful, jewel-encrusted mind of hers. 

"Is there something going on that you haven't told me about?" She asks, an edge to her voice that makes my limbs lock up. I almost trip over my feet.

Does she know? About me and Sal? We've been careful, covered our tracks fairly well, as far as I'm aware. Maybe Sal's been talking? Maybe I'm overthinking? But for her to hit me with this kind of question...

"Uh, not that I'm aware of?" I force out through trembling lips, hoping that the veer-off from the truth is believable enough.

Ash's eyes narrow and I feel like I might dissipate into the afterlife right here on the side of the road.

"So North's infatuation with you is just... random." She states-- states, not asks-- and tilts her head forward like she can read the lies and truths swirling around in my head.

Oh, she's thinking that me and North have something going on.

I almost feel inclined to lead her in that direction-- to think that maybe North and I are involved so that it keeps her away from suspecting me and Sal. But I'm already hiding enough from her. Lying to her again, roping North into it... it feels unnecessary. Feels cruel.

"Yes," I say truthfully, taking a quick sip of my peppermint mocha. "I'm as confused and shocked as you are," I tell her, gesturing with my cup. "But I'm not opposed to it either."

It pains me to watch the grim expression that takes over Ash's face, the way she pinches her lips together like she knows she's going to disappoint me. 

"It's..." She trails off, looking up to the cloudy, grey sky as she tries to find the right words. "It's... odd. The whole thing is weird." She jerks her head to the side as if to take back what she said, but adds to the statement instead. "I know it's not my place to get involved, but it just doesn't sit right with me. It's so... just..."

"Wrong? Random? Unnecessary? Misplaced?" I fill in the blank for her, voicing my own thoughts on the matter. These words have been plaguing me regarding North's sudden focus on me. I'm nothing but the dirt beneath his feet-- so why is he into me at all?

"Well, now that you say it," Ash starts. "I can tell why he's interested. You're beautiful with a stunning and selfless personality to match. Literally, who wouldn't fall for you?"

I smile at my dear friend, red painting my cheeks from her words. I don't have a response, not when she's completely countered both our thought processes. 

"I'll just bully Sal about it since they're close," she quips, shrugging. "I've never seen North go for anyone but fuck buddies and I don't want that for you, so I'm gonna get the message to him in some way. I'll make sure he knows of my wrath."

We walk a little ways farther up the road, turning into Sal's driveway. I'm so immersed in what Ash has said that I nearly miss the very well cared for '67 Camaro parked beside the house. It's a little worse for wear, shows its age, but the black paint is fresh, glistening. It's clearly loved.

My guess is that it's Neil. He was the only one who wasn't at the house yesterday-- he probably beat Ash and I home. 

But I focus on Ash as we walk up the front steps to the house. "Just don't hurt his face," I joke to her, watching as she turns the doorknob, pushing it open with her hip. "I know he's pretty beneath that mask."

"How do you know that?" Ash snorts, setting her three bags on the table. I follow suit.

"All masked men are hot," I say, shrugging. "I know North is going to be beautiful the same way I knew Sal would be."

Ash snaps her head to look at me. The action is so quick that I wonder how she didn't snap her neck. "You think Sal is beautiful?" She asks, her words a grating, exasperated shrill.

I wince, watching her with furrowed brows. "I'm stating the obvious," I argue, holding my hands up in surrender. "I mean, come on, he's a handsome man with a pretty face."

I mean those words. I've meant them every time I've said this. Sal has such a nice face-- scars and all. 

Ash seems to contemplate, those viridian eyes roving over me the entire time. "Yea...true," she finally settles on, "Sal is pretty." But there's something in her gaze that says she's wary.

Movement seems to catch Ash's eye the moment she utters those words, because she snaps her head forward again. Her neck is really going to hurt later. But I follow her gaze, coming to the horrible realization that Sal is just... here. He's leaning against the edge of the kitchen table across from Ash and I, watching with those haunting sapphire eyes.

I don't have words. They've failed me. Someone needs to put me out of my misery.

"You," Ash practically growls, pointing a finger at Sal like it's a Sith Lord's lightsaber. Her voice is menacing, holding a fuck ton of hidden, murderous desires. "Put your friend on a fucking leash."

Her seething words make me take a step back. The sheer, bloodthirsty undertones take me back to the conversation we had on the way here. She told me she'd bully Sal about North, but maybe she only put up that front to keep me off her tail. So I wouldn't freak out or tell her to leave things be. Because the way she's stomping over to Sal right now, getting in his face with a nasty scowl taking over her features, says that maybe she really is angry and put-off by this whole thing with North.

Sal looks down at her, prosthetic face perfectly masking his emotions like it always does. His eyes do a great job of holding up that nonchalant expression as he carefully says, "If my friend did it and I didn't, then there's no reason for you to come at me like this." Those words are meticulous. No yelling. No anger. Just... words. But that alone seems terrifying, especially when he adds, "Back off."

Ash concedes to his request, taking a singular step back to put some space between them. My body grows warm beneath the tension, the pressure of watching these two stare at each other-- one hot-headed and ready to knock the shorter one down, and the other the complete epitome of calm aggression with no fear in his stance.

"I'm serious, Sal," Ash warns. I've never heard her so grave before. "He's playing with fire and if he adds anymore fuel, the results won't be pretty. Talk to North. You need to talk to him." She takes a deep breath, harsh voice softening a bit. "And you tell him that I said he needs to figure his shit out and leave y/n alone. Because I know him. And I know that he's going to play her like a fucking fiddle if he isn't threatened."

Oh. So when she said that North only had fuck buddies, she meant that she doesn't trust him with me. Even if she doesn't realize that I'm in some kind of shituationship with the man right in front of her-- fuck buddies-- whichever it is. She's just looking out for me, obviously, but that assertive stance she's taken against it... I can't help but feel like letting her dig a hole for this blooming thing between North and I is the best decision.

Sal doesn't reply to her. But he does stand a bit straighter, puts his hands into the pockets of his sweats. And then his head turns to me. 

A dark ocean of endless blue meets my gaze as he asks in a low, authoritative tone, "What did he say to you?"

The question catches me off guard. The way he articulated the words, the tone he used. All suggesting someone playing a protective role. It sends that fluttering feeling through me again.

My mouth goes dry as I battle my own mind, fighting for the right thing to say. But I don't know what to say. Between Sal making me feel things I shouldn't and North leading me into a corner, I'm stuck.

I subconsciously shake my head, mouth gaping like a fish as my heart pounds wildly in my chest, my body still warm with anxiety. "It's-- He--" I falter, swallowing thickly before I try again. "It's nothing bad, per se." I shrug shakily as Ash turns her head to assess me too. "Some flirting online, and-- and we took a picture today. He grabbed my chin. That's about it. It's really... not a big deal."

"Wait, he's been flirting with you online?" Ash asks, emerald irises zeroing in on me just as her voice grows harsh yet again. Even Sal tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

Ash walks over to me and I already know what she's silently asking for. Proof.

It may not be a big deal to me, but if Sal is actively getting involved... maybe it's bigger than I think.

So I pull my phone out of my back pocket to show her our interaction from a couple days ago. But it turns out I don't need to.

The very first notification on my phone, among a few others, is from North. A comment under the picture I'd posted of us.

dacnorthxx: pretty girl <3

My lips part in surprise at the same moment Ash lets out a grumble of frustration behind me. 

And Ash, ever the leader and queen that she is, leaves my side and walks up to Sal again. She puts a predatory hand on his arm, fingers gripping his clothed skin. 

"Handle it," she seethes from behind clenched teeth. "Or I will."

---------

A/N:::::::: hi my sweet babies :3 I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONGGGG and i hope this chapter is okay too! i've been daydreaming about it tbh, i LOVE it but i always feel like i can never fully portray my thoughts with words sooooo

so-- a couple things before i leave you guys for the night: 1.) spring break was not very restful for me so i've secluded myself to self-isolation. it's been really hard for me to even message family back. between forced proximity with the man who assaulted me and never getting a moment to rest, i've just been to myself. i apologize for that because i know many of you have been messaging me and commenting. i'll be getting back with everyone as soon as i remember that i'm in charge of my life, i pinky promise! thank you for sticking around <3 2.) i've been trying to follow you guys' recommendations! i appreciate seeing the tips you guys have for me because it prepares me for the future and helps to improve my writing. thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the help! that being said, one of the things i'm trying to do is limit the amount of detail i put into certain things. too much detail gets boring, so i'm trying to drive away from that. because of this, i feel like the chapter might be lacking. so, to further my own progress, please let me know how you liked the chapter AND tell me something i can do better!! thank you >.<

anyway, i've been fucking FLYING through the ACOTAR series lately. i'm on the second to last book and close to sobbing over it :,) but it has kept me very sane these days so definitely go give miss Sarah J. Maas a shot if you haven't yet!!

Ash had a ticket ready for me before she even got to LA yesterday. Her entire mastermind plan was to abduct me whether I liked it or not-- not that I would've said no to begin with. And besides, having her at the apartment to help me pack last minute made pre-flight stress non-existent.

Travis is camping out at my apartment. He was more than happy to kick me out of my own house, claiming that my bed is comfiest anyway. Regardless, he said he had no desire to return to Nockfell anyway. And dad was just excited for me to go visit considering how much I've complained about missing the little town over all these years.

Sal and I haven't spoken since his last commanding text to me. Right before his very sudden face reveal. He's caught in an almost petrifying silence-- has been since he put his prosthetic back on. I, on the other hand, very much resemble a little puppy whimpering and begging at his feet. Metaphorically, of course. I wouldn't dare to physically exploit my internal thoughts.

The really sickening truth is that I'm so desperate to see his face again that I'd trip him down a flight of stairs just to recreate yesterday's scene.

Just kidding. I don't mean that. I definitely don't.

"All our seats are kind of screwed up, so I have no idea where you're sitting, sugar." Ash pokes my cheek, her chin in her palm and elbow propped on the armrest of her seat. "I bought them kind of last minute so I took whatever they had available."

A little smile tips my lips as I turn my attention away from the grumpy smurf and focus on my stunning best friend. Her viridian irises glow with renewed joy and energy like our plans check off so many bullet points on her bucket list. "That's okay," I reply, tilting my head. "At least we actually have seats, right?"

Ash grins, her maroon shaded lips accentuating the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. "See?" she chirps, arm winding through mine to pull me closer. "You get it. When do you not get it?"

Our plane calls for us to board, and so begins the toxic, anxiety-inducing split-up of the century. I lose all The Faces somewhere in the crowded line that gathers at our gate in just a matter of seconds. That's okay though, I'll probably end up sitting with some old lady that smells like an odd mixture of peonies, Dial soap, and Lysol. You know, a funeral home and two colds away from death. So long as she's nice, I'll catch her dentures when they fall out of her gaping mouth as she naps.

Anything for MawMaw.

I hobble my way into the plane, brain set on finding my seat before stressing about all other one hundred and fifty two things I have to worry about later. People are everywhere and it's, expectedly, a huge plane. Three rows-- two seaters against each wall and a row of three seats down the middle. Sickening, really. Social anxiety's worst enemy is looking for means of escape only to be met by even more people.

I block everyone out as best as I can, pretending that the people I bump into are just very dense pieces of furniture. Or, actually, even better-- a bunch of really buff kitties. Yep, just passing through a horde of Maine Coon's and Munchkin's.

I spot row F, my pupils zeroing in on the letter like a scope on a gun. Target acquired.

The majestic way I veer around what my mind imagines is a really tall Siamese and their spouse, a yellow Persian, is something that the directors of The Matrix are pissed that they couldn't come up with. I swing my foot around a figurative pair of paws and reach my free hand out to grip onto my seat-- F20. That's right bitches, I did it.

I swing my suitcase up, somehow managing to actually get it into the overhead compartment. I give it a good shove with both of my hands and a grunt, then pull the backpack off my shoulders to keep it at my feet when I sit down.

But now that I've stopped, cats are pushing past me and it's so aggressive and rushed that they suddenly aren't sweet, fluffy kitties anymore. They're people again and I'm starting to get dragged away from my seat by this sea of shared distress.

Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist from the seat beside mine-- the seat against the window. The hand tightens around me, giving my body a good yank forward. I use the aided force to weave my way around a few more people up until the hand pulls me into my seat.

I huff out a breath, pushing my hair out of the eyeholes of my mask. And begrudgingly, I turn my head to meet bright cerulean hair.

Sal isn't looking at me, he's facing the window. His entire stature gives off a mixture of unbothered and ashamed. He shouldn't feel that second one-- never. Granted, he shouldn't feel angry half as much as he does but that's besides the point.

Ever since it happened, I could tell that the abrupt exposure of his face has been heavily weighing on him. I don't owe this man a single thing-- he's been awful to me in so many ways, but I give credit where credit is due. Not only did he own up and apologize to me yesterday, he helped me to my seat... and he is handsome. Regardless of how he views himself.

He's my biggest enemy and I, his. But if I plan on getting fucked during my visit to Nockfell, I have to give him the Beating of Truth.

"So," I mumble, chewing on the inside of my cheek. If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely forcing myself to do this even though it's the last thing I want to do. "How are we working around Ash, Larry, and Todd when we get to Nockfell?"

Sal's head tips up a bit, like he's wondering to himself if I actually just spoke to him. Then his head pivots sideways so that he can side-eye me.

"What?" He asks, voice genuinely shocked and confused. It makes my heart stutter a bit. Any time he speaks in a tone that isn't aggressive, it completely reboots my system.

"How are we going to follow through with this arrangement?" I try again, simplifying it into Sal terms. He has a wide vocabulary range; maybe using bigger words will snap some sense into him. For added effect, I lean onto the armrest separating him and I, trying to show that he doesn't repulse me or anything of the sort.

Sal doesn't move away, instead, he adjusts his body so that he can address me. Fully turns his prosthetic face to me and settles into his seat. I didn't realize how tense he was when I first sat down, but watching him relax now shows me how much my simple mention of our agreement settled his mental turmoil.

He's quiet for a moment, eyes dancing across my mask and body before his gaze meets mine again. "You still want to?" he finally decides to ask, eyebrows lifting beneath his prosthetic.

"Yea," I snort, scrunching my nose up as if his question is ridiculous. "Why wouldn't I?"

Okay, stupid question. I know the answer and the words came out before I could stop them. In more ways than others, that was a genuine response though. I can't accept that Sal would be so put off by his own appearance because I truly think it's so lovely. I have to remember though that not everyone sees themselves the way I see them though.

Sal's brows bunch together again, his eyes narrowing. "Stupid fucking question," he echoes my own thoughts, voice even and void of tone. Whoopsie.

I roll my own eyes, sighing. "Well, to settle the whole debacle," I start, aiming to just bite the bullet and extinguish the awkwardness and misplaced fear vibrating between us. "I think you're quite the catch."

Friendly banter is weird. Borderline uncomfortable, but... not quite. Just so that I'm ready to get this over with but I'd be prepared for it to happen again.

A nasally snort leaves Sal and he rotates his head so that he's facing the pair of seats in front of us.

"So," he prods, ignoring my statement. "North?"

Mission success. I know he'll never admit it and he doesn't need to, but I think he appreciates the compliment.

"What's it to you?" I counter, adjusting my position in turn. I sit criss-cross applesauce in my seat, making sure my feet don't touch Sal because God forbid. "You still get to fuck me."

"Not much," he says lowly, hand moving to ruffle up his fringe. There's that dagger tattoo again. And then his head tilts just a bit, haunting sapphire blue piercing straight through my soul like the weapon etched onto his skin. "But you're mine. North can't give you even an ounce of what I can."

Fuzzy fingers, a pounding heart, and the worst case of cold sweats possible dominates my body for the rest of the flight. My brain replays that statement over and over again, plaguing me with recurring physical reactions like I've just heard it in real life again. I wish he hadn't said anything at all if it was going to leave me like this.

Neither of us said another word. The only sound between the two of us was the constant cracking of my knuckles accompanied by me putting my feet on the ground-- then sitting criss-cross again-- then having to readjust again and again and again. He left me quite literally restless and I'm sure he's relishing in just the knowledge of it.

Landing in Nockfell was a quick divergence from bubbly hearted affliction in my being. A good distraction from Sal.

Perpetual autumn. Nockfell never gets too hot or cold. The air is always misty, the sky always grey and cloudy. Tall, ever-growing trees dominate both night and day, stealing all the light from the sun and hiding it in their leafy treetops. Nockfell houses the kind of atmosphere that I've dreamt of returning to for years now; the gentle eeriness and chill that I've longed to bask in ever since I left.

We step out of the airport and into the small parking lot where a suspiciously blue haired man is waving at us with a big, dad-like grin on his face. Not a question in my mind. That's Sal's dad-- the cropped, receding cerulean hair was the first obvious sign but as we grow closer, his bright azure eyes are the second giveaway.

"Wassup, daddio!" Larry exclaims, wrapping Sal's father up in a huge bear hug (which is so Emo Buff Daddy of him). I nearly forgot that Sal's dad, who I now know as Henry, is also Larry's step-dad. Crazy.

"Not much, big guy!" Henry chuckles, rubbing Larry's back affectionately once the hug comes to an end. He pats Larry's shoulder, that big smile still on his aged face. "You guys brought the friend back! Convinced her to come huff up our humid air?"

Henry moves over to Ash, Todd, and then Sal to hug all of them. He purposefully places a discreet kiss on top of Sal's head before turning to me.

He holds his arms open suggestively and my heart flutters. "You okay with hugs?" He asks me. "Everyone's family here."

A grin of my own sneaks onto my face as I take a little step toward Henry and wrap my arms around his middle.

Henry's arms latch around my body, shielding me from the moist, heavy air of Nockfell and anything else that could possibly hurt me here. His embrace is so comforting, so familiar, so protective that tears I've been holding back for weeks suddenly rush to the surface.

I love my own dad, he's perfect, but being hugged by his near doppelgänger reminds me of how much I miss him. I wish dad and I weren't apart so often. But that'll change soon with the money I'm making.

I don't allow myself to weep, I hide the tears and pull away from the comforting hug I needed so desperately to smile sweetly at Henry. Lovely man, his own smile widens.

The group of us piles into Henry's old 2000 Nissan Pathfinder to navigate around Nockfell.

We first stop at Ash's place-- a home I haven't seen in a decade now. Everything is so nostalgic-- the tall, two story, white-painted, wooden home and the canopy of evil-looking trees that hide it from the road reminds me of a time that's been ripped away from me.

Ash leans on the door of Henry's SUV, the window down for her to speak to me before she disappears. "I'll come by Sal's or the apartments later to scoop you up, 'kay? Parents and I have a meeting with some guys to transfer ownership of some things to me before the move." She chews on her lip, a deep yearning in her pretty eyes. "I'd let you stay with me if I could."

I shake my head at her-- I don't want her to feel guilty for handling business. "No that's okay." I tell her sweetly, grabbing onto her hand. "I'll kickback with the guys."

Ash smiles, squeezing my hand in hers before breaking off to head to her house.

Now, I never imagined I'd end up coming back to Nockfell in general, but to stand in Sal Fisher's home? These were even more improbable odds.

And worse, Todd suddenly slips out of the house with the very mean (he's ditching me!) excuse of meeting with Neil for a late lunch. That just leaves me, Larry, and Sal standing in the spacious kitchen of their shared two-story home. It's quaint, roomy, and pretty nice. I imagine it's kept up specifically because Sal tends to it.

And Sal, he doesn't say anything. Which is typical behavior from him. He only, swiftly, spins on his heels, luggage in hand, and disappears into a room right past the stairs. Okay, fair. It's late in the afternoon-- naptime.

And now it's down to two.

I look to Larry with a grin. And he's grinning back excitedly, wiggling around like an antsy child who's about to go on a field trip.

"I can't believe we managed to get you over here," he whisper-yells, screaming silently. You know, just open-mouthed and head tipped to the ceiling in pure excitement.

"Even Copernicus wouldn't be able to debunk this turn of events," I joke, watching Larry dance around his kitchen. I put my bags down. I'm sure we'll figure out this situation later when Ash returns.

Larry opens up his refrigerator, moving around some bottles before uttering an expletive. "Ah, fuck," he hisses out, quickly lifting his head which results in him slamming said head into the freezer door. I pause, wincing, eyeing his silhouette warily while awaiting whatever he has to say next.

He resurfaces from the fridge, rubbing his aching head and chewing on his bottom lip. "I left my fucking bags in Henry's car." He curses again, glancing up at me with agitated eyes. "I have to run over to the apartments real quick." Larry starts inching away from the fridge and I feel my heart leap. How could he forget his luggage in the car? And is he really about to leave me here with the master of aggressive seduction himself? We're bound to tear this house apart either via sex or a physical fight. I just don't know which one.

"I'll be like... ten minutes at most," Lar says, squeezing past me and around the kitchen table, rerouting to the front door. He gives me a look that screams vulnerability and urgency. "Please don't kill Sal, and don't let him kill you. Okay? I'll be back in a jiffy."

I blink at him, running my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. This is not going to go well. "Okay," I say anyway. I can already see the headline on the newspaper-- 'Masked Streamer, Sally Face, Brutally Murders and Chops Up Rising Streamer, VioletViolence, With Kitchen Knife.'

Larry nods at me, pinches his lips together in a moment of concerned hesitation, then disappears through the front door.

I stand in the empty kitchen for a moment, watching the back of Larry's head through the front door window. "In a jiffy..." I murmur to myself, recalling the most soccer-mom words I've ever heard come from Larry's vicinity. It was so odd, I mean he would never say something like that, but here we are.

The house is empty aside from myself and Sal. What the hell am I supposed to do? Watch The Office?-- well, that actually doesn't sound bad at all.

I can literally do anything I want, though. I have been given the most opportune opportunity to act upon my will as I see fit. With that in mind accompanied by the suspiciously good conversation a certain blue-haired individual and I shared on the plane, I think I have an idea of what I could do. And I know I'll have a willing partner. 

This will either end in a homicide via kitchen knife or an orgasm. I'll take my chances.

A sly little grin fights its way onto my lips as I spin on my heels, trekking over to Sal's room. His door is closed, giving him an ample amount of darkness to hide in while gaming or sleeping or whatever he's doing. But for me, it's the ample amount of darkness to create a moody setting. It's perfect.

The cold, metal doorknob sits comfortably in the palm of my hand as I give myself one last chance to think about this. I really shouldn't do this, but the timing will never be this good again. With everyone moving to LA, I may never get a chance this convenient since someone will always be around.

That's the last little bit of encouragement I need to twist the knob and slowly push the plain, white painted door open.

The wood squeaks on its hinges, making Sal turn his head up from his PC. His dark, shadowed eyes meet mine. They go from curious to a bit miffed in half a second— but he doesn't say anything, really just ignores me and turns back to his setup.

My heart races. He didn't turn me away or tell me to get the fuck out of his room. That's a good start. But that also means I can actually follow through with my very sudden plan— a plan which has no plan. I didn't even brainstorm what I could do because I genuinely didn't think I'd get this far.

I watch him closely, noting the way his computer casts a cool, blue glow against his prosthetic. His hand moves the mouse around and he clicks on various things, really paying me no mind at all.

My teeth clamp onto my bottom lip as I step past the threshold of his room, grabbing hold of the door and slowly closing it behind me. Once it latches into place, I wait, simply observing the man with my back to the door. For good measure, I turn the lock. You know, just in case I manage to get somewhere.

And he still doesn't look my way. The fact that he's ignoring my presence right now makes anticipation build up within me. My heart thumps a little faster than it already has been. My cheeks feel warm, I can't keep my hands still. It's like my brain is kicked into overdrive, forcing me to take notice of every little thing.

I lick my lips and take a step forward, scratching at the skin on my knuckles. I take another step, then another, my body growing warm with anxiousness all because I may stand in front of this man, present myself to him, and come to regret it. I really might embarrass myself. Just because we agreed doesn't mean he wants me at this exact moment.

But before I'm even really prepared, I'm standing right beside him. And he's sitting there without a care in the world, comfortably propped up in his gaming chair and pulling up different comments on what looks to be YouTube.

I've done about all I can for right now, but we are on limited time. So I watch him for a moment. He has to know I'm right here— I wasn't quiet, I didn't avoid his field of vision. I'm right here.

And I still get nothing.

Time to think. Should I say something insulting? That usually gets him riled up. Maybe then, one thing will lead to another.

I bounce on my heels for a second as I think up a quick insult. "Is this how you waste your time? Figured you'd at least reply to some of your fans if you were going to read their comments. Kinda shitty of you." Low blow probably. I don't really mean it, but I'm sure he'll take it seriously. His fans mean a lot to him, it's the best way to gain his attention.

But Sal doesn't even react, only scrolls through a few replies under a comment and clicks 'like' on a some. He doesn't flinch. Doesn't look at me. Never makes a sound.

I roll my eyes. Playing hard to get are we? He fusses at me for not complying all the time— he's such a hypocritical asshole. I hate that I'm into it.

I swallow thickly, putting my hands behind my back to try and hide my nervous fidgeting. "Sal," I try, cringing a bit. That was desperation— he has to know that.

Again, nothing.

He really must be trying to piss me off, that or he isn't interested at all. But thankfully, the zero interest half doesn't stink like I was afraid it would. Instead, it spurs me into action.

He can ignore my words all he wants, but he can't ignore me.

"I'm going to touch you," I warn because consent is important. "If you don't want that, you need to tell me."

I wait a good thirty seconds but he stays silent.

I pinch my lips together then grab onto the armrest of his chair, pulling it back just enough to place my body between him and his computer. He simply looks up at me with disinterested eyes, so I go further, fueled by the spark in my soul and the rage of him purposefully pretending I'm not even there.

I take a step forward and put a gentle hand on his shoulder for balance, then easily slide myself onto his lap. His thighs are warm beneath my own, his skin smooth under my fingertips. The dark ink on his biceps contrasts beautifully with the milky color of his skin and it's quite an honor to finally run my hands over his art.

I watch the way my fingers drag down his arm then up again, returning to his shoulder. I'm on top of him and he still hasn't said a word, still hasn't touched me. At this point, I'm yearning for something— anything.

The only good sign I'm getting is that he hasn't pushed me off.

I glance up, looking into his blue eyes that are darkened by the shadows of his room. They're watching me closely, no ounce of emotion reflected in them. He's just observing.

My other hand travels to his prosthetic face, gripping onto his jaw in the way that he does to me so often. "Think you can ignore me?" I whisper, a little smirk quirking my lips despite how badly I wish I could contain it.

A slight furrowing of his brows is what I get in return.

Ha, got him.

He still doesn't say anything, but I've piqued his interest at least.

"Larry's gone," I say next, my eyes traveling to the rough prosthetic in my hands. I run my thumb over the underside of his jaw, feeling a number of scars.

"I assumed so," he says, voice a bit deeper than it normally would be and toneless like it seems to have been all day.

My gaze meets his again, and this time there's a little fire in his pretty eyes. There's desire, interest, slow-building exhilaration. I love seeing this look on him.

"Mhm," I hum, moving my other hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. "Are you going to sit here and ignore me like the asshole you are, or are you going to have mercy on both of us?"

Sal slowly blinks, eyes traveling over my form, drinking me in like I'm the last drop of water on earth. "You called me an asshole for a reason," he bites out. "Don't expect much. Unlike you, I can actually hold out."

"But what's the point of holding out?" I counter, tilting my head to the left. "Larry's heading to the apartments. We have about ten minutes. That's enough room for one of a couple options. Stop being a little prick and do something."

"More like twenty. Larry takes his sweet ass time." Sal's eyes narrow. "You think insulting me is going to coerce me into this, you little bitch? Thought you knew our dynamic well enough by now." My words are getting to him. That's exactly what I want.

"I do know our dynamic," I whisper, leaning my head down so that my face is level with his. I look into his cerulean eyes and they gaze back at me, one pupil dilated. Then, I bend lower until I'm at the nape of his neck, his hair tickling my jaw.

I use the hand holding his face to tilt his head up and away from me, using the angle as leverage to place my lips onto his warm skin.

I hear a muffled sigh from him in response and it takes everything in me not to smile.

My mouth moves slowly along the side of his neck, placing meaningful, wet kisses along his throat. But when I get to the hilt of his tattoo, I bit down gently.

He flinches at the feeling of my teeth digging into his skin, then completely aborts his mission to ignore me completely.

Sal's hands fly to my waist, one gripping tightly onto my hip and the other trailing up my back and into my hair, gripping the strands tightly before yanking my head back.

My teeth are ripped from his neck immediately and Sal pulls me away from him by the base of my neck. I gasp, staring into his captivating azure eyes from just centimeters away. His prosthetic nose bumps my mask's and he holds me there without a word.

His eyes trail down my face and heavy breaths follow his gaze. His cold fingers are curled into my neck, his nails digging into my skin.

I swallow, wondering if maybe I should have just minded my own business, stayed in the living room and waited for Larry to come back. Maybe I pissed him off.

I lick my lips and blink at him, my mouth gapes open as I try to find something to say. He's silent. It's not awkward, just scary. Scary is ten times worse.

Sal must see the regret and fear in my eyes because his own eyes lessen their harsh glare a bit and then he rasps out, "Can I touch you?"

Every inch of my body goes rigid with shock, anticipation. "Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on the underside of his jaw while my heart runs an entire marathon in my chest. Now is not the time to get nervous because I sweat when I'm nervous. I need to be horny– not nervous.

Sal takes a deep breath, eyes set on mine. I feel his chest rise ever so slowly, then go back down the same exact way. The pause between us is utter agony and I feel like I'm going to start spazzing out or something. Honestly, with the way I'm sitting on top of him, I might just fall over and die on the spot. That feels less incriminating than whatever is about to ensue.

Cool fingers grasp onto my thigh, his palm flattening against my skin. His hand drags up to my side, followed by his other hand leaving my neck to grab the other side of my waist. The feeling of him touching me, just like he'd asked, fills me with memories I tried so desperately to forget just a couple weeks or so ago. This is deja vu in the best way.

In one swift motion, Sal lifts me up and plops me on top of his desk. I brace myself with my hands on either side of his keyboard that lays behind me. Questions of concern start flowing through my brain because this is an odd place to be.

"Don't knock over my shit," Sal breathlessly informs, eyes glancing up to me. HIs hands move to the waist band of my bottoms and I suck in another anxious, anticipatory breath.

I nod quickly, watching him with wide eyes as he looks down at my waist, his hands circling to the front of my stomach and fumbling with the button of my shorts. Oh my gosh.

I gulp, looking at anything but the man between my legs, currently pulling down the shorts I'd traveled in. His cold fingers brush along the outside of my thighs, causing goosebumps to rise all over my skin. He's slow, purposeful, dragging this out to get whatever reaction out of me that he can. It feels like my heart is about to explode.

I have no idea what he's about to do, he doesn't warn me either. I don't have the guts to watch this scene play out. The prospect of his dilated pupils, messy hair, and that glare in his captivating eyes is too much-- so much that warmth pools between my thighs before he can initiate anything.

"You look scared," he murmurs and I flinch at the gentle, comforting tone he uses with me. I've never heard something such as this come from him and be directed at mebefore.

"I am," I answer honestly, licking my lips while his fingers slowly pull my shorts down my legs. I lift myself a bit to aid him, shivering when my bare legs meet the cold surface of his desk. "A bit."

"Why?" Sal asks, hands pressing onto my thighs. With how warm my skin is and how cool his fingers are, the contrasting temperature is enough to spark an aneurysm. He drags those hands of his up my legs until he reaches my panties, hooking his digits into them.

I shake my head, chin quite literally tilted up to the ceiling. I'm not quite sure what has me so scared. Am I afraid of myself? Him? Getting caught? Being dropped again?

One risky hand leaves my hip and Sal's prosthetic comes into view. He's hovering over me, in a standing position now. His hair falls onto my shoulders, shielding us from the rest of the world like a curtain. I blink up at him, breath caught in my throat as a rush of chills invades my body.

"Hey," he says. His voice is a bit on edge, but it's concerned. So concerned that it distracts me from my own fear for a moment. "You're okay," he continues, his hand gripping onto my chin and pulling my head down so we can be eye level. I look between his bright eyes-- his eyebrows are risen a bit, as if to communicate to me that I can trust him. But can I?

"I'll take care of you. If you want to stop, if you don't want to start-- let me know. Say anything and I'll end it immediately." He tilts his head a bit, eyes glancing over my face. This is different. This looks vulnerable. "If I made you uncomfortable at all, I--"

My head shakes in opposition. I don't even have to think about it. "No, it's not that. It-- I trust you." The words spew out of my mouth and I immediately regret it. Something smug takes over his expression and I press my lips together, grabbing onto his wrist connected to the hand that's still holding my chin. "I trust you with this. If I was tied to train tracks, I wouldn't even think of calling you." I narrow my eyes at him to exemplify my point. His eyes squint as if he's... smiling? I'll ignore that. "But you've never... made me uncomfortable. You always ask. You always check. So..."

I watch him nod slowly, our gazes never disconnecting. He seems to contemplate what I've said, measurably formulating his next move. "Do you want to talk about what's stressing you then?"

My head rears back and my eyebrows furrow, his hand falling away from my face. "What brain eating amoeba has overtaken you?" I blurt out, holding a hand out between us. It's incredibly odd-- this is out of place. "You are never concerned about me-- what is this?"

If you can't tell, I'm not a fan of change. I greatly prefer stability even if it's toxic.

Sal drops the caring act almost immediately, his eyes rolling so hard that I'm worried they'll sink into his body. "I can't go down on you if you're freaked, can I? I wouldn't even feel comfortable doing that. I'm an asshole, not a monster."

I pause, every facial feature relaxing as his statement slaps me in the face. Key words: go, down, on, you, asshole, monster. Yep, only monstrous assholes go down on their enemies. I'm the very brave, very eager, very shocked recipient of this going down.

I take a deep, shaky breath, blinking at Sal who watches me with what looks like a raised eyebrow. "Okay," I breathlessly whisper. "How are you-- are you..." Why am I rambling? What kind of answer am I looking for? Obviously the prosthetic is about to come off and I just have to contain the desperate, whore-like rage within.

"Shut up, Vi," he chuckles over my nickname, grabbing onto my thighs and tugging me to the edge of the desk as he sits in his chair again. My fingertips press into the wooden surface while my heart threatens to pound its way through my ribcage. "Just let me taste you."

Cue internal screaming. I'm so going to faint-- and the addition of watching his pretty guitar-playing hands leave my skin to unbuckle his prosthetic is pushing me to astronomical heights. I don't even exist anymore. I'm just a wisp, a little phantom fairy watching her favorite sex movie play out in real time. It's called Faceless Fixation. She's the Fellatio Fairy. I don't even-- whoever is writing my life needs to give me a break.

I'm shivering like I have hypothermia by the time Sal carefully pulls the prosthetic off his face, making sure to not mess up his hair. And then he glances up at me. Bright eyes hesitant, sort of wide. Eyebrows risen just a bit and lips pressed together like he wants to say a thousand things but can't. He looks so nervous and it's a moment we can both share.

For reassurance (I think we both need it) I smile at him. Just a slight upward tilt of my lips as I press my thighs together. He's so beautiful. Every scar, every indentation, every feature, every little freckle. Just wow-- he's a sight to behold.

Sal's gaze flits to my lips, then down to my legs and he grabs onto them again, purposefully pulling them apart. His black polished nails dig into my skin as he gazes down at my underwear. I'm so used to watching his reactions and feelings portrayed only through his eyes, but watching the way his jaw tenses and the moment his lips part like he can't wait any longer makes me feel like I'll implode. 

His fingers run up my legs to my hips, dipping into my panties and pulling them downward. I gulp over the sight, relishing in the deja vu. How kind of him to not rip these this time. 

I lift myself up as he shimmies them down my legs, finally pulling them from around my ankles and holding them up for me to see. I blink, warmth rushing to my face at his boldness. And Sal, well-pleased, quirks a little seductive smile at them before switching his gaze to me.

"I haven't even touched you and you're soaked," is what he murmurs, eyes dancing over my half naked body with very little focus on my face. It's like he's glued to what hides behind my clenched thighs, eagerly awaiting what he'll find between them. "You're inflating my ego way too much," his voice is a bit louder this time-- darker, more sinister. The pronunciation of his words shows off charming, slightly crooked front teeth and sharp canines. I'll never know how I haven't ascended already.

I shiver, trying and failing to hide my reaction. But it doesn't really matter, seeing as Sal caught onto it anyway and his hooded eyes are on mine, a dangerous glint clashing with the hypnotizing azure shade of his irises. 

His hands are on my legs again, fingers roughly squeezing my skin. He isn't putting off his plans again though. When he separates my legs and I try my best not to push him away out of fear, Sal leans forward and presses his lips to the inside of my left thigh.

I take a deep, shuddering breath as I bathe in the feeling of his soft, jagged lips moving along my sensitive skin. I commit the image to memory, absolutely astonished over the way his blue eyes are closed while he inches closer and closer to my pussy.

I'm unable to take a full breath at this point, my body is tense while I try to hold myself in an upright position, pathetically falling apart as his mouth dances along the inside of my thigh like he's studied and perfected each step he takes. His hands are molded into my skin, they've become a part of me. He's pressing my thigh up to his face, leaving the most inebriating kisses. I wish he would stop teasing me already.

At the same time, I'm obsessed with the way he's handling me. Delicately, carefully, but he's in full control and making me wait. Testing me. Seeing if I'll push him, hoping I'll give him a good reason to punish me.

Sal's eyes open again, glancing up to meet mine. I suck in a breath, watching as he opens that dirty mouth of his and bites into the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh.

I hiss, wincing at the slight pain but my eyes never leave his. They could never. And he loves that, takes it as a challenge because those sky blue eyes close and he bites down harder, sucking my skin into his mouth to leave his mark. 

Some kind of satisfied, sickeningly delighted feeling swells in my chest at the knowledge of having a mark from him on my body. It's primal, it's a little weird, but I adore the idea and maybe he does too. After what he said to me about North on the flight to Nockfell, I'd guess he's more than happy to stake his claim even if it's invisible to the outside world. 

Sal finally pulls his teeth from my leg, revealing a gnarly, dark purple mark in his wake. He places a quick, soothing kiss to the abused skin before trailing his way closer to my pussy. He masks his destination with more wet kisses and bites and I'm so worked up by now that a light sheen of sweat has formed on my forehead. I can't be doing this-- this is complete torture.

"Sal," I groan out, flinching at the sinful tone of my voice. It makes him pause his movements as well. "Please," I tack on, the word quiet and agonizingly pleading.

He hums against my skin, eyes zeroed in on mine. I hate being so direct, it's terrifying, but it's worth it if it'll end up with his tongue buried in me, right? 

"Beg for it," he says lowly, a slight rasp to his voice. His tone makes me shiver, as well as his words and I would drop to my hands and knees if he told me to right now.

My lips part upon hearing him and I release a shaky breath, thighs drawing together until he stops them with his tight grip. My heart is running a marathon, my limbs are trembling and I'm wondering if maybe this is all just a really awesome dream.

"Please," I repeat, voice coming out as a whine. For once, I don't regret it because this is what he wants. "I'm desperate." I don't know how else to portray to him that I need this-- the wait is nearly excruciating. "I need to feel you."

Sal pulls away from my skin, tongue lapping at all of his bite marks before a sadistic smile pulls at his lips. "How much do you hate me?" And he's waiting, waiting for a wordy explanation of my distaste for him. But now, with the way things have changed between us-- even if it's slightly-- describing my loathing somehow feels harder.

So I snort, trying to coerce him into putting his mouth on me again regardless of the location. But all the shivers, waiting, and very slow building orgasm is slipping away into the distance. "A lot," I whisper shakily.

He gives me a look, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together as if I've disappointed him. "You can do better than that, Vi. Where's the fire?" He leans toward the thigh he hasn't captured with his mouth yet and skims his teeth along my skin. "Should I give you an example?"

I lick my lips, a sudden fluttering in my chest making me feel light headed. I hesitantly shake my head-- the longer he isn't paying attention to me, the farther I am from cumming. I can come up with something to say can't I? Of course I can. He's infuriating enough.

"Alright then," he mumbles monotonously, finally ditching my thighs. He yanks me a bit closer, eyes still rifling through my soul. "Then tell me. And if you stop," he warns as I swallow against the pounding in my chest due to his positioning, face mere inches from my sopping cunt. He's dragged this on long enough. "I stop. Keep that filthy mouth of yours moving."

He waits for me to launch into a monologue of detest. His mouth so close to my clit, breath tickling my skin and forcing a quiet little whimper from me. 

"I fucking hate the constant foul mood you're always in," I force out, feeling my heart leap into my throat the second the words leave my mouth. Because Sal keeps his promise and with an inebriating grunt of approval, he finally attaches his lips to my clit, tongue running over it like he's desperate to soak up every inch of what I have to offer.

The feeling of his mouth on my pussy is incomparable to any other type of satisfaction in the world-- this is what I've waited for. And he happily makes up for the lost time, expertly flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves and sucking it farther into his mouth. He moans against my cunt, hands dragging up my thighs to cup my ass and force me even closer to him. He squeezes my skin, a reminder to keep talking.

I dig up all the things I can't stand about him, slathering them across my brain so I can tell him about it. "You're a brick wall. No matter what I say, you refuse to listen. How come you're never open to hearing anyone out?" I whimper between words, squirming around on his desk and trying my damn hardest not to ruin any of his belongings.

Sal lifts my legs over his arms, pushing them onto his shoulders and I swear I'm about to combust. The way his tongue maps figure eights and circles around my clit does nothing to help, only sends me further toward falling apart.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fingers curling over the edge of his desk, heavy breaths and quiet moans falling past my lips no matter how badly I wish I could keep them inside. "You have some kind of God complex. You think you're right about everything, have to be in control of everything and I can't stand it. I can't stand you and your constant need to have everything you want."

His teeth graze over my clit and my mouth falls open, waves of pleasure rolling through my body like I've never experienced before. He moves downward, his tongue buried between my folds and licking up every bit of my arousal that he can get. Upon getting a better taste of me, he moans and I can feel the vibration of it everywhere, all the way up to my fingertips.

"I hate how easily you turn me on, how wet I get just from a simple touch," I admit, teeth clamping down onto my bottom lip as his tongue explores the inside of my pussy like he's been starved of me for far too long. His nails dig into my skin, the action eliciting a stinging sensation that only adds to the pleasure he's giving me. This is everything. "And you're so unfair. So pretty, so damn attractive with that horrible personality of yours. Why can't you be pretty through and through?"

I open my eyes again to watch him, drowning in the prospect of his face buried between my thighs, cheeks flushed and hair a mess. I watch as he drags his mouth up to my clit again, drawing patterns and shapes I don't care to know over the bundle of nerves. The rough, slick feeling of his tongue on such a sensitive place is addicting. So long as he's around to bring me to new heights like this, I don't need anything else. Maslow's hierarchy of needs has never been so wrong-- this is my sole need.

I can't help myself-- I reach a hand out, my fingers burying themselves into Sal's hair. It's soft. Just as soft as I knew it would be. And he doesn't seem to mind, only continues to suck on my clit and abuse it with his tongue. I close my hand into a fist, lightly tugging on his hair. I need something to hold onto.

"And your stupid fucking mouth," I groan out, sucking in a breath that never fully fills my lungs. His tongue dips into my pussy again, making another little groan follow my first. My thighs are clenched tightly at this point, quaking furiously. Sal never tries to stop me, doesn't calm me. It's clear how much he enjoys bringing me to ruin. "All the awful things you say, so many dirty words and you are so good with your tongue. I've never craved and loathed something so much in my life." 

Sal smiles against my pussy-- I watch in pure amazement as the corners of his lips curl upward like what I said was everything he's always wanted to hear. It's so lewd, so perverted and I absolutely will never forget this moment.

One of his hands lets go of my ass, trailing down my thigh again but moving to the inside this time. As his teeth gently nip at my clit and his tongue laps at my pussy, the tips of his fingers press against my opening, a silent request for more of my profession of hatred. A profession I'm more than happy to give him.

"I can't imagine how much I'll hate the way you fuck me just because I know it'll be better than any sex I've had before," I tell him, watching his mouth move against my cunt with furrowed brows and my lips parted in intrigue. Oh, he's so good at what he does. 

Sal's eyes meet mine again. Eye contact with him when he's in such an erotic position is incredibly intense. I feel like my entire body is going to crumple before he can finish me off and it all counts on if he's able to hold me up or not. But as soon as his cerulean gaze meets mine, two of his fingers sink into me. The action is slow, drawn out, and drags a nasty moan out of me in turn.

Sal whimpers against my pussy, taking care of me like he promised he would. When his fingers reach as far as they can go, he curls them, causing me to flinch at the sensuous feeling. There's so much going on to the point that every inch of my body feels impossibly overwhelmed. 

My sensitive clit gets sucked into Sal's mouth again, but then he pulls away. His fingers make up for the absence of his tongue, pounding into me in the same salacious way he's done before.

"Is that all you've got?" he grumbles breathlessly, glazed eyes glaring into mine. This is the expression I'm used to with him-- anger and dominance. 

I choke on the breath I try to take, my thighs pressing into his neck as his fingers slam in and out of my soaked cunt, digits only pausing their relentless pace to curl into me. I try to fight against my one working brain cell, try to form words for him, but-- "I can't." is all that I'm able to create, the two short words coming out as an imploring cry.

Sal stands, finger-fucking me into an alternate dimension. He hovers over me, his hair brushing my shoulders and neck. I watch him, an absolute mess beneath him but I can't look away-- even through the panting breaths that morph into whimpers and moans. 

His eyes glance between mine, seemingly contemplating something in that meticulous mind of his.

"Yea, you can, gorgeous," he grinds out behind clenched teeth, using the hand that's gripping my ass to press me against his chest. Our even closer proximity somehow forces his fingers deeper into my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit. "Tell me more." My mouth is dry, I'm going to cum soon, and hopefully I don't actually fall over before that.

Sal takes a page out of my book, leaning closer to me and nipping at the skin of my throat. A little gasp falls past my lips and I finally let go of his hair, dragging my hand down to his neck. Those fingers work me to the core, never ceasing their movements and pushing into me with so much perfectly applied force. 

His mouth moves along the side of my neck, his lips still wet from my juices. I have no idea what gave him the confidence, but I'm not mad. Everything that couldn't be done with his prosthetic can be done now and he's taking advantage of it. "Speak," he snaps, tone not so gentle or comforting like it was when this first began. "Or else."

My mind is blank. "I'm about to cum," I begrudgingly whisper, completely overtaken by his fingers thrusting into me and his thumb focused on my oversensitive clit.

I shut my eyes, my free arm wrapping around his shoulders. Every inch of my body is tense, senses heightened and alert. I don't think I can possibly hold on any longer-- I doubt Sal needed my confirmation to tell that I'm close.

His digits curl into me again, repeating the action. I follow up with a loud whimper, my nails digging into the skin of his neck as he sucks on the skin behind my ear. I wish he'd have ditched the prosthetic sooner because I've really been missing out.

The hand still gripping onto my butt retreats to my stomach, fingers disappearing under my shirt and crawling across my ribs to my bra. He treats it as if it isn't even there, hand easily dipping beneath the fabric. His palm envelops my breast, squeezing gently and massaging the skin. It's such a considerate touch compared to the way he treats the rest of my body-- he knows exactly where the sweet spots are. 

"Cum," he commands, lips brushing the shell of my ear and fingers pounding into my sore cunt, thumb running over my hardened nipple.

My head drops onto his shoulder and with one more curl of his fingers, I do as he says and fall apart in his arms. I burst almost instantly, doing anything to keep myself silent over the feeling of his fingers gently caressing the inside of my pussy, riding me through my orgasm just like he did the first time. My teeth sink into his shoulder, a muffled whimper following soon after. Sal tenses up in my arms, a pleasured breath falling from his mouth and fanning over the side of my neck.

"Good girl," he purrs into my ear, lips skimming over the warm skin at my throat. He leaves one more sloppy kiss to my neck then pulls away to look into my eyes again. I can hardly hear anything he says as my teeth are forced away from his shoulder, still reeling from the orgasm that slammed into me nearly unannounced. My limbs feel like jelly as chills run up my spine. "You listen to me so well," he continues. I can't even look into his eyes; I just watch the way his lips move. How his tongue presses into the back of his teeth to pronounce a syllable. His sharp canines that undoubtedly left their own bruises on my skin. 

I gulp, unable to peel my eyes away from the mouth that masterfully brought me to climax. For the first time ever, I wonder what his mouth would feel like against mine. How soft his scarred lips would feel, not on my skin, but captured by my own. What his tongue would taste like. What his teeth would feel like nipping at my lips. 

Sal doesn't move away from me-- keeps our close proximity with his nose nearly brushing my mask's. He slowly, delicately pulls his fingers out of me but only continues to gaze into my eyes.

This is dangerous territory. Very dangerous. Because the impossible is coursing through me right now and I... somehow can't find it in me to hate him in this exact moment.

But then he blinks. Stands to his full height, moving away from me. His azure gaze turns to the desk I'm sitting on and he grabs my panties, offering them to me. Not an ounce of emotion evident on his face. I'd always wondered what he'd look like simply because I was curious if his face gave away his emotions better than his eyes could. It's pretty impressive how he's able to keep a straight mug though, RBF and all. Especially when he lifts the hand he fingered me with to his mouth and licks my cum off. He doesn't even look at me as his tongue runs up the length of his digit, just turns away from me and walks to the other side of the room.

I'm floored, jaw dropped and pussy wet. Again. That's really fucking hot.

I watch him strut away, follow his movements as he drops to his haunches and opens up his suitcase with his clean hand. He grabs something then faces me again, beginning to walk back with a finger still in his mouth.

My chest tightens at the sight. He can't be doing this to me. Not when Larry is going to be home any minute-- he needs to keep both his hands at his sides.

Thankfully, Sal has some mercy on me and finally finishes cleaning his fingers, eyes darting up to mine again. He walks up to me, right where I'm still sitting on top of his desk and drops fabric onto my bare thighs.

My brows furrow and I look down, grabbing lace. I lift it up, unfolding it to see that it's a near replica of the lace underwear he'd ripped off of me in Vegas. Only it's a completely brand new pair. No rips, no issues. My heart swells a bit at the gesture-- he bought a new pair like I'd told him to. I wasn't even serious, but he did it anyway.

I puff out my cheeks, contemplating what to say. Thank you's are virtually nonexistent between us. My eyes flit up to meet his again and he stuffs his hands into his pockets, watching me.

"You taste good," he nonchalantly comments, causing an infuriating blush to heat my cheeks.

"Thanks," I murmur, holding up the lace panties to show that I'm thankful for them too. "You taste pretty good too." He does. I'll have to return the favor to him when I get the chance.

A barely audible snort comes from him and I almost smile. 

"I'd fuck you, but Larry will be back any minute and Ash probably isn't far behind him," he says, turning on his heel and walking toward the door. "I suggest you put your clothes back on. Panties are clean, I washed them."

My eyebrows raise and I pinch my lips together. Huh. "How kind of you," I say half sarcastically. Only half because it's helpful that they are clean-- it's almost like he knew he'd place me in a predicament where I needed fresh underwear. "You trying to kick me out?" I add. Of course he is, I'm just trying to make my way out of here as awkward-less as possible.

"Hell yea," he says proudly, "I have shit to do."

"Are you calling me a distraction?" I ask, looking toward him as I shimmy my underwear and shorts up my legs then start working on the button.

Sal tilts his head, hand on the doorknob. "And a mild aggravation."

"Oh, wow," I gasp, feigning surprise. "Mild? I must be working my way onto your good side."

"Fuck me good enough and we'll see how far you get," he replies, eyes watching my every move but face still unreadable as I begin walking toward him. 

I roll my eyes. Of course. I pinch my lips together and give him a disinterested look. This is my lesson to never try to have a casual conversation with him again. He clearly doesn't want it, which, fair. Our agreement is sex, not friendship. "Okay," I say dramatically when he opens the door for me. "Bye, Sal."

The man nods his head, acknowledging the shift in the room. His eyes stay glued to mine like they have been the entire time I've been here. Now that I'm not distracted by his mouth on my pussy, I realize that this is an odd thing for him to do. He looks at me every once in a while, but not in such a... scrutinizing way. 

He purses his lips and says, "Bye, y/n."

Every nerve-ending in my body suddenly shuts off. Everything is still. I have no thoughts for a moment, no physical reaction. Just stillness. I don't breathe, I don't move. I just watch him.

There's no way— he has to have mixed up my names. It has to be that.

And then everything hits me. Sal Fisher just said my name. And not the fake one that I've been hiding behind. He said my actual name— the one that's on my birth certificate. And now my hands are shaking, my heart is racing, my breaths are uneven, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"What the fuck," I say shakily. I'm not ready for this. I'm going to completely switch his thought process around-- "did you just say?"

The look in his eyes changes, they light up a bit as if he's caught me. And still he decides to mess with me. "Huh?" he innocently asks.

Okay, I'd really like to wake up now.

My eyes narrow. So that's the game he wants to play? This isn't the time and I don't have the mental capacity to handle this. Not only am I recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm, but I was just getting over the overwhelming anxiety I suffered from yesterday.

"I'm not y/n, if that's what you're thinking," I rush to tell him, even adding in the fakest little smirk I've ever slapped onto my face. Anything to get him off my tail, whatever I can think of to save my ass. This really can't be happening to me.

He's still watching me speculatively and it's making my brain itch. "You know," he finally starts, voice disgustingly pleased. "I went out on a limb with that one." I watch in horror as a little smirk begins to grow on his face. I don't want to accept it yet, I really don't, but I think I'm fucked and not physically. 

At the end of the day, he's still managed to fuck me in multiple ways. I cannot stand Sal Fisher.

"What are you even talking about?" I ask him, clearing my throat quietly while taking a safe step out of his door and into the living room. I try my best to keep my eyes on him while extinguishing the fear from my gaze. If I act horrified, he'll sniff me out instantly. That is, if he hasn't already.

Sal chuckles deeply— it's, shockingly, an amused and prideful one rather than something sick, dark, and twisted. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. I try my best not to adore the way his scars stretch with his laugh and the sight of his pretty teeth. "Any other woman would have assumed I was sleeping with someone else if I called them by another name," he says lightheartedly, tilting his head down a bit. "But you didn't. And that can only mean that I'm right."

I open my mouth to decline, fear thrumming through me. He caught me red handed. I can't fucking believe this.

"And don't try to deny it, you won't change my mind. I've been very sure of who you are for months now."

My head slowly begins to shake of its own accord. He never fails to shock me. "How..."

Sal shrugs. "You couldn't have timed your introduction more horrendously. Think about it," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. "I bitch at y/n over a phone call, then the next day, a wild VioletViolence pops into my life and isn't too surprised by my shitty personality. The second you were added to the Discord server, I had my suspicions." He shrugs nonchalantly, like the confirmation doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I talked it over with Larry and Todd too. They're pretty sure of your identity as well. They were just nice enough to wait for you to tell us on your own." His eyes narrow, sly like a fox. "But I'm not nice and wanted to know for myself. Wanted to scare you a bit too."

I swallow over the bile rising in my throat. Scare me, he did. I have no idea what to do with myself. I must look like a deer in headlights nearing its death sentence. "It... it doesn't bother you?" I decide to ask in a small voice, unable to blink as I watch him closely.

That same smug little smile is still lighting up his marred face as he says, "Regardless, I still can't stand you and I'll still fuck you stupid."

-----------

A/N::::::: OMFFGGGGG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR AGESSSSSS PLEASE!!! more specifically the end of it! i've had this last scene written since like... 2022 o_O 

i want to give a HUGE thanks to my very good friend, Phoebe, who inspired me to write the catalyst of the smut scene with this AMAZING piece of art that they drew :3 i am soooo so grateful for having the opportunity to see the art in general, but getting to write it too??? OMG so incredibly grateful <33

side note: this is my first time writing a smut scene like this one-- well, actually any time i write a different kind of sex it's new for me LMFAO i am exploring EVERYTHINGGGG and i also have no idea if this is any good. so like last chapter, if y'all could give me some tips or things you like and didn't like, i would GREATLY appreciate it :3

I narrow my eyes at him. Is he for real? "First, you address me as bitch. Then you vaguely threaten me. Don't I get a 'hi' after two years?" I counteract his reasoning with some of my own.

He pinches his lips together and puts his hands on his hips, switching his weight to his left foot. "C'mon. Every time I greet you, it's with 'bitch."

I chew on the inside of my cheek, gaze trailing over him again. He's not wrong. Even on phone calls, the first word out of his mouth is 'bitch.' "Fair enough," I settle on. "You get a hug after I tell you this, okay?" I tilt my head, showing that I mean business. That I'm serious. Because if he doesn't get this, everything I've built up could fall apart before I'm ready for it to.

His brows furrow in wariness and concern. "Okay..." he murmurs, voice trailing off as he waits for me to continue.

"You absolutely, under any circumstances, must not call me by my name. I am Vi to you from here on out. Once you enter this apartment, you call me nothing else but Vi." Monotonous, serious, and straight to the point is exactly how I portray these words. I watch as my cousin nods subtly the entire time I speak, his expression adopting a look that shows his sincerity as he listens.

"Got it. No questions about the sudden name change. You're Vi," he gives me a strong nod before shutting his eyes and grinning brightly.

"Good," I sigh. I shake my head to rid myself of the agonizing fear that has gripped me like a boa constrictor for a large part of the day. "Thanks, Trav. It really means the world."

Travis snorts, standing to an upright position. "Don't mention it. You've done a lot for me, bending to your will is the least I could do."

With a simple shrug in my direction, I take that as my cue to twist the doorknob, opening it so that no one is separated any longer.

But then Travis does his Travis thing and comes barreling toward me, his arms latching around my waist and smacking the both of us into the door. The hunk of wood flies open with our weight, slamming into the wall and damn, this time I don't think I'll get away with no damage.

I hiss, giving in and just allowing Travis to wrap me up in one of his big, aggressive bear hugs that he always greets me with without fail. I pat his back with a little smile as he flings me around like a doll, the bastard.

My eyes glance over to The Faces behind Travis. They are all wide eyed and silent. Every single one of them.

Heat envelops me. Travis lived in Nockfell for a while too. I'm sure they all know each other. Ash, at least, knows that Travis and I are related. I've told her about him many times. Maybe she just... didn't know I was referring to the Travis Phelps who used to live in Nockfell.

Travis finally sets me on my feet, a big, infectious grin on his face as he instinctively walks over to my kitchen. I hope he doesn't say anything bad... he clearly has not seen the rest of the people populating my small household yet.

"So what's with the mask? You into some kinky business?" Travis asks as I follow him into the kitchen, keen on watching where he travels to.

I sigh. "Trav, can we not? Come on, give me your bags." It's a wonder how he managed to keep hold of them while body slamming me through the door.

"What?" He scoffs, a little grin taking over his face. "I haven't seen you in years because you're a fucking recluse. I need to catch up on your life and if part of your life is being some kind of BDSM mistress, then I'd like to know."

I swallow thickly. I can't believe my friends have to watch this. I turn to look at Travis who's watching me over his shoulder. "Yea?" I ask humorlessly. "And what about you? It's been years and you still always have some kind of wound." It's true. His bottom lip is busted. "What the hell happened to you?"

He shrugs, narrowing his eyes at me in a playful way. "I've been boxing the last couple months. Really helps with the anger issues."

My lips part and I stare at him like he's stupid. It's like he's addicted to pain at this point. "Well," I decide to say. "I'll be cheering for you when you join WWE I guess."

"You better," Travis chirps, dropping to his haunches and grazing through my refrigerator like he owns the place. Which, he's family. He knows he's welcome to do or take whatever. Dad and I have never minded, especially given his upbringing. "You can root for me on the sidelines. I'll just be fucking hot buff guys behind the scenes. It's a win-win."

A song suddenly comes on, one by Bullet For My Valentine. It's a heavy hitter and Travis immediately flinches at the instrumentals. I guess someone managed to figure out how to turn on the speakers my dad spent a fortune on.

"Still listening to your nasty metal music, I see," he murmurs, grabbing a container of sliced strawberries. He pulls the top off and picks up a fruit, throwing it into his mouth before his eyes meet mine. "You still making it?"

I raise an eyebrow. "No," I tell him. "Ever since dad and I moved out here, I haven't had the space or the time to do so." And not being able to play my drums hurts, even the mention of it is painful.

I guess Travis can see the change in what little of my expression he can see with the mask, that or he already knows well enough. He frowns a little, wincing. "Sorry," he says gently. "I know you liked making music. Sucks that you can't now."

I offer him a little smile. Travis had his asshole phase years ago, but he's been so kind ever since he grew up. "Thanks," I respond, chewing on my bottom lip. "It's fine. I'll figure something out."

Travis winks at me then pushes himself into a standing position. He walks out of the kitchen and past me, heading toward The Faces who are sitting in my living room. Right in front of me.

"So do you still have that hot neighbor?" My cousin asks, stopping in front of me. He pulls a strawberry out of the container and holds it up to my face, raising his eyebrows.

"Why don't you go knock on his door and find out?" I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch my... dear cousin. He always hits me with a million and one questions but he must be majorly jet-lagged to still miss the four extra heads in the room.

"Mmm, maybe later," he murmurs, shoving a strawberry into my partially opened mouth. My brows furrow in shock, but I close my lips over the fruit anyway. "Remember my high school crush though? He's, like, super famous now."

I chew on the strawberry, nearly drowning over the sweet juice that coats my tongue. I push through the ocean in my mouth and answer him though, interested by this news. "Yea," I manage, swallowing a bit of the strawberry. "The one you bullied like the cunt you are? He's famous? Good for him."

Travis scoffs and rolls his eyes dramatically. "Take the 'c' word back, hoe." He sends me a mean glare then shuts his eyes. "But yes, he does deserve it. You know," one of his dark eyes pops open, narrowed in my direction. "I made out with him."

My stomach tightens in excitement. Travis told me he'd kissed some guy years ago and he was really happy about it, but I didn't know it was the crush.

"Really?" I push out, finally finishing off the fruit he'd forced upon me. "When was this?"

"Oh," Trav waves me off. "A while back. In high school. It's actually all thanks to you-- you told me if I didn't shape up, apologize to him, and confess that I would be alone forever and you would banish me from the family. What the hell else was I supposed to do? Of course I did what you said. It was so worth it." He gives me a roguish, exhilarated grin that says the night he shared with his crush will go down in his mental history book and stay there forever. "I owe you a cake, lovely," he continues

I smile, my cheeks warming at the prospect. I'm happy Travis had his time with his crush.

"We haven't talked in God knows how long though," Travis sighs, looking off behind me like he's reminiscing. "Which it's better that way." He chews the inside of his cheek contemplatively, thick brows bunching together softly. "I still think about Bluey every once in a while, though..."

Now it's my turn to narrow my eyes at him as Bluey claws its way through my mind. "I'm sorry," I choke out, "Bluey, like the dog show, or Bluey as in blue, like a Smurf?"

Travis turns his head to me quickly and I know I hit the mark. His eyes are wide as he says, "Perfect analogy. Blue as in a Smurf." A little impressed smile works its way onto his lips. "He may as well have been a Smurf actually. Short as hell, blue hair."

This time, my stomach tightens in a different way as my brain slaps me in the face. Trying to open my damn eyes because... I only know a select few people with blue hair. I only know one famous person who has blue hair.

My eyes snap over to Sal. And, my God, he looks like he's about to explode. His neck is painted a deep scarlet and he's nervously playing with his fingers. Azure eyes saucer-sized.

I sit on that one. I sit and really contemplate it while Travis goes on and on about, fuck, about how he tasted. And how his skin felt. And his voice. He goes on like the man he's talking about isn't in the room-- because he doesn't know he's in the room. He keeps talking like he doesn't know I nearly fucked the guy who gave him his first make out sesh.

"I'm going to throw up," I murmur to myself, but Travis catches the words and frowns at me.

"Girl, I have told you worse. You've heard my NSFW stories and this makes you fold? Very ableist of you." Travis tuts at me, disappointed after probably saying something about Sal that I don't know about, especially because the ableism accusation came out of nowhere.

"No," my voice quivers as I force the words out. I've committed the ultimate betrayal. I feel sick. It doesn't matter if I never knew that Sal and Travis had a moment, I nearly had sex with him. This is.... this is bad. Really bad.

"Are you okay?" Travis asks, suddenly concerned. He walks over, rubs my arm comfortingly but it doesn't make me feel any better.

I don't have to answer him because, thankfully, Larry has broken the barrier between us all and said what I had been thinking.

"Sal!?" He coughs out, the deep baritone of his voice making Travis flinch. "What the fuck! You swapped spit with the enemy!?"

I watch Travis spin on his heels and then he jumps like a startled cat would. I can practically see all of his body hairs stand on end.

Travis turns back to me, his face the epitome of shock and betrayal. "You bitch!" He squeaks out, glancing back at Sally. "You betrayer!"

How come I never made the connection before? I had this bullshit coming. This sketchy plan was bound to blow up in my face at some point. I knew Sal was a bad idea.

"I didn't know!" I splutter out, eyes flitting back and forth between my cousin and the bluenette. Sal looks alert— eyes wide and never blinking. He's struck silent, that sad excuse of an asshole.

"You weren't supposed to invite my first kiss over," Travis yells, voice cracking while gesturing his hand to Sally behind him. "I only told you about it— how did you find him?"

My stomach drops out of my ass. Everyone's silent as confirmation of what we all feared rings throughout my living room. The only person who has any kind of reaction is Sal who slaps his hands onto his prosthetic, leaning his head onto the back of the sofa.

It's quiet for a little while longer, bile searing the back of my throat. Travis still has wide eyes, his gaze directed at Sal and an embarrassed blush flushing his cheeks.

I watch as Ash blinks, her expression beginning to morph into something both predatory and unreadable. This entire day got so much worse, right when I thought it was over too.

Have I ever said that Todd is quite literally the best at reading rooms, and the best at being the best? I owe him a lot of credit because he saves mine and everyone else's asses, even if only for a moment, by saying, "Dark Autumn Complex released a new song a couple hours ago."

My head tilts, my focus suddenly zeroed in on my friend who watches us blankly, no emotion or real reaction to the silent standoff in my living room.

But no one else cares. Larry, Ash, and Sal are having a staring contest with Travis who look beyond overwhelmed.

Todd sighs. "Travis and Sal are old news. It's not something any of you should be surprised about. Plus they clearly have been over for ages. Take the information and cry about it in bed tonight if it ails you so." I stand corrected when Travis drops that load of reality on us. If anything, he seems a little agitated. How can he be so... nonchalant with the prospect of Travis and Sal floating around us like a melody? I'm, personally, petrified to the core.

Travis shrugs nervously beside me. "He's not wrong," he murmurs bashfully, sniffing to hide his awkwardness. "I made out with him once and that was it. Gay awakening?"

Larry snorts, his eyes squeezed shut and tears building at the corners. I can't quite tell if he's laughing or wailing.

I crack a little smile. Larry's comedic relief, whether his tears are positive or negative, and Todd's direct approach make the situation not as serious as it originally seemed. Sal is still sitting pin straight on my couch like a scarecrow hung up in a corn field. He couldn't be more displaced with this turn of events. I bet he's cursing me and my family in his head right now. If anyone dies, I know it's due to his vexation, at least.

Todd is nice enough to follow up on his first statement by snatching my TV remote from under Larry's ass and loading up Youtube. He doesn't even have to search, the new-- holy shit-- the new music video is the first in my recommended section.

DAC has never made a music video. Ever. And it's a new song in general, I'm about to combust. I never thought I'd see the day. And why the hell didn't I get a notification?

I briefly travel through my memories, picking out the moment I watched North playing his guitar on stage. His eyes, shadowed by his mask but looking straight at me. His hand shaking mine, cold leather beneath my skin.

It takes every fiber of my being to not smile over the thought of him. He was just so nice, and hot, and talented... I can't help myself.

Travis and I jump forward whenever Todd clicks on the video, flocking in front of my television to watch what's about to unfold. Travis has heard more than enough about this band to know that I love them, so his accompaniment is merely moral support. He knows damn well I'm about to fall apart so he'll be there to pick up my pieces.

"They're metal, right?" Trav tuts, tone dispassionate due to lowered expectations. He's such a metal hater. "Hot members though..." he tacks on, trailing off as the song opens up.

"They're mine," I proclaim, drowning in adoration for DAC. They're literally just standing with their instruments right now for the intro, no words no music. Just a blank slate. But I'm enraptured, eyes glued to the screen as I thrum with energy.

"Our castle was built in Spring; We longed for books and bricks. To fantasies we did cling, So our castle was made of sticks.

Of worn and cracked logs-- Papier-mâché, our key, Of fragile and brittle walls Our castle came to be."

I shiver over the string of lyrics invading and possessing my soul. Oh, how I obsess over North's voice and the sweet symphony of Dark Autumn Complex's instruments.

"You can't lay claim," Travis scoffs, elbow knocking into mine when North stops singing to play his guitar. "Suppose they're gay, huh? I get to fuck them and you don't." He pridefully tilts his head up, small grin playing on his lips as he continues, gaze drifting toward me. "And you better believe I wouldn't spare you a damn thought during doggy."

I damn near break my neck to glare over at my cousin. I can hear Ash wheezing behind me and Larry's suspiciously quiet-- my only guess is that he's laughing so hard that not even a single noise can be heard. Todd simply sighs.

"I guess it's a good thing the lead singer probably thinks I'm hot, then," I boldly state, even though I know it's a really long shot. I'm putting words into poor North's mouth and the fucker doesn't even speak. But, hey, all is fair in sex and war. Travis can suck it so long as 'it' is not North.

"You yearned for an out of reach jewel; Opulence, luxury, and solace. All this greed made you cruel, Made you break your promise.

You readied your match and flame-- Cursed our castle and thought it trash. Without warning the fire came And reduced our memories to ash.

My romance of choice is Death Where you don't reside. By silence I abide, And keep you-- I tried. Alone at last, I take my final breath."

The living room is dead silent as North sings again, his gloved hand wrapped around the microphone in front of him while East and South dominate the sound, taking over in place of the guitar for a moment.

Listening to cathartic music, so much emotion filling my entire being, is better than therapy ever proved to be. Good sound and touching lyrics are all I will ever need to heal. To feel less alone.

My thoughts turn to Sal who's watching the video, seemingly disinterested. He looks so calm regardless of Travis and my presence. I want to slap guilt into him. I want to make him hurt the way I did the night he hurt me.

"Delusions were a precious fairytale; Tender was the slow fester. Expectations in minute detail, But failure greeted the jester.

You placed me in the guillotine-- Bound, blind, and confined. My blood's your nicotine, So pull the lever, love, be kind.

I laid myself out for you to walk on So the castle sticks couldn't pierce your skin. I was the throne you sat upon From whence we became potent sin."

Larry interrupts my internal solace when the lyrics stop again. It seems to be a longer song-- I guess DAC took a chapter out of Avenged Sevenfold's book.

"I'm not the one who said it, but," Larry's mischievous chuckle sets off the danger alarms in my mind. Emo Buff Daddy likes to slap me with things I refuse to comprehend. "North totally has some kind of Joe Goldberg infatuation with you."

My mouth goes dry, my heart stammering with flutters and quick beats, like little fairies hammering away at my organ in an attempt to keep it together. He's joking. He has to be. But my tingling fingertips and empty lungs say otherwise-- they want this to be true. But then there's Sal, and somehow I'm concerned over the validity of Larry's statement. Why is Sal even a factor here? I'll never know.

I smile at Trav-- a smile that I really don't feel, but one that comes easy. "See?" I taunt. Travis scrunches up his nose in faux jealousy. "Thanks for the backup, Lar," I tell my friend with a little wink his way. I'm just going to assume he's trying to help me out with the spaced out, friendly family altercation happening between me and Travis.

"My romance of choice is Death Where you don't reside. By silence I abide, And keep you-- I tried. My essence in Macbeth.

Eat my thoughts; Drink my soul. Exchange silence that haunts For the the peace you stole.

I am a fiend, a monster, a disgrace-- All the things you crave. I am a lover, a believer, a warm embrace; All of which led me to my grave."

"No problem, Vi," Larry chirps during another break in the song. I blink, heart falling a bit. With the deep lyrics resonating within me like this, the knowledge that Larry was just trying to help me out is disappointing. As much as I want North's affections, it wouldn't work out. Wouldn't be right. I have to accept that-- it's not like I'll ever get a chance to talk to the guy again anyway.

"Just spreading the truth," Larry says in a sing-song voice. Just like that, my soul is alight yet again. Is he still fucking with me or is this for real? My only notice is when Ash smacks Larry in the back of the head, her lips pinched together and eyes piercing into his soul.

What in the hell is with those two?

"I rot in this cage of reminiscence, Watch our connection burn. Sob in the name of innocence And for what was lost I still yearn.

This was never self-love-- Hypocrisy residing in my longing. Of my naivety thereof, To my own soul I'm desperately calling.

My romance of choice is Death-- Where I don't exist, So my thoughts can't persist. Extinguish what demolition kissed; I sink into abysmal depths."

I don't know who wrote this song, but they're hurt as hell. And I relate. I feel like this song popped up at the perfect time. Dark Autumn Complex understands me like no other and I resonate so deeply that I feel like I've known each member all my life. There's this ridiculous, false connection between me and them that I wouldn't admit to a single person.

My lips part as I watch the video zoom in on all the members, slowly centering on North who harshly whispers,

"It was never an alias, Nothing spontaneous. This is the half of me I have always wanted to be."

He repeats the words over and over again, voice slowly fading out until the screen goes black. I feel like I'm in a trance, like North just hypnotized me and I willingly went with the entire bit.

Travis clicks his tongue disappointedly beside me, stealing my attention away from the song that I'm going to play on repeat later tonight.

"Damn you for always pulling the pretty people," he grumbles, turning to face me. "I take back your cake. You have the hot male lead, you owe me food now."

"I'm so glad you've accepted reality," I chirp, patting Travis on his broad shoulder.

This entire spiel is something I have to ignore. North isn't crushing on me, he isn't interested. He never will be. And I can live with that! I've shaken his hand and gotten to see him play live. Totally don't need his tongue in my mouth or anything.

I walk toward my kitchen pulling my phone out and opening up Twitter. I'll do exactly what I've done every single time DAC's put out new music.

"Everyone okay with eggs and bacon?" I murmur distractedly, uploading the link to the new song, Consonance of a Tragic Villain. I tweet the link then turn my head over my shoulder to look at my friends. Sal's head is trained down to his phone since the TV has been turned off, replaced with Breaking Benjamin, courtesy of Ash. Is he embarrassed or something? He can't even hang out with the people around him. Even Todd is standing up to go and converse with Travis.

"Just hurry up and cook, woman!" Larry exclaims, grinning at me with that handsome face of his. And the tattoos littering his toned arms. And the... yellow stain... on the front of his shirt. But it's fine, even the most beautiful people can't be perfect.

I narrow my eyes at him as I turn into my kitchen, feeling my phone vibrate in my hand. "Watch yourself, Lartholomew," I bite out, flicking off the metalhead. Larry has to be short for Lartholomew.

"Lartholomew?" He stumbles over the word. "Stupidest shit I've ever heard. You could've done so much better than Sal's middle name."

I was about to check my notifications, but my head snaps up before I can see. I nearly choke on air as my gaze falls onto Larry. "Sal's middle name is Lartholomew?" I ask, disbelief and amusement bubbling up in my body. I have to agree with Larry, that's fucking hilarious.

"No, no, it's Bartholomew!" Larry cackles, pointing a finger at me. "Isn't that hilarious?"

Sal sighs exasperatedly, throwing his head back. "I'm going to castrate you Larry," He grumbles, frustrated and on his last mental leg as he lunges toward Larry, throwing an arm out to slap. With Ash between them though, the altercation is broken up very quickly.

"Fuck. Off." Sal bites out at his step-brother who really gets a kick out of the scenario.

I turn my attention away from the brothers, taking out ingredients and utensils that I need to cook with. While the bacon is sizzling on the stove, I finally check on the notification on my phone.

It's from Twitter.

dacnorthxx: 🖤

My eyes go wide. The comment is under my tweet of their new song and I'm really going to fall apart right here. Does this mean he remembers me? Or is this mere coincidence? My thoughts are running rampant, tummy bubbling with excitement. I can't breathe, all the oxygen is trapped in my throat under lock and key.

I comment back, my thumbs moving a mile a minute as I gulp. My entire body is a carnival of pins and needles. I feel faint.

violetviolence: @ dacnorthxx OMG?????

Someone get me a diaper because I think I'm going to pee myself.

dacnorthxx: @ violetviolence OMG!!! my idol

Is this real life? Can't be. Nope. No way. I'm about to throw up and the bacon is burning-- oh shit, the bacon is burning.

I throw my phone onto the kitchen counter and quickly pull the food off the stove, setting each strip of bacon onto a separate plate so they don't burn even more.

"Food's done," I say as loud as I possibly can considering the heavy amount of excited stress I'm undergoing. My voice comes out trembling, so I cough to cover it up as best as I can.

Dark Autumn Complex is quickly becoming my favorite band, North most prevalent out of all the members. I swear I'm not delusional-- well, maybe.

I type out something in response to his comment.

violetviolence: @ dacnorthxx STOP UR JOKING

Then I tuck my phone into my pocket. I'm being crazy. He's just being kind and he might like my comment after this but that's it-- that's as far as the exchange will go. I'm not stupid, I'm not delusional, I'm not insane.

Each of my friends, including Travis, files into my kitchen, grabs a plate of food, and then walks back into my living room like a train of preschoolers. It's a little humorous until the straggler comes in, it's not hard to tell who that is at this point anymore either.

Sal grabs a plate of food, comes to a stop behind me. The counter that peers into my living room separates us from the rest of our friends and having this kind of partial privacy with him smoothes out the wrinkles in my brain. This is horrifying when throwing in the context of our last meeting into the situation.

My heart skips a beat upon noticing his presence beside me. I glance up at him, noting the way he peers down at me with lidded eyes. Speculating, curious, leering. There's something hidden there, something he's locked away in a little mental box.

But I'm mid-chew and staring over at him like a deer caught in headlights, so I couldn't care less about whatever the hell he's hiding.

He watches me a moment longer, then drops his plate onto the counter beside mine. My eye twitches in pure amazement and agitation as he moves to stand beside me, leaning his elbows on the surface of the counter. As soon as he's settled though, he turns his head forward to watch the rest of The Faces and Travis who are all, surprisingly, catching up rather than being awkward.

The unspoken question of why he's standing beside me never gets spoken, the unknown simply percolates in the energy we somehow seem to share. I can't explain how I simultaneously wake up and lose brain cells when he's near, but it's definitely something I can't deny.

I watch him, wait. He wouldn't stand here to bask in my presence, I'm not that naive. That still doesn't answer why he's here though.

That dagger tattoo of his is on display right before me, just inches away from my eyes. He's that close-- so close that I can pick out every point of the ink on his skin. The soft waves in his layered, cerulean hair. The piercings in his ears. The sharpness of his jawline, edges of scars peeking past his expressionless prosthetic. And I can smell him. Something good, something masculine, something so him.

"Your bacon's shit," he rasps in that infuriatingly pretty voice of his. He never looks at me.

My wary expression turns into a glare. See? What did I just say?

But before I can bitch him out, something cool gently brushes along the top of my bare thigh.

I flinch in surprise, gasping as I glance down to see what the hell touched me because that's not normal. I've never bumped into anything while standing here, and this is my prime eating spot.

And as I frantically turn my attention to assess my mental commotion, I notice Sal's hand near me, his index finger just a centimeter away from my skin. I swallow against the realization-- it was him. He touched me.

I look up at him, eyes narrowed in question. What is he getting at? What is this game he's playing? I don't want him to string me along just so he can say he doesn't want me anymore when he inevitably leaves LA again. When he leaves me again.

He tilts his head inconspicuously as if to ask if he can continue, and I stare at him. I don't move, hell, I don't even breathe. I don't know what I should do. Because I do want him to touch me, but I know I shouldn't let him. Both for myself, but also because of him and Travis. I really shouldn't.

And Sal looks like he's about to apologize, this regretful look enveloping his eyes-- a look that makes my chest ache because there's such strong emotion, so much guilt. Guilt that he doesn't need to feel regarding this because... because he always double checks. He always asks for consent. That's something I've never had to worry about with him.

And maybe it's just the hurt in his eyes, something I haven't seen before and something I don't want to see again, but I nod at him. I nod to tell him he's okay. He can touch me.

He blinks, the emotion that was building ever so slowly slipping away from his gaze in a flash. I feel like what I saw was a hoax, a hallucination. It leaves his cerulean gaze that quickly.

And I can't watch myself fall back into this again. I know I've made a mistake, but it's one that I can't find myself regretting. Whether I like it or not, I have this insatiable attachment to-- obsession with-- Sal.

I turn away from his eyes that bore into mine, gaze at my living room again and bite down on a piece of bacon. Wait for the inevitable, which happens the minute my eyes aren't on him anymore.

Cold fingers crawl across the back of my thigh that's closest to Sal. The feeling of his fingertips dancing across such sensitive skin, slow and purposeful. Meaningful in that frustrating way of his. Just fingertips up until he's gotten across enough skin to grip my flesh in his hand and squeeze.

We're in a bad position. We probably look so suspicious right now-- if anyone were to glance over here and see us, they would be wondering what the hell was going on. Because the two of us? Willingly standing beside each other and not bickering? Preposterous.

I don't look at him. He doesn't look at me. Just runs his hand over and squeezes the back of my thigh to his heart's content. But I see him out of the corner of my eye, my heart fluttering all the while as goosebumps rise all over my body. Just barely seeing the way his chest rises and falls calmly, his hair brushed aside to show off his tattooed neck, the feeling of his skin on mine.

I lick my dry lips, start drumming my fingers against the counter beside my plate because I can't take this.

Maybe Sal saw my nerves getting to me, whether he was able to hear my pounding heart, see the way I nearly started hyperventilating, or just from my hands unable to stay still. But his touch is gone instantly, very suddenly.

I swallow thickly, blinking at my friends. Larry... has Travis in a headlock. Things might be bad! But in the moment, that's not my concern. Sal's phantom touch still lingers on my skin, the delicate brush of his fingers along my thigh much like a whisper now, but still there. My brain is still living in the fresh memory of what happened thirty seconds ago.

He doesn't speak. Neither do I. There's nothing to say-- this was random, unprepared. So what the fuck has just transpired? Figment of my imagination? Is the psychotic breakdown happening? I've been awaiting its arrival.

I'm not quite sure what kind of reaction I'm having, especially when Sal slides his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling like nothing just happen. An unwanted lump forms in my throat, my palms sweat. I feel used. Again. And I knew I would feel like this because Sal is Sal-- he's not kind, he isn't gentle. He just gets what he wants. I'm at fault too because I've fed into that behavior, reinforced it by giving him what he wants.

"Sal!--" Ash bellows. I snap my head up, eyes wide. Why is there yelling? "I swear, guys, he's a literary genius." Ash's eyes are alight with mirth and pride. She trusts Sal to back up her statement, but I don't think he's going to. Sal Fisher is anything but a literary genius-- he is not a book boy. A misogynistic, old ass man wrote his patriarchal Smurf ass. God, I can't stand him. But, here I am, standing...

"Recite Poe!" Ash yells again, gesturing to Sal with her hand like she's the Phantom of the Opera. That's quite an image.

Edgar Allan Poe is a recurring and foreboding theme in my chapter today. Literally, not breaking the fourth wall.

I side-eye Sal who has no reaction. He doesn't even look up to acknowledge Ash, simply cocks his head to the side with his eyes still glued to the phone, typing something out.

And then his voice. His stupid, stupid voice. Monotonous, uncaring. But the feeling-- the emotion-- embedded in his words makes me want to topple over. And he didn't even write them.

"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea-- In her tomb by the sounding sea."

That's what he says. Completely recites the last stanza of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. The same poem that the poet used to capture the hearts of so many women at his public readings.

He's not Poe though. Sal is not Poe. And the raspy, unfeeling tone of his eclectic voice will not capture me. Not when he's been two migraines and a stroke. Never.

Is it wrong of me to appreciate the tender way he pronounced 'Annabel Lee?' His voice danced around her name as if it were a waltz, something precious and rich with his affection. And his voice grew with passion when mentioning the moon and stars, dying off into something gentle and warm once he repeated 'my darling.'

Envious isn't the word. Ravenous, on the other hand, is. In every word, in every recollection, in every universe.

I turn my head to him, chest hot with esurient rage because how dare he be so...

Sal turns his head to me, emptiness reflected in his cobalt gaze. A darkness so ever-present, one that never disappears. And I forget all the strife in my mind.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, but I ignore it, holding eye contact with Sal while Ash's excited screams of praise fade into the background.

Before angry thoughts can filter into my head again, Sal turns away like he was never even looking at me in the first place. He grabs his plate, hair swaying slightly with his every movement, and he walks away. Meets with everyone gathered in my living room.

I chew the inside of my cheek, watching Sal come to a stop beside Travis and I loathe the way some kind of abhorrent, negative, spiteful feeling rips me in two. Those two men want nothing to do with each other and the last thing I need to be worried about is Sal to begin with. He's bad, awful, terrible.

I'm going to have to socialize soon before Travis starts batting me about being a recluse, but I need just a moment to push aside whatever ancient Transylvanian spell Sal casted over me with his recitation first. So, to distract myself, I pick up my phone to see what caused the buzz.

My jaw instinctively clenches shut, an uncomfortable chill crawling up my spine when seeing the discord notification followed by Sal's username.

I click on it.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm sorry. SALLYFʌCɜ:and you'll never hear it from me again, but you deserve it this time. the way i broke things off was insensitive, it was sudden with no warning. and i promised i'd fuck you. and i want to. if you don't want that anymore, perfectly understandable. figured i'd give you the offer instead of silently regretting what i did.

I blink at my phone screen, nauseating butterflies kicking and screaming inside my belly. Begging me and peer-pressuring me, telling me I better not skip out on this.

I won't skip out on it, but this is the last time. From what I've gathered in the short time I've known Sal is that he's careless and unkind. He'll attack you given whatever means necessary. And when he goes overboard, he apologizes with the assumption that everything will go back to normal and all is forgiven. I mean, kudos to him for even apologizing to begin with, but repetition makes all the sorry's meaningless.

I shut my eyes and let my head droop a bit. I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't.

I swallow down the bile working its way up my throat and start typing.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: had i not been here today, would you have ever apologized and extended the offer?

My gaze travels upward until I'm looking at everyone again. Sal isn't involved in the conversation. In fact, he's on his phone. And I suddenly feel like I'm going to collapse again.

Remember the first time I met him? When I assumed he would be the type to avoid confrontation? Fuck me for being wrong because he's the one who brings confrontation.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

SALLYFʌCɜ: no. SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm taking these circumstances as a sign. i've been thinking about it

I run my palm over my forehead. He's being honest with me, I respect that. Maybe this is a sign then, like he said. He's been bugging me for weeks, picking at me and being aggressive. Maybe that was a result of how torn up he was over internal guilt? I'm not sure but I'm not one to turn away from something this obvious sitting right in front of me.

VIOLETVIOLENCE:okay. when are you leaving?

The reply is instant.

SALLYFʌCɜ:6am tmr. that problem's solved though. ash is going to invite you to come with us SALLYFʌCɜ:i would be pissed and angsty like usual at the idea, but if you accompany us, that just opens up more time and opportunities.

To go with them? Ash? Where the hell are we going?

My eyebrows scrunch together in both confusion and intrigue as I start typing back.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: how do you know ash is even going to invite me to go with you guys?

SALLYFʌCɜ:it's ash. use your fucking head.

It takes everything in me to bite down the snort that so desperately wants to be released. He's right. And my ignorance aggravated him. This is everything I've grown used to, everything I want.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: typical of you to assume. suppose she doesn't invite me, then we both lose out, prick.

I hear a soft, quiet, and distinctly Sal-sounding chuckle from a few feet in front of me. Damn him and damn the way a smile starts growing on my lips at the audacity, the familiarity, the chaos of it all.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

No questions asked. I shut my phone off and slip it into my pocket, looking up to assess my surroundings.

Everyone is in a huddle. Wherever I surface, someone will move over to make room for me. Given that Sal and I were so close a couple minutes ago, I should probably stand away from him now. I'll just scoot in on the other side of Larry. That feels safe, he's standing beside Sal so it's a simple excuse too.

I walk over to everyone, my feet feel heavy like they're covered in 15 snuggly kittens each. I'm weighed down, reluctantly making my way over to them. My cheeks feel hot. I'm second guessing everything.

I don't like hiding from my friends, it makes me nervous and I feel terribly guilty. Like, if Sal and I are fucking around, they should know. But something about their group, about The Faces, says they do not date within the circle.

Date? What the hell am I talking about? I meant fuck.

I come to a stop right behind Sal and instinctually pinch my lips together. This was not the plan-- I meant to curve to someone else. But I got distracted by my own anxiety, which, this wouldn't be the first time. I just wish it wouldn't furl my plans like this.

Upon assessing the small group gathered in my living room though, I can tell that Sal would be the only one to allow me access into the circle. Ash is dramatically talking with Todd who seems zoned in and solely focused on the conversation, shockingly. Todd's not one to be very engaged in conversation often, so my guess is that they're talking about business or science. Given Ash's infatuation for the arts though, I'd bank on business as the topic.

On the other end of the small circle, Travis is grinning awkwardly at Larry who's deep into an explanation about Dragon Ball Z lore. Throwing up his hands, nodding his head vigorously, and leaning into Travis's personal space. They squashed beef rather quickly.

And Sal, he's just present. Not involved, simply there like he was when he walked over here.

He's also the only person expecting me.

He turns his head over his shoulder, glancing down at me with his emotionless but bright eyes. I gulp down the nervousness crawling inside me like poisoned bugs; it's hard though. Every time we make eye contact today, I feel stuck. It's almost unbearable. Did I miss him or something? Or-- oh, yuck. Do I have a crush on him?

I hate to even think it, but I find him attractive. That's the roots to the plant. Just because there's a sprout doesn't mean it has to grow into anything-- and I surely won't grow with this ass. Nope, major pass.

Meh, it's not a crush. He's just pretty and mean. I'm flustered is all. Who doesn't like a handsome man with an attitude?

Sal takes a step toward Larry, making a tiny little spot of space for me beside him. The move is so inconspicuous that it's impressive. It makes me wonder how many things he's tried to get away with in his lifetime, to be able to know what, how, and when to move so others don't notice his unfolding plans.

I start moving forward, eyes still on him. And his eyes are on mine too when Larry's elbow whacks him in the back of the head.

There's a hiss, a resounding pained yell, and a clatter. I simply blink, watching Sal grab onto the back of his head in pain and Larry with tears in his eyes, snuggling his elbow close to his chest.

There's something wrong. Something wrong with Sal's messier-than-it-was-moments-ago hair and the expression of unadulterated fear that strikes Larry's face. He looks as though he's stabbed Sal, betrayed his step brother in the worst way possible.

And Sal. Sal.

His eyebrows nearly match his hair. And they're furrowed, signaling the contempt in his soul. He tilts his head up, eyes glued to the floor before they flit up to me. I watch him with wide eyes, unable to fight off the shock plaguing me.

Half of Sal's face is emaciated, the other is almost completely untouched. It's a wonder to look at-- out of everything, I didn't expect to ever see his face. I didn't expect it to look like this either. His left cheek is sunken in, a scar running up the middle, the shape and placement reminding me of a Glasgow smile. His cheek bone is ragged, uneven with sharper points and parts that are sunken in, much like his jaw. And part of his nose is missing too, making the half that's still there more prominent with the way the scar healed. Other little scars litter the wounded side of his face-- plenty through his eyebrows, over his lips.

And the scars on his lips stretch up to the middle of his cheek, his chin, all in various place. A lightening strike permanently etched onto his face. A beautiful work of art that he lives with every single day.

The other half of his face, the one that seems nearly untouched, gives me a glimpse of what he'd look like had he never been scarred. Little, light freckles are splattered across his nose and the apple of his cheek. His lips are full, pink, soft-looking aside from the cracks here and there-- undoubtedly a result of constant biting. Sharp jawline, like I'd assumed.

He turns away from me, his expression slackened a bit. Then he starts yelling at Larry and I have to process the unfortunate truth that I couldn't look at him longer.

Maybe it's a crush now.

I take a breath as Ash suddenly flinches in my peripheral vision upon noticing Sal's bare face. In the meantime, I lean down and brush my fingers over his prosthetic that landed on the floor. It feels surreal to touch something that is so impactful in mine and Sal's life. I find myself hating it a bit because, as much as I loathe admitting it, Sal is pretty. I knew he would be. And the added confirmation sucks me into a dissociative state. I don't feel real, this is just some immaculately designed psychological horror and I'm the spectator, watching as everything falls apart. Forgetting that I'm a main character, falling apart with everyone else.

I swallow the internal panic and revelations and close my fingers over his prosthetic, lifting it into my subtly shaking hands. I need a nap and an edible or something.

I stare down at it for a moment, hesitating to look up when the yelling pauses for a moment.

When I do lift my gaze, Sal has turned back to me, his lips pressed into a thin line and brows still furrowed. And this time, it's not impenetrable and never-ending anger in his sapphire eyes. It's fear. Disgust. Regret. A lot of negativity and I think it's directed toward himself.

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, chewing on it incessantly in an attempt to stomp down the immense number of emotions suddenly awakened within me. I'm feeling way too much. Feeling blissful over his beauty, but broken over his reaction to himself. I can't imagine how long he's gone feeling so disgusted about himself-- I can't say anything to make him feel better because it wouldn't matter. My view of him doesn't come close to comparing to his view of himself. I can see it in his eyes.

My hands move toward him, silently offering the prosthetic back. Sal's gaze drops down, seeing his lifeline in my hands and his nostrils flare like he's on his last leg before he absolutely breaks. I know that feeling.

His hand clasps onto the mask, not gently but not aggressively. Just grabs it like I'm a completely normal person and not someone he both despises and craves.

His fingertips brush over the back of my hand, and he's suddenly ripping the prosthetic away like I've murdered his pet in cold blood.

I watch in dissociative shock as he turns back to Larry, prosthetic still in his hand.

"Sal, man, I'm really sorry," Larry rasps out, that terror and worry still on his face. He's not scared of Sal, just scared for him. "I didn't mean to."

Sal doesn't utter a word. He lifts the prosthetic and smacks Larry upside the head with it. A resounding, hollow thunk echoes through the room as Larry yelps in pain. My eyes widen a little more and Travis breaks out into cackling laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth to unsuccessfully hide his reaction.

And Sal doesn't react to the abuse of his brother, just walks over to my couch and situates his prosthetic onto his face again.

I can't get the image of him out of my head. His doe eyes and exotic face tattooed into my temporal lobe for life. My eyes follow him, watch as he opens up his phone again to escape reality. Clearly, the device is a crutch for him. It's a getaway from present events.

A nudge on my waist makes me slowly peel my gaze away from Sal, who I seem to be viewing in a new light. I've gone through fresh hell today, this was the bittersweet cherry on top.

I switch my focus to Ash, who's now standing beside me and, I would guess, the person who nudged me. She gives me a hesitant, rueful smile.

"We're going back to Nockfell tomorrow," she says softly, hand lifting to graze over my cheek affectionately. Her crimson nails clash with the ethereal color of her foresty eyes, but it works. They clash wonderfully. "Do you want to come with us? Reminisce a bit?"

"Why did you guys come, by the way?" I ask in a small voice, eyes flitting between hers curiously. I'm still in a state of shock too, so her comfort is appreciated.

Ash's features change, an excited grin slowly building on her lips. She's holding back something big. "We found an apartment a few buildings down. I've been researching for a while, trying to find a place near you ever since we built up the money to move."

My expression falls. They're moving? Here?

My very essence is filled with immense joy, contentment, and happiness. I don't know how to correctly portray how wonderful it feels to know that Ash is going to be near me every single day again. I can walk to her now, I don't have to fly. I can hug her, I don't have to watch her through a phone screen.

I blink at Ash as she swipes her thumb under my eye, grabbing onto my cheeks and pulling me foreward until our foreheads touch. It takes me a moment to realize that where her finger rubbed over my skin left a wet residue.

And so begins the break down.

I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to gather myself and to stop the tears before I start full on sobbing in my best friend's arms.

"So will you come? To Nockfell?" She asks softly, tilting her head to kiss the tip of my mask's nose. "If I tell you we need help packing, will that be an an acceptable excuse?"

I sniffle, unable to stop myself as I nod my head vigorously. I can't find the right words or think the right thoughts to use my voice to answer her. I can't even quite understand my own emotions.

Ash nods against me, an elated smile building on her lips.

"And so the prodigal daughter returns to her hometown."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N::::: NORTH FANS RAISE YOUR FUCKIN HANDSSSSSS!!!!!!

okay soooo yayyyy!! after twenty chapters we finally have half a face reveal *cue really shitty white girl dancing* my babies in the comments have been asking for a y/n face reveal but, hehe, you know i'm a little shit >.<

anywayyssss, sorry this chap is a little late! i left a comment to someone saying i would post yesterday LMAO but it's here now and i hope you guys like it <3 please, feel free to leave some constructive criticism because i would like to publish a book someday and can't do that if i don't make progress and improve!!!

task for everyone: TELL ME SOMETHING I CAN IMPROVE IN MY WRITING!! and be nice please or you'll break my heart :3

The nooks and crevices of his darkened thoughts came to life, melding together in the form of a horrible creature like frost in the dawn. Shadows crawled inward, creating the shape of a monstrous, inhuman being. Wisps of sheer terror dripped off its back, an image similar to the draining of blood after a most horrendous, psychotic act. A kind of act he had intrusive thoughts of daily.

This shadow man reached for Sal, urged him to allow the entity to wrap its clawed, stringy hands around his throat. To peel the flesh away from his bones. To gnaw on his innards and feast on every organ populating his body. The being wanted control over Sal's life so badly, wanted to end him. Yearned for Sal's death to transcend this mortal plane. It needed the essence of Sal's life to be freed from humanity.

Sal was this shadow man. He was the monster that tortured his every waking moment.

Gizmo was nestled at the end of the bed, his paws wrapped around Sal's legs in a snug, soothing hug. Even in his sleep, that little old man felt Sal's agony.

Tree branches scraped at Sal's window, an ominous invitation in the dead of his lonesome night. Spirits of his zombified mind begged to be let in; reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe's, The Raven.

His regret knock, knock, knocking at his chamber door.

The wind howled with pure wretchedness, broken apart in otherwise tormented whispers by torturous affliction. Acting in kind as a reaction to Sal's deteriorating mental, he thought, a tad amused by the prospect.

A slight, unamused grin pulled at his scarred lips, a product of his dark humor. It wasn't even that funny, he countered to himself. A tinge of embarrassment washed over him and he wondered how pitiful he'd seem had he laughed at something so trivial in front of anyone else.

Sal, in truth, hated himself. He cursed himself in ways he couldn't understand. He was so distraught with damning thoughts and ideas. He was doomed to an ill mind. Trapped in a broken body. Vexed for eternity both mentally and physically.

Nothing in the world could match the toxic amount of abhorrence he held toward himself. He was an abomination. Plagued by a hankering appetite for something he couldn't distinguish. Forced to yearn for inconsequential necessities that he could never luxuriate in.

For many years, Sal had wanted to die. And this night was worse than others, for his regret was incomparable to any other deprecated self-loathing in this universe.

Giving himself to fans hadn't been his plan at first. When Sal lost himself in the streaming business with his childhood friends, he planned to stay impartial to oddities that weren't directly related to him.

But when he started getting direct messages, when people started telling him about how attractive he was, how charming his persona was, Sal felt like he'd achieved those dreams of his that seemed so out of reach.

He indulged. He overindulged. He knew he would come to regret it someday, but to such extents as this... he hadn't expected this.

Coming face-to-face with a woman who ripped his prosthetic off without permission, touched him without his consent, and told him no one else would bother with the likes of him was an experience that he couldn't even quite comprehend.

Sal swallowed against the onslaught of tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks at the recollection of last night's events. He had been stomping down the memories, desperately defending his heart with a sword in hand like a mighty and brave knight. But he was no knight. He had no sword. And it was always in the late hours that the lacerations of veracity came crawling out of the umbra.

He didn't want to fall apart yet. He didn't want his hands to do things without his permission yet, so he allowed his feet to do the work instead.

Sal carefully slipped his legs out from under Gizmo's comforting embrace, wincing with his teeth lodged into his rough bottom lip. Gizmo stretched upon being awoken by the sudden movement, his paws on display for Sal's tired eyes. The yellow cat's beans spread out to accentuate the lovely stretch he was getting in, all the while releasing a yawn from his wide, open mouth and showing off sharp canines and teeny tiny "teefs" as Ash liked to call them.

A quiet squeak followed Gizmo's yawn before he curled in on himself again, let out a sigh, and shut his eyes.

A swell of clarified adoration gripped his heart. Gizmo was his kryptonite, his lifeline. How could he leave his little man?

Sal slowly moved to sit up, letting his legs drop to the floor at his bedside. His feet brushed the cold wood beneath him and he hissed, a shock shooting up his skin. He ignored it after taking a moment to rebuild his comprehensibility and shoved his feet into a pair of cat slippers that Larry had bought him for Christmas. They looked just like Gizmo, according to his step-brother.

Gingerly, Sal tiptoed to his bedroom door that had been left ajar. He nudged it with his slipper, effectively pushing it open without a sound. He knew his home and its noises by now, having grown accompanied to the sudden change of moving to a new place a couple months ago.

He trudged into the kitchen, each step of his about as quiet as the cicadas chirping in the woods beside his home. Hardly noticeable to the unconscious.

And on the contrary, Sal's subconscious was in charge while his brain wept itself to pieces in suffocating silence.

There was a piece of him that disappeared yesterday. A part of him that would never return. It was a reality he was forced to come to terms with far too soon, a scenario in his storybook that he wasn't prepared to embrace.

Sal swallowed his unuttered pleas for help yet again, opening a cabinet door in his pristine kitchen to grab a can of peaches. They were his comfort food.

His kitchen wouldn't be pristine forever once Larry finally moved in. He and his step-brother were on two opposite ends of the organization spectrum. Once Larry came, his Kit-Cat clock wouldn't tick, tick, tick in the quietude of this room quite the same. The tap wouldn't drip, drip, drip like it did now. The fire alarm wouldn't squeak such as it did just seconds ago, when the sound of silence had begun to invade his mind.

Sal's fingernails bit into his palms as he squeezed the handles of the can opener in his hands, releasing his grip upon hearing the light thunk of metal piercing the tin. And then he cranked the lever around and around until the lid popped open, sharp edges glaring at him in the dark.

He gazed at the lid of the can, caught in the moonlight bleeding in from his kitchen windows. Orange peaches glistened in the depths of the tin, floating in sugary syrup that brought bliss to Sal's ailment in any other situation.

But the metallic lid, dagger-like edges and the color of a pernicious blade, called to him, bellowed at him to swipe his skin along the serration. Beckoned him to exsanguinate himself of his wretchedness, bathe in gore and the stench of defeat.

Sal blinked, licked his trembling lips. Stuck two fingers into the syrup and resurfaced with a peach.

"Sally?"

The honeyed, gentle voice startled him. Sal flinched, ultimately tricking him into bending to the can's will. His finger caught keen edge, successfully drawing crimson from the digit in just a mere, incidental second.

He didn't make a sound, simply watched his blood drip into the freshly opened can of peaches. Marveled in the way such hellish red fanned out amongst the liquid populating the can's contents. His orange peaches now stained pink.

"What are you doing up?" The voice came again, followed by the clearing of a throat. "It's late."

He didn't move. Dread infected his nervous system upon realizing he'd been caught by the singular person who knew him best. Even better than his brother.

Because she'd been through this with him before.

Sal didn't notice her steps growing closer to him, his hearing blocked out by the assault of dismay rattling his bones. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He longed to be alone, away from prying eyes and glances of sympathy. More than anything, the harrowing yearning to be in his mother's arms again ripped at the impenetrable fortress he thought he'd built up.

Beyond all his urges to hide away, he simply wanted to be held.

Sal pushed down the bile that had clawed its way up his throat when her hand clamped onto his wrist and wrenched his scarlet index away from the material perpetrator.

"Sal," Ash's voice was plagued with unease. "What's going on." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Sal was a tripwire the moment he pulled out the can of peaches. "Why are you eating those?"

He couldn't form words, not with the lump in his throat and his blood dripping onto the white kitchen counter in front of him and his dearest friend.

Ash knew that when the peaches came out, it was bad. Incredibly, disastrously bad.

When he went a full beat without an answer, Ash lightly tugged on his wrist. "Come on, sweetheart," she purred, her soft timbre soothing him so efficiently. He felt tears biting at the back of his retinas. "Let's sit down. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

Maybe it was fate that Ash had decided to stay the night since Todd and Neil had gone on a trip with their parents. The house was still fairly new to Sal, so he'd mentioned to her that he wouldn't mind having an extra head in the two-story.

Had she not been here, Sal's night may have turned out drastically different.

Ash managed to guide Sal's emotionless shell over to the the living room, where they sat on old pillows that doubled as a couch for now, seeing as the home didn't have one yet. And she didn't ask or pester him anymore, only read his mind like he'd been praying for.

Ash wrapped her arms around Sal's quivering shoulders and pressed his head against her chest.

He felt the dam beginning to crack, his body suffering a power surge that altered the chemicals in his brain completely. The fog cleared, reality had settled upon him, the weight of millions of regrets, of guilt, of hatred.

Tears swam down his cheeks, a torrent of emotional flames fueled by the sound of Ash's beating heart pounding against his ear. Buh-bump, buh-bump, buh-bump. He gripped the sound, the thumping a salvation for him. It was his last leg in this world, the one thing that tethered him to this despondent plane of existence.

Sal's chest was hollow, void of the life and exuberance he once emanated. His lungs felt empty, scorched by the blazing lamentation contaminating his very soul. Every digit on his hands had pins and needles, his limbs pierced and scorched by the flames of his insatiable need to revert back to the person he was just two days ago. He couldn't even find it in him to be angry, the prospect overshadowed by how crestfallen, inconsolable, and grief-stricken he was while being cradled in Ash's arms.

Ash shushed him delicately, careful with her words and her tone. Her dainty hands smoothed his cerulean hair with the gentleness a mother has with a newborn. Sal sniffled and quaked in her hold, but never uttered a word. That was okay, so long as she was here and he wasn't alone with himself.

In the midnight hour, in the darkest dark, unknown devils lurked in the abyss just beyond bedroom walls and creatures rose from the ashes of people who could no longer be. Spirits roamed in the night, phantom's haunted by their very own blunders and missteps in life.

Sal Fisher now qualified himself as a phantom. His very soul had been discarded and there was no replacement. He was simply and strictly a passionless husk of his former self.

His days no longer consisted of hours. They were a never-ending hell that forced reality upon him no matter the time. Restraining orders, court dates, emotionless fans that refused to understand his absence, his anguish and agony after the sun went down. But when the sun rose again and cursed him with its blinding rays, he was just... numb.

After the woman that assaulted him was imprisoned for two years, he no longer knew anything. He couldn't think, couldn't comprehend even the simplest information presented to him.

Something he knew for sure though was that nothing would get better for him. There was no remedy for the damage that had been done. At twenty years old, he was still in just as much pain as he was the day his mother died.

There was no reason for him to continue. None at all. His friends, his family, his furry fellow that warmed his feet at night were only temporary. One day, they would all be gone too. Everything he had was both immeasurable by means of necessity and also not permanent in his life-- regardless of how badly he wanted to chain them all up forever.

Sal's storybook had ended. There would be no new chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:::: HEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY >:3 okay so first of all, i don't wanna scare yall with that last line LOL the "no new chapter" is just a symbol of sal's hopelessness. y'all know damn well i can never abandon

furthermore, it's integral that i talk about what's happened to sal here. as mentioned in the chapter, he was sexually assaulted by a fan. if any of you have read maybe today, you aren't unfamiliar with this topic being mentioned in my work. this addition to his lore is NOT something being used as a plot point or something to make him 'stronger'. in fact, i may never even bring it up again in the story. as a victim of SA, i include this as a means of self-therapy. it is devastating insight into my own mind for one, but these sickening feelings are something that other people go through too regardless of the trauma or circumstances that provoked it. depression is real. abuse is real. both of these are incredibly torturous and painful and worst of all, ignored. i tend to use my platform as a way to advocate for things such as this that many people turn a blind eye to. the mention of this within this chapter is not simply just something that happened to a character, it's reality.

if you have experienced anything related to what's mentioned here and are in need of help, please feel free to dial any of these numbers-- National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 Crisis Text Line: text REASON to 741741 Self-Harm Hotline: 1-800-366-8288 LGBTQ Hotline: 1-888-843-4564 National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673 National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) Helpline: 1-800-950-6264 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233

What was that? What just popped up in my notifications?

Unknown: are you a poe fan, by chance?

My kingdom. My entire kingdom for a chance to start making a Speed Bump Grave™️. For myself? For Sal? For the inexplicable human race? I don't even know anymore.

I thought he'd given up on Lexi. So what the hell is this? Why now? Why today? Why right after he finished— flirting? Baiting?— me.

My mind goes blank. Maybe... maybe he's onto me. Maybe he knows. That I'm Lexi. And now he's finally decided to enact his revenge. On today of all days, when I feel so sick with anxiety and paranoia that I could throw up every square inch of my bowels. My feminine rage is so ragey that I wouldn't be shocked if I sprouted a pair of testicles just so I'd have an excuse for whatever bruised masculinity I'm experiencing right now. Sal must be projecting on me all the way from Nockfell.

Never in my entire life have I felt so hopeless, so cornered. Every time I feel this way, I think it can't possibly get any worse.

And yet.

Me: umm, can't say that i am! don't know much about him.. but how are you, sally!

I don't know what's possessed me. In a normal world, I would have blocked him by now. Or better yet, if I wasn't so disgustingly deplorable and had a damn backbone, I'd have texted him a picture of myself and said "Haha, gotcha bitch!"

The sad truth in this way-too-real life scenario is that I don't have a backbone. And I'm too far gone to go back. I can't revert. There's a part of me that still holds onto my first live interaction with Sal. I just can't get the memory of him— smooth, gentle, kind, and likable— out of my head. No matter how hard I try.

One thing I can be proud of is the amount of petty packed into the fact that I never saved his number in my phone.

Unknown: good. perfect, actually. i brought some poe with me today, a story i think you might like

Some kind of doom-ish feeling washes over me. Like a storm cloud forming above my head. Poison seeping into my pores, infesting my blood. I don't like the way he said that. I don't like it at all. It feels a lot like the time some kid threw up all over me in second grade.

I'll never forget the sickening chill that spread through my body as soon as I realized what happened to me in the middle of educational centers in Nockfell Elementary. This situation feels threateningly similar.

Me: oh cool! so i guess you'll be having a chill reading day? wish it was me :,)

Unknown: not quite. but hey, are you working today?

That storm morphs into a hurricane. And there's twin tornadoes in the background, growing closer and closer to make a torrid, lethal combination. I have to take this in stride. Be smart, y/n. Whatever hell may come, handle it accordingly and do not make mistakes.

Me: ah, no! out of town to visit family :) really, crappy, awkward family get together... yikes...

He'll totally buy that right? I didn't overdo it. It was perfect. Overdoing it would have been an entire paragraph about how much I hate my mom. This is good, this is fine. I'm totally not breaking out into a cold sweat with clammy palms to match.

Oh, God. What if he sent someone to spy on Lexi? What if he hired some murderer off the dark web to take care of me and clean up the mess? I wouldn't put it past him. And this scenario isn't even worst case!

Worst case... I don't even want to think about it. I can't.

Unknown: damn, lex... on the day that i'm finally back in la and you're out of town? :(

Oh, thank God I'm a paranoid chicken shit.

Then again, fuck the fuck off. It's worst case scenario, the thing that I didn't even want to think about. The thing I wouldn't allow to cross my mind.

What do I do. What do I do? I leave work— that's the smartest decision. Naturally, this is the place he once went to and, out of boyish fantasies, he'll probably come back here with some expectation that Lexi will miraculously pop up despite her being in like... Iceland or something, whatever it is I manage to come up with in my next text to him. Which—

Unknown: i'm at the diner rn. was hoping we'd get to hang out this time. when do you get home?

Oh, no.

It's a fucking disaster on top of twenty other disasters. This is what a pregnancy scare must feel like. This must be the equivalent to walking into a room full of snotty, sick toddlers. This is dropping an uncut birthday cake.

I think I'm gonna puke.

I look up from my phone and take in the empty break room surrounding me. The off-white, paint-chipping walls are closing in. I have no escape— this is prison. Trapped in my mind's clawed vices with no way out. Except, my mind's fears have transcended into reality. My worst fear has come true and I had no time to prepare for it. The time is nigh. Ruin is, unfortunately, now.

Think, y/n. It's not so bad. I can just leave through the back door and tell my boss I'm sick again. The door is literally to my left.

But to get back to my apartment, I have to cross in front of the diner that's full of windows. Sal is here, meaning he's paying attention to everything in hopes of finding me... even though I told him I'm not here.I just know he's that kind of romantic, if he even qualifies as such.

He'd spot me in a heartbeat and that can't happen because maybe Vi's mask concealed Lexi who was hidden beneath, but he's about damn near fucked Vi. He knows her body better than she does herself— than I do. Fuck, I have so many different personas I can't even remember that they're all me.

Clusterfuck. That's what this is. A massive clusterfuck, all of my doing.

I'm going to have to bite the bullet. That's my only option. And by bite the bullet, I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep this bit going. I should just admit the truth, but I'm not humble enough for that, apparently.

My chest begins to ache. It's a slow-to-develop pain that only catches my attention when it hurts a little too much. And then the shallow, short breaths follow. And then the phantom feeling of something lodged in my throat, blocking my airways and filling me with dread.

This is a panic attack, one that is long overdue. One that still can't breach the surface quite yet. I need to make sure I'm home free first— I can weep and be dismayed later. Because the harsh truth is, yes this fucking sucks, but it's not going to kill me. It's just hard for me and my body to truly get a grasp on that.

I swallow down the anxiety that's billowing in my body like linens ominously drying outside a house in the middle of nowhere. I take a couple deep breaths, calming the doubt and fear raging within. My limbs shake a little less, my breathing is better controlled, and my chest doesn't hurt half as much. The pain is still there, but this is bearable. I can do this.

I rifle through my cubby which doesn't give me much to work with. I don't have a change of clothes. I have nothing to hide me, not even a hoodie.

"You... good, y/n?"

I whirl around, hope scraping at the insides of my cranium. Fuck yes. Best lobotomy ever.

I could really cry right now because this is a clear sign that I'm not as alone as I think. Even if it feels like I am, even if my dear coworker Ophelia can't really help me out all that much, she can definitely help me in some way.

I don't have to girl boss everything on my own.

"Lia," I start with, breathless as I practically teleport over to her with the quickness of my panicked steps. "Do you have something I can change into? I can't explain right now but... I would really appreciate your help."

Her big doe eyes take me in curiously, one of her perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question. She bats her long lashes, seemingly processing what I've asked of her before giving me an answer.

"Um, I was planning on going out after my shift tonight? Would a dress work?" She grimaces a bit, probably worried that she won't be able to help me out because Ophelia is just like that.

"That would work fine!" I say excitedly, but think better of it, my hopes crumbling a bit. "But I don't want to take your outfit for the night. I can probably come up with something else."

Lia rolls her eyes lightheartedly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I follow the action, noting her long and sharp blood red nails. I gulp, looking back into her pretty ebony eyes. "Y/n, take what you need. You know Mike can drive me back home to get another outfit! We don't live too far away, and we don't need to be in Anaheim until 9 anyway. Do what you need to do-- you know I'm cheering for you, girl."

I grab onto her hand and hold back the intense admiration infecting my soul. I'm giving Ophelia the most visceral care bear stare I can possibly muster up and she notices, giving me a cute little upside down smile.

"You are an angel," I whisper, "And your future husband is too. Power couple of the heavens, really."

Lia giggles and bends her head down, forcing her pin straight black hair to fall into her face, thus accentuating the really eye-catching red money pieces that match her red nails. I aspire to be this woman. "It's not that serious, Ducks," she says, using my dads nickname for me that she overheard a couple months ago. She thought it was precious, so it stuck. "Let's go get you changed, 'kay?"

Change, I do. But I see where she was concerned about me wearing it too. It's for clubbing, cock-tailing, socializing for sure, but... I can make it work. I've got this. It'll be fine. Thank God I am an avid Doc Martens-wearer. Doc's go with absolutely anything.

Lia has taste too, it's a short, little red dress with spaghetti straps that flares out at the ends. It shows a lot of leg, but not much of anything else. I can't imagine how amazing she must look in this.

"You're super sure that you're okay wearing this?" Lia asks, looking over me. "It looks great on you, I'm inclined to tell you to keep it, honestly."

I scrunch up my face. "No, I'm giving it back to you tomorrow," I laugh gently, using my phone camera to try and get an idea of how I look. I can't see much, which is kind of a blessing because I might hate it and be too afraid to brave LA if I end up not liking it.

"I won't argue with you," Lia sighs, patting my back in a reassuring way. "So do you want to talk about what's going on?"

"Um," I murmur, a shiver running down my spine. I almost forgot why I'm having to do this. It feels like hours have passed, but it's only been five minutes at most. "It's very hard to explain, but I might have to get you or Mike involved, whoever's hosting today." I can't help but grimace as the words leave me, but it's the unfortunate truth that I'll have to talk to one or both of them. I'm ever so slowly hashing out a plan in my head.

Sal is undoubtedly going to ask about Lexi, and what the hell am I supposed to do whenever someone goes, "Lexi? No Lexi has ever worked here." So I have to bite the bullet, again, and stick around to at least inform Mike or Lia about that part of my major, gargantuan fuck up. That also means there's a good chance that Sal will see me, but he'll likely ignore my presence, and then I can slip away quickly.

"Mike is up front and hosting today," Lia says, frowning at me. She's so pretty, like if Marilyn Monroe was alternative. Goth mommy and whatever. No shame on my part.

The chef's booming voice carries into the break room, Lia's name floating along with it. She winces at the sound, flinching in surprise. She gives me a pitiful look, tilting her head almost as if to apologize for having to do her job. Poor little love, she is.

"Will you be able to talk with Mike?" She asks me, heading for the door.

I nod hesitantly. "Yea, I'll get to him. Thank you so much for all your help, Lia. I really appreciate you." I send her my most genuine smile, one that she returns.

"Anytime, y/n! You look beautiful, by the way. Go knock 'em dead, literally or figuratively!"

And she's gone, but she hyped me up in the gentlest way possible. Bless her dark, lovable heart.

I take a breath-- a deep, fortifying, 'ohfuckohfuck' breath that does nothing to calm my soul, but I try to trick myself into believing that it worked... at least somewhat. Then I move over to my work cubby (because we're all still in primary school according to my boss) and grab my old backpack that I bring every day. It's raunchy at best and holding on by a thread. I kept it from my high school days. It's a plain black Jansport with coffee stains on the bottom and questionable white splats that are front and center for everyone to see. I'm pretty sure it's just crusty white paint that I never bothered to peel off, but I won't correct anyone if they guess something else. What's the fun in that, right?

I open the zippers and dig in, working past a random beanie from winter, pads and tampons, and a makeup bag. All the way at the bottom, buried under my other things for protection, is my mask. I put it on then look down at myself one last time.

The flashy red of the dress I'm wearing does not match the deep violet of my mask but not everything can go right, so I'll take my little loss. Things could be worse-- oh wait, they are. Sal Fisher is outside this room. Whoops, forgot things were already devastatingly bad.

I run my fingers over the forehead of my mask, feeling that ache creep into my chest again. I wish things weren't going this way. I wish I was brave enough to go outside and just keep working. Because I'm undoubtedly going to lose my job after today. I'm backing myself into a corner, even risking my finances because of this guy that I'm too scared to face as my real self. I've reached peak pathetic.

My dad must be disappointed to have such an incompetent daughter. No wonder my mother and I don't speak anymore.

I swallow past the uncertainty, the guilt, and the unadulterated fear gnawing at my soul. Then I follow through with my plan by throwing my backpack onto my shoulder and pushing the back door open despite knowing that this is not worth it. It's not worth it at all.

I circle around the outside of the diner, heart rumbling like an earthquake as the putrid scent of garbage wafts into my nose from the dumpster I'm currently passing in front of. The sounds of cars honking, people laughing and chatting idly.

Los Angeles is the people's place. It hosts all necessary components of life, some more than others. Socialization, food. It's a dopamine powerhouse. But when it's me, when I've been living here for over a year and seeing the same things every single day, it's stripped me of all my feel-good chemicals. Especially right now when LA is only bringing me problems and trouble (Sal Fisher).

This doesn't feel real. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. I can't quite wrap the fact around my head, that I'm about to be in Sal's general vicinity yet again. I thought I had time.

I turn the corner, coming out onto the sidewalk in front of the diner. I don't stop in my stride, eyeing my apartment building that isn't very far from me. A five minute walk. I'm almost home. Almost free. I just have to get inside the diner, unfortunately inform Mike of the tea, and hopefully dodge Sal. So long as I keep my eyes on the host table, I may not even have to see him. I might just be psyching myself out. Everything's going to be just fine!

My heart is in my throat, my limbs jittering nervously as I push the glass door open and look forward, noting the short line of people waiting for seats. Sal isn't one of them, so I assume he's been seated already.

I walk past the people in line, getting a few looks from them. That'd be the mask's fault.

Mike's looking down at his seating chart on the host table, most likely mapping out where someone could go whenever I stop in front of him, placing a hand on the table to discreetly get his attention.

He looks startled for a moment before tilting his head up, brows scrunched together as if to say 'The audacity!' but then he sees me and his eyes widen a bit. And then I'm not sure what his next expression says.

"What the--" he chokes out, "Shit! It's you? Hold on-- wait-- mind-fuck--"

I lift a finger to my lips, eyes wide as I hope he takes the note to shut up. Adrenaline is starting to spike in my veins and if he draws anymore attention to us, especially since my mask is already drawing enough, I'm going to piss myself right here. And sue him for public embarrassment, or whatever that thing is. Public defecation? No, that's public defamation... anyway.

Michael's mouth snaps closed, but he keeps watching me. I watch him. We just watch each other as I forget absolutely everything I had planned.

I swallow, blinking at my friend and coworker. "Mike," I say quietly. He flinches at the sound of his name. "I need you to do something for me and I am sincerely sorry about this but..."

"Yea, Yea, y/n-- um, what should I call you...?" He cuts himself off viciously, slapping a hand over his mouth. At least he cares.

I lean my forearms across the table, settling my weight against the front to relax myself at least a little bit. I'm so tense. I feel eyes on me. I need to get out of here.

"Don't call me that," I say lightheartedly, puffing out a breath. "Just call me Vi. For now." I lick my dry lips. Mike of all people finding out about my identity as VioletViolence is the very least of my worries. "There's a guy in here. He has blue hair, can't miss him. I'm sure you already know who he is. He's looking for a girl named Lexi and he'll probably ask his waiter about her. Just say that Lexi isn't here today, you don't have to answer anything else about her."

"I'm guessing... you're Lexi?" He winces, leaning forward a bit.

"Wow," I say sarcastically. "How did you figure that out?" I send him a little smile then focus on the task at hand yet again. "Anyway, I need you to be his waiter. Please. I'll take your entire shift on Friday. I will do anything." I tilt my head down, peering up at him through my lashes in an attempt to portray how badly I need this.

Mike's brows bunch together again and he mutters, "Yea, of course. Whatever you need. But it's-- he came in with the rest of The Faces. Do you want me to... entertain them too? Do they know about Lexi?"

The world stops turning. Everything pauses, no one's moving anymore and I feel like I'm going to vomit with fear, burst with excitement, and pass out right here from exhaustion. The plan I had is ruined, and I couldn't be more equally devastated and exhilarated about it. Ash is here. Larry's here, Todd too. What the hell is going on?

I blink, the action bringing me back to the present.

"Hey, is that Lia's dress--"

"The Faces are here?" I cut him off, holding a hand out in pause, trying to drill this information into my head. Trying to make it real so I can come up with a new plan.

Michael watches me like I'm stupid, a rueful expression on his boyish face. "Yes. I already said that they're here. Why are you wearing my girlfriend's dress?"

"Because we're fucking on the side and she came all over my work outfit." I watch as he makes his little offended face, and my tongue prods at my cheek as instant regret slaps me in the face. He's trying to help me, I shouldn't be giving him this attitude. "Sorry," I admit. "You know that's not true. I'm just-- I'm on edge."

"That's okay," he says hesitantly. "You know I'm going to get you back for that, anyway."

I pinch my lips together, accepting yet another minor defeat. "Fair." I shrug. "I was going to go back home and leave you to the wolves but... I'd rather risk myself. Ash is my best friend. You won't have to handle them alone now, so yay!" I give him a cheerful grin that I'm really not feeling. I even throw in jazz hands.

Michael runs his tongue over the surface of his teeth, clearly not looking forward to the fiasco I've dragged him into. "Alright," he settles on, sighing as he looks down at his feet while grabbing another menu. "Let's see how you manage to back yourself further into whatever shitty corner you've created. I'm eager."

"I'm sure," I grind out, knocking down all the fear that overtook me on my way here and replacing it with impenetrable, desperate yearning to find my friends. I finally cast my gaze around the diner, quickly zeroing in on the one head of blue hair in this entire building. They're seated at a booth all the way at the back of the restaurant and next to the bar, the one place that's away from most prying eyes. A request of theirs, I'm sure.

But my next question, now that I know everyone's here, what the hell are The Faces doing in Los Angeles? And why wasn't I told?

Ash didn't say a word to me. Do they not want me around? Maybe they don't like me as much as I thought they did. Maybe Ash would rather hang around with other friends than me. And that would make sense because we never see each other, besides Vegas, of course. But just thinking about it makes pain erupt throughout my entire body, a pang in my heart. Especially while watching the back of Ash's head tip down while Larry laughs in front of her. Sal and Larry, I can see them, but Todd and Ash are facing away from me.

Another deep breath.

"I'm going to head over there," I tell Michael, looking over to him again. He's watching me closely, his expression of pity mimicking Lia's from earlier. The sight makes me a little sick.

"Alright," he says gently. "I'm going to be there to take orders soon. I hope everything goes well. Don't be nervous."

I huff out a humorless laugh. "Are you and Ophelia psychic or something? Or is my face just that readable?"

He shrugs, grinning slightly. "I can't see your face, so I guess we're psychic. I'll be in your dreams tonight."

That makes me laugh. It wasn't forced or fake, it was genuine and I need that right now. I think Mike knows that too.

I start taking quick steps over to where The Faces are, nerves slapping at my insides to make me turn around and forget that I ever saw them. I'm attacking myself with my own mind, and my mind is attacking my body in turn. Mental illness is crazy, right? Death by anxiety and whatnot.

But, you know, I'm already here. My job is in purgatory, I'm five steps away from them and Larry has noticed my movement, his head twisting toward me to see who's growing near.

Poor Larry. When he sees me walking toward them, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes like he doesn't believe what he's seeing. He looks at me again, and that's when his eyes start to widen, when his jaw drops. And he doesn't say word, that open mouth just turns into the brightest smile I think I've ever seen.

Seeing his excitement makes my insides flutter about and I feel a little better about actually going over to them. Imagine I get there and they shoo me away? But I can tell that Larry won't. That look on his face screams barely held back hugs.

I gulp, trying to ignore my major cotton mouth. I need water. Or tequila. Something.

I also don't give my brain even a second to psych myself out. When I reach the table, I simply plop myself down beside Ash and act like it's a normal, every day thing for me to do.

All heads turn to me (Larry's never turned away from me to begin with) and then I hear a quiet, uttered, "Fuck" followed by incessant, eardrum bursting squealing in my ear.

Arms. A lot of arms. A ton of squeezing. Lots of kisses all over my mask and face. And all the love makes me think that my sweet Ash had a good reason for not informing me of her visit.

I struggle, but I throw my arms around Ash too, squeezing every little inch of her that I can get. Her sweet, coconut and strawberry scent overwhelms me and I feel so at peace. So calm. Home. Back in Nockfell. Comfortable.

Her hair is in my face and I know she's crying because my bare shoulders are wet, thanks spaghetti strap dress. I don't care though because I'm seeing Ash again much sooner than I imagined I would. I thought it would take us years to have some time together like we did in Las Vegas. And Ash is so emotional, I feel like she's being ripped apart by the sight of me alone-- that's both adrenaline-inducing and terrifying.

This is a nightmare, but a dream come true at the same time. I'm so glad that I was paranoid enough to force myself to tell Mike about the Lexi situation. Things couldn't be any better.

"Ash, fucking let go, man. It's my turn." Larry's voice is right next to me, and then another pair of hands that envelop my waist whole. I'm then yanked out of my best friends arms and spun around to face Larry who hugs me so tight that I have to stand on my tiptoes.

I shut my eyes, grinning as I reach my arms up his back, hugging him the best way I can as he nuzzles his face against my mask. The smell of cigarette smoke and pine trees lingers on his clothes, yet again overwhelming me with familiarity. The smoke is a more recent addition, but he's always had a unique scent to him that's always reminded me of Christmas in a way.

The scruff on his cheeks scratches against my jaw, his skin is warm, his grip tight. I really miss home... and LA is not home. Home is back with all of my friends. I don't want to stay here anymore. I don't want to be where they aren't.

Larry takes a deep breath into my shoulder, likely bathing in my comfort just like I did with him. Then he backs up, holding me at arms length and I look up with tears welling in my eyes no matter how much I wish they weren't there. I hate crying, especially in front of other people, but I'm just so happy. It's like the anxiety I felt while walking over here never existed.

"What the hell are you doing here, Vi!?" Larry exclaims, dragging his hands up my arms to cup my face in his large palms. "I thought you lived in Connecticut?"

I place my hand on top of his, a spark of what I thought was fantastical anxiety rushing through me at the instant fuck up I've just made. Again. Crap. I forgot that Ash told them I live in Connecticut...

"Uh," Ash voices beside us, her tone taking the form of the smartest kid in class who's about to correct a mistake. Todd-coded. "I said she's from Connecticut, not that she still lives there." Good save, Ash. "Word choice is important, Lar! Pay attention!"

Larry's eyes swing between Ash and I before settling on me, stars dancing in his irises. "Wait, so do you live in LA, then?"

I can't help the excited little grin that's slowly climbing onto my face. It's Larry's turn to squeal as he suddenly realizes.

I look back over to Ash, catching Sal's gaze momentarily before I look over at Todd to wave. He waves back at me, a soft and pleased smile on his thin lips.

"So," I say, letting go of Larry whenever he backs away from me. I sit beside Ash again, leaning against her side as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Why are you guys here?"

Ash hisses, frowning suddenly. I frown back, wary of her reaction. "Crap!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes. "Well, I was going to surprise you and the guys. But I guess you ended up surprising us instead..."

"Oh, so it's not just y/n that we're visiting while we're here? You knew Vi would be here too?" Todd asks, chewing on his bottom lip contemplatively.

Another spark of nervousness. They're here for... fuck, all three sides of me are expected in this situation. This... maybe was not really worth it. I'm erasing all the sides of my corner. Everything's starting to get really small and very tight.

Ash side-eyes me, a discreet little look before she answers Todd. "Yea, but I'm not quite sure where she is in LA. I'm going to have to call her later to get some updates on her whereabouts."

"I could just call her now. I'm super excited to see her, I'm sure she'd love to meet Vi too-- oh, and to tell her why we're here!" Larry says, excitement making him shimmy around in his seat as he pulls out his phone.

My body reacts instantly, tensing up like a cat in shock. Ash jumps too, nearly leaping over the table to stop Larry. "No! She's working!" She yells. It's so loud that you'd think she's trying to flip Larry's phone away from him with sound waves alone. True Stranger Things style.

"Oh...kay..." Larry trails off, pulling his phone closer to him so that Ash can't reach. "It's not that serious. I'll call her later, then. What's your deal?"

I swallow. Her reaction was really too much, but at least she's trying to cover for me. I would've sat there and let Larry call while my phone went off in my pocket.

Ash clears her throat, sitting back now that she threw the scenario into the trash. It was rocky, but her deflection was successful. "I know, just don't bother my girl while she's making money," she says matter-of-factly, holding her head high.

I note the way Sal shakes his head across the table. I haven't acknowledged his presence, nor has he acknowledged mine. It's awkward for the most part, but I think that awkwardness is only stemming from me. He seems to be perfectly in control with his short sleeved, black Iron Maiden shirt that shows off his tatted arms. I guess the LA summer heat was too much for him to wear a hoodie for once.

His electric eyes meet mine, no emotion in the endless depths of his irises. Like he couldn't care less that I'm here, which sounds a lot like him. And still, I fidget in my seat under his gaze. Can't help myself.

The edges of his dagger tattoo peek out from behind his hair, the shape of his Adam's apple clear due to the sun shining in through the window, casting shadows in all the right places. Necklaces are around his neck, some kind of silver chain and and old, really intricate cross necklace hanging right below it. And then his hand comes into view, the one that folded into a fist as a result of my touch just weeks ago in this exact restaurant.

There's something different though as he moves to grab onto the drink in front of him, dragging it closer.

The bottom of his prosthetic lifts as he sips from his straw, but that's when I notice what's different. It's a new tattoo-- Saniderm wrapped around his hand. It looks like... a skeleton hand tattooed onto his own. It's pretty sick and I'm so tired of him having great taste in art. Damn. Now I have a terrible excuse to stare at him some more when I shouldn't look anywhere near him at all.

On the other hand, have I ever mentioned how much of a blessing Michael is?

"Hi, everyone," his cheerful voice effectively distracts me from ogling Sal. I look over to my friend, noting his pink cheeks. Huh. "I'll be taking over as your waiter tonight. Your waitress had to leave," he glances at me as if to tell me that I made a good call by stepping out when I did. That's exactly the moment I realize that we're sitting in my section of the diner. Talk about a close call.

Okay, I should get the hard part over for him right? To thank him. I've got this. "Oh, hey, Mike!" I say, "Long time no see."

Poor Mike looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. "Hey... Vi..." he says quietly. Oh, Michael, please don't crap out on me now... I'm going to have to buy this man a cake for carrying me like this.

I smile at him awkwardly, trying to bypass this horrible excuse of an excuse that he and I are about to do horrible improv for. "So, how's Lexi?" I don't dare look a Sal whenever I say the name, but I do feel a shift in the energy at the table. "It's been weeks since I last saw you guys."

"Lexi doesn't work here anymore," Michael spits out nervously, sweat beginning to build on his forehead. Oh no, don't fucking fumble the bag, Mike!

I give him a look. One that has so many emotions and so many questions, but I just force out a simple, "What?" because what else do I say to that? Things are already beginning to go terribly. But it's okay. I'm a pathological liar at this point, and a catfisher? Maybe? Ha... Cat-FISHER.

I'm going to have a panic attack.

Michael pinches his lips together, red-faced as he glances at Sal. I turn my gaze to Sal too, noticing the way he's eyeing Mike like a hawk.

"Lexi is my girlfriend and she doesn't work here anymore." Michael says, his tone brave and assertive, but his facial expression says an entirely different thing.

Great heavens. Okay, so he's radically screwing everything up but that's okay— I'm a flexible person. He's... doing his best. I can work with this. I hope.

I have this image of him and I duking it out in my head. I have him by the collar, shaking him around like a ragdoll while I scream in his face that he's fucking up the plan. And in my mind he's just taking it because he's playing pure sub right now. I'm not even this submissive-- Michael is straight up breaking the BDSM spectrum.

I shove down my nerves and tilt my head at him. "Okay," I start with, slowly, feeling out what little room I have to work with. "I already knew she was your girlfriend," I say, raising my eyebrows even though he can't see. Saying this feels less incriminating for some reason. But I notice Sal snap his head down to the table. I almost feel bad. "But why doesn't she work here anymore?"

Michael looks off to the side, tapping his fingers against the menus in his arms. "Um, she's... she is..." I narrow my eyes at him. He's not even answering the question. I try to communicate with him through eye contact, bellowing at him to not. Fumble. The. Bag.

He gapes at me like a fish, our intense eye contact freaking him out even more. I sigh to myself. He fumbled whatever bag I'm going on about before he even got to our table.

He finally finds his voice after a second and says, "Lexi is working. At a... sperm... bank."

It takes every little inch of my being not to burst into tears. Holy hell. If anything I'm glad he fucked this up because the sperm bank excuse is hilarious no matter how you look at it. Even better is that it's so ridiculous and random that it's going to distract the entire table from the way he's royally screwing up this conversation.

Ash snorts beside me. Larry chokes on his coke. Todd is silent and so is Sal. Maybe the sperm bank thing will officially scare Sal away from Lexi. Yea-- this could work.

"That's a unique job," I struggle to push out, my voice wavering despite trying to forget what Mike just said. But it's hovering in my mind, like old memes from Vine that still make me cackle to this day. I really wish someone would have caught this entire interaction on video.

Michael glances to Sal again. And that's when I turn to find that the bluenette is glaring at my coworker with his arms crossed over his chest, a dangerous glint in his pretty eyes. Wow. That's a scary look, one that he hasn't even pulled out on me yet.

Mike is gaping again, trying to get words to, you know, word. I try to help him by saying, "I hope she likes it there! That's a big deal." But the words don't register in his mind. I can tell by the look of terror on his face, his gaze still glued to Sally.

My friend takes another second to gather himself, and right as a syllable leaves his lips-- one that he used his one working brain cell to come up with-- Sal interrupts him. He took perfect advantage of Mike's vulnerability.

"I'm not sorry for flirting with your girlfriend."

My eyes squeeze shut as butterflies slap at the lining of my intestines. This is ridiculous and I shouldn't feel flattered. I tilt my head down for a moment, trying to gather my wits. I figured out everything for Michael and I, but I didn't take Sal's response into account. I didn't think he'd have a response to begin with. I never would have thought he'd come up with this either.

"We'll, um," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat to regain my voice, but my heart is flitting about with excitement. I wish Sal never would have spoken. I look up at Mike, sending him a dismissive smile. "We'll order in a little bit. I'm still not sure about what I want. Thanks, Mike."

I've never seen someone scurry away so quickly before in my life.

"Is Lexi the chick you were trying to see over here?" Larry asks as soon as Michael's gone. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, watching as Sal glares at his step-brother. Yikes...

"I'm gonna head to the bathroom," I say, scooting out of the booth before anyone can stop me. I need to not be here right now. Ash is quick to stand up behind me, grabbing onto my hand. I turn, fearful that she's going to stop me, but she just smiles and juts her head forward, signaling me to keep walking.

I hope she doesn't ask me about Lexi. You couldn't even beat this information out of my dead body.

Ash and I take a singular step toward the bathroom, only to get stopped by my least favorite customer. I just want to die at this point. The stress is not worth anything. Not at all.

I've said before that many of the men that come into the diner are assholes of the patriarchy, the ones that tell me to stop talking and make them a sandwich, or comment about women's bodies. The shit that ticks me off beyond belief.

This man in particular smells like mildew and three years of straight sleep and bad breath. He's also not a looker, mind you. And then he's an asshole on top of it? I hate when my boss sends me to his table.

Even worse is watching him eye me after calling out to Ash and I with the words, "How much do you charge?"

My eyes narrow and the boys go quiet behind us. We're close enough for them to hear, especially for Ophelia to hear behind the bar.

She glances up at me, cleaning a glass and frowning.

I look back at the man. I never bothered remembering his name. "Excuse me, sir?" I ask, confused. I don't want to converse with this dickface.

"You're dressed like a whore so you gotta be selling yourself right?" he continues, a humorless chuckle following the grubby words.

I open my mouth then snap it shut, heat taking over my body. I'm embarrassed, really insecure about myself now, and pissed off. He thinks he can just say shit like this to anyone? What a pathetic joke.

Usually I can't do anything about this man since I'm the one serving him, but he doesn't know who I am and I'm not working at the moment. I can reign whatever hell that I want.

But I'm also exceptionally tired. Tired of this horrible job and little pay. Tired of holding up some persona that's already beginning to crash around me. Just tired.

"I'd rather look like a supposed whore than look like I just stepped out of the dumpster, sir. Have a day," I say dismissively. I don't have time for him and I've said my piece. If I go on any further, I'll get kicked out anyway and I've already given my coworkers enough trouble today.

'Have a day' is my favorite thing to say to customers who piss me off because they don't know if I forgot the 'good' or purposefully left it out. It's ominous and vaguely threatening.

Ash and I go to the bathroom and we don't stay there long. Neither of us talk. She just waits for me, like she knew I needed space but that I also needed her companionship. Just a moment away from the mess. Silence. Which is so much more than appreciated, I can't even begin to explain how much I adore my best friend.

She watches me wash my hands through the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest and a content smile on her lips. As we start to walk out, she says, "I'm not sure how long you'll be able to keep up the lie about y/n." and she's right. I'm going to face a dead end soon here. "You're obligated to have a sleepover with me tonight so we can come up with a plan, and so you can answer some major questions I have about you right now. My spidey senses are tingling super hard."

Her hand rubs my back and I nod, smiling thankfully at her. Of course she has questions. My entire presence here is questionable right now.

We resurface next to the bar, but looking up at where our booth is shows that it's empty. I'm about to voice my confusion to Ash, but then I notice Lia running around the bar to get to us.

My eyebrows scrunch together as my coworker stops in front of me, eyes on Ash before they focus on me. She mulls over her thoughts for a moment, gaping just like her boyfriend does. Did the boys do something bad?

"We had to... We kicked Sally Face out," is what she says, shocking both me and Ash.

"What?" Ash asks, startled. "What happened?"

Ophelia blinks at Ash, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "He, uh, he walked up to that... that guy at the bar. Kicked his stool out from underneath him. Then he asked me for a drink. Malibu and pineapple."

Ash sighs and I blink at Lia. I don't even know what to think. Did Sal do that for me? And to ask for my favorite drink on top of that...

No. It's impossible. There's no way he would. He just did it for the sake of feminism. That feminism that is nonexistent when it comes to me. Yea, he definitely didn't do that to avenge me. And he was probably just in the mood for alcohol and pineapple juice right? He could never remember the one drink I ever brought up around him. There's no way.

"Sal doesn't even drink all that much," Ash hisses. "What the hell is he doing?" She bites down on her thumb nail, free hand on her hip.

I swallow down all the emotions building up in me. There are so many that I don't even know how to distinguish a single one right now. This is too much. This entire day is too much.

"Okay," I whisper to myself. "Thanks, Lia," I say gratefully. "And thank Mike for me, too, please. I'm going to get everyone out of here before-- yea." I nod to myself, but it isn't very reassuring.

Lia grabs my hand. "We didn't call the police because that asshole had it coming, but someone else might have. It's better to go now."

I nod again, taking yet another deep breath before guiding Ash to the front doors of the diner. The boys are standing right outside, no doubt waiting for Ash and I.

I feel very similar to the way I did when Sal ended our shit-uationship. I'm so confused and so hopeless, but hopeful. So pained, but relieved. I don't know how to handle the way I feel. I can't work myself out of this awful situation now because he's here. He's here and his hair is billowing softly in the wind, showing off his tattooed neck. And a cigarette is between his index and middle finger as he looks out at the jam-packed street. And then his boot is stomping out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

The nail in the coffin is when he bends over to pick up the cigarette butt and throw it into the trashcan right outside the diner. He would be perfect if he wasn't such an emotionless prick.

I want to cry. I want to feel him again. I want to shoot him with a paintball gun one more time. I want to run my fingers over all his tattoos. I want him to shiver in fear and pleasure because of me. I hate him so much that it's become obsessive.

I lick my lips as I come to a top in front of my friends, more notably, right in front of Sal.

He turns away from the trashcan behind him, his shoulder-length hair following his movements. When he notices me, he stops and stares disinterestedly. The action is so forced though that it feels like it's hiding something else. Like he doesn't want me to know what he just did in the diner.

I watch him. My eye contact is a threat, a warning, a question, begging. Everything, I try to show him through my gaze.

And then I nod at him subtly despite myself. Even if it wasn't for me, he put that guy in his place and I think that's something to appreciate. But at the end of the day, he still left me upset and he's an asshole so I can't find it in myself to physically tell him thank you. The nod will do.

I turn my attention to the rest of The Faces. "I can make brunch in my apartment if that works with y'all?"

And that's how I've made another mistake today. That's why The Faces are walking down the streets of Los Angeles, my apartment just two buildings away.

There's so much wrong with this decision I've made. I should have never invited them over. What if dad is home? He shouldn't be-- but still. There's so much that could go wrong.

But the walk is going disturbingly well. Ash and Larry ooh and ahh at the streets of Los Angeles— which are normal to me. But I understand the charm too. I was very fond of LA when I first came here.

We walk into my apartment building, everyone speaking a little quieter as we traipse through Lobby. I don't speak, I just listen. And I take it that Todd and Sal are doing the same.

My apartment building is nothing special. It's boring, it's the lowest end of mainstream you can get. It's like a 90's apartment in Manhattan, but make it modern and LA. To put it short, it's the cheapest Dad and I could find here.

Having The Faces step into my territory feels like a time bomb ticking down the last few seconds. It's scary, and it puts me in a vulnerable position. I don't have much of a choice— I'm the one who thought of this idea. And I feel like I owe it to my friends to make them something to eat after they got kicked out of the diner. Not that it was my fault, but it was my customer's fault. I feel guilty for some unreasonable reason.

There's always risk though, and I run through my list of said risks as we take the elevator to my apartment. Being in someone's living space is daring, considering that family stuff is all around. Photos on the wall, artwork with family name's on them, doctor appointments and reminders on the refrigerator. Everything is risky, risky, risky.

Lucky for me, dad and I still haven't quite settled in yet. It's been a year, but we're also both constantly moving around. Dad is in hotels for weeks on end and I work most days. We unloaded and fixed our necessities, but other than that, our walls are bare and nothing of note is on our refrigerator. I should be fine.

We finally empty out into the hallway that leads to my apartment and I have to swallow down the anxiety rushing through me. Nothing has gone wrong and I can only hope that the last leg of this walk will go well for me. I just want one thing to go right today, just one. That's all I'm asking.

I get to my door, I shakily slide my key into the lock, and I open it and let all my friends in, watching their eyes bounce around the living room. I nearly slam the door shut once everyone is safe and inside.

I got my wish. Thank you to whoever granted me a little bit of peace on this unfortunate day.

"You need to get a new carpet."

It's the second time I've heard him speak today. The raspy, monotonous, alto tone of his makes me pause. He wasn't insulting, the way he said that was just commentary. But his voice alone feels like a declaration of war and all the panic and fear I've been enduring for the past— what? Half hour?— is replaced with some kind of desirous agony. Like I've been waiting for him to just... just speak.

"You have a problem with everything, don't you?" I respond, my voice biting into the stale air of my living room. I should've simply asked why he felt that way, but I have reasons. For example, the shit I've put up with today has me on edge. Another reason is Sal bombarding me on all ends without him even realizing it, then being so tense with all these horrible decisions I'm making. I'm really itching for a fight right now and I know I can get it from him. I can practically feel my eyes dilating with the excitement that's ransacking my body at the mere prospect of an argument.

Sal's head turns over his shoulders, body somewhat rigid. One hand in his pocket, the other with the fresh tattoo resting at his side. His eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing me and no doubt wondering who the hell I think I am.

"There's a giant fucking stain on your black carpet," he snaps, gesturing his tatted hand at the light green splatter that dad fussed me for weeks ago. That time I was watching The Faces' Youtube video and spilled my damn mint chocolate chip ice cream. When this entire thing between Sal and I was started. Because he had to go and judge me without getting to know me first. "Be happy I even mentioned it," he mutters, tone clipped.

"You think I didn't notice?" I laugh humorlessly. I wasn't lying when I said he has a problem with everything. Seriously— he just stepped foot into my home and has something negative to say about it. "And why don't you guess who's fault it is that the carpet is stained, huh?" The words rush past my lips, all hardly held back fury and expectation for the worst.

Sal tilts his head in a way that begs me to try him again, then turns his entire body to me. He shuts his eyes and holds up a hand, pausing before saying, "It surely isn't my fault if that's what you're implying." He even adds a snort at the end.

"Actually," I say cheerily, chin up and head high because it's quite literally all his fault that I dropped my ice cream whenever I heard him talking about me all those weeks ago. "Yea it is. I was sitting right there," I point to the edge of the sofa nearest the stained part of the carpet. "While listening—"

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach, and I did it to myself. Again.

How could I be so stupid? Here I am, openly and happily about to expose my true identity just to make a point. Just to be right. To win. To gain some catharsis from a meaningless argument.

I snap my mouth shut, swallowing over the relentless pounding of my heart. I blink at Sal who's waiting expectantly for me to finish what I was saying. What do I say? How do I save myself?

My palms sweat, my legs quake. Oh, this is so bad. Is this my real downfall? Is this where I break? It's going to happen. I'm going to pass out or have a psychotic break. Maybe I'm going insane— maybe I've been clinically insane for weeks now. At least I could plead not guilty at my murder trial. I've had a lot of murder on my mind today, haven't I?

But there's a knock at the door and bless the heart of whoever is about to punch my door hinges off. Any other situation and I'd be losing my mind over someone knocking so hard, but my savior is behind this hunk of wood.

I let out a shaky breath and tilt my head downwards, pretending like I'm too fed up to continue my argument. It's perfect. The best excuse.

But Sal's eyes burn into me, the scrutinizing, heavy blue trapping me in my own guilt. A narrow waterway hidden behind the confines of his prosthetic, haunting me day and apparently at night too. I find myself stuck, my gaze piercing his and waiting for something that will never come. I don't even know what that something is.

"Never mind," I grunt, spinning on my heels and taking a singular step toward my door.

I twist the knob, relieved by the silence behind me. No one cares enough to ask what that was about. I escaped... somehow.

And then I swing the door open, gaze up at the last person I expected to see, hear a resounding and excited, "Bitch!" and intellectually (smartest decision I've ever made) slam the door back in their face.

Oh no. Oh no, oh fuck.

I forgot.

____________

A/N:::::: 50K is such a dream come true and i really wish i could find more words to explain how excited and whole i feel. when i first started writing at 13, i was also reading on wattpad and fanfiction.com. I saw all these writers getting so many views and comments about their works, and i wondered if that would be me some day. i worked hard for the first couple years of my writing career and my only reader was my lovely sister (thank you amititty) and i realized that i needed to do something different. i started practicing more, and then i got into fanfiction rather than just fiction. and that's when something changed. i'll never forget the day when maybe today got 1k views-- i cried and wept like a baby for HOURS because it meant the entire world to me. little 18 year old ryver had no fucking clue that we'd get this far. that 1k on my trial book would turn into 50k on the next. i'm in tears typing this right now, in disbelief. every single one of you are my reason for writing, for brainstorming, for getting through my day... i consider you guys in everything i do. all the love in this world-- every ounce of affection, of adoration, of admiration-- does not compare to how special all of you are to me. you are all so dear to me, my friends and penpals that keep me going and remind me that the world isn't all bad, that not everyone is bad. so thank you for following me down this road and i hope we can continue like this. i wish we could all stay this way forever! but maybe, just maybe, i'll get to sign published copies of my books for you guys someday. get to follow through on my dream to hug all of you. there's never a way to tell what the future holds, but i believe it's pretty bright. thank you. i love you all with all the working neurons in my brain and numerous blood cells in my body <333

so about this chapter-- i have been looking forward to it since the very first chapter of this story. a lot of things have changed since then, including the chapter, but i still think the contents are a nice surprise and fucking HILARIOUS >.< i just hope you guys like it too! it was kind of hard to get out because i had all these ideas and images and feelings that i desperately needed to portray perfectly, but some things are just unable to be captured by words. my goal was to get as much as i was feeling onto paper (or computer?), so i hope you guys feel all the fear, desperation, and admiration going on! i deleted, retyped, and deleted again so many scenes and parts of this. and jesus christ this is an exceptionally long author's note MY BAD

anyway, as always, you guys own my heart and i love you to infinity and beyond!! i'll link pictures of y/n's red dress and sal's tattoo below <3

That makes me perk up a bit. A hand slaps over my mouth to contain my internal giggles just as Mike shoots me a wink and walks off to one of my tables, likely to inform them that he'll be their server.

It's bad and I'd certainly rather be anywhere but here, but I can make do for now, especially if it means repaying Michael for all his help. So I ignore the anxiety (said anxiety is so anxious that we're both trembling) and I walk over to the front of the restaurant to sit some hungry customers.

Thankfully, most of the rest of my short-ish shift slowed down a bit after lunchtime. Upon finally reaching my apartment at about two in the afternoon, I quite literally launched myself into bed and... consequently, I wished I was working again.

For the past two hours, I've sat here staring at my ceiling and reminiscing on my recent past. Thinking about the opportunities I took and missed. Remembering all the fun I had, just wishing I was back with my friends in Las Vegas. It's been a little over a week and June is finally here, but it still feels like I was sleeping in with my best friend just last night.

Thinking about what I've lost and gained within the past month or so is both depressing and incriminating. The sheer amount of down-bad that overran my body is impressive, but wasn't worth it. Never was worth it.

I've slain myself with the sword I wielded. And it was only a matter of time— I knew the consequences, yet I still went along with it. It's not that I'm sad or whatever, I'm merely disappointed in myself for getting involved with someone so heartless and vile.

I feel like I've betrayed myself. I was nothing but a speck and I knew that, but I still allowed myself to be used. That's what everyone would say, and it's what I'm starting to feel. Is that all I am? Is this all I ever will be to someone? Just a body with no mind. Something to be used and defiled over and over again.

By far, the worst pile drive of grief came from having to see photo after photo of Sal and I together on every social media site in existence. It was painful in an unfamiliar way-- a way that I don't quite understand. It was all photos of photos, photos I didn't even realize existed, or the two of us with fans. I clearly remember liking the pictures that Lexi and Kennedy posted. Oh, and apparently the handsome emo knight's name is Timothy. But even the nice memories of my time in Las Vegas doesn't feel as comforting as it once did.

Everything I experienced with my friends is slowly being altered every second that I'm alive. The way I lived in Vegas will never be exactly the same as I remember it now. Being aware of psychological changes is damning. It's depressing. I will never experience anything, or those memories, the same way I did at the time I was really there.

Fuck you, Freud.

My ceiling spins above me, a kaleidoscope of misery and darkness that I haven't suffered through since before being diagnosed with depression. I'm not even quite sure what it is that I'm so down about-- missing Las Vegas, feeling far from my friends, or Sal's asshole persona. It's something, but I feel sick being so torn up over something that's perceived as trivial by everyone else.

Why do I have to care so much? No one else is like this. So why me?

I pinch my lips together, finishing my recount of the tiles on my ceiling. There are 133 whole tiles. 24 half tiles. Add them together and there are 157 total, but it feels weird to bunch those two shapes together when they're clearly different.

I feel like I'm going insane.

Before I can think harder about how frustrated I am with myself, I force myself to sit up then sling myself out of bed. My heels smack into the floor beneath me, cushioned by grey carpet. It's saved my soles, but it can't buffer the deep grief in my heart. A grief that has no explanation or source.

This afternoon will be the first time I play online with The Faces since before Vegas. The first time I see my friends in a week. The first time I face Sal since briefly making eye contact with him the morning I left Nevada (he didn't even bother to come to the airport with the rest of us). And most importantly, the very first time I show my face while streaming-- and of course, when I say my face, I mean my mask. But I haven't shown myself at all. Anything that anyone has ever seen of me has been from pictures shared on social media.

For once, I'm not terrified by the prospect. I'm more worried about having to face Sally Face and more than eager to talk with Ash again. I really, really miss her.

I'm bundled up in my trusty Twenty One Pilots sweatpants (that are still falling apart), Ash's merch hoodie, and slip on the brand new pair of Kuromi slippers that my dad had waiting for me when I got home. If I'm going to endure the hell-spawn that is Sal Fisher, I might as well be comfortable.

A sigh slips past my lips as I drag my feet over to my PC and turn it on, slumping into my chair. I grab my mask that's been sitting on my desk, untouched for days, and fix it onto my face.

My computer whirrs to life as I stare blankly ahead, slipping into a hypnotic state. Dissociating. Wishing this life was anyone else's but mine.

I blink past my own distracting mental state after mere seconds of waiting for things to get moving. I log onto Discord, clicking into The Faces' server and catching up on all the messages I missed.

The first thing I notice is that Ash, the owner of the server, has apparently discovered that she can change everyone's names. Which, honestly, is news to me. It's apparently causing an uproar in-chat.

Two Face: haha. funny ash. hilarious. very original.

Subtract Thine Father: wut did u expect from Ash??? unicorn cum nd fairy shit???? Subtract Thine Father: omfg mine is rad

He Who Pegs: Much like the joke you made in Vegas, right, Sal? He Who Pegs: My username is correct. I am a pegger.

I'm scared to find out what my new name is. These are personal attacks on absolutely every single member of this chat.

With quaking hands, I type out a quick message and hesitate before pressing send. I'm terrified of what Ash has managed to come up with. But it's whatever, surely it couldn't get worse than Two Face, right?

Closet Dweller: these are horrendously accurate names... i'm a little scared...

My stomach flies out of my ass when I see my name. Good God, I'm not sure how Ash managed to come up with that one but... it's not too far off the marker. I'll give her props.

Closet Dweller: dear god.

Subtract Thine Father: LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VI

He Who Pegs: Do I smell a fellow homosexual?

Closet Dweller: i will neither confirm nor deny. maybe i'm just locked in my mother's closet or something, ever think of that?

He Who Pegs: Like an Oedipus Complex?

Closet Dweller: NO TODD!!! NO!!!!!!!

It's impressive how simple socialization has managed to cheer me up a bit. I know Todd is really into psychology like I am, so I'm not surprised that he threw something like that in, but I am shocked that he hit me with a joke that heavy.

He Who Pegs: Laughing my ass off.

Subtract Thine Father: srsly todd, just abbreviate it i'm guna die of erection Subtract Thine Father: embarasment**

He Who Pegs: That was an epic fail and epic foreshadowing. Bravo, Larry. Quite the Freudian slip.

I shake my head at my two friends, tears brimming my eyes as I try to contain the fit of laughter that so desperately wants to be released.

Closet Dweller: what's ash's name?

Kween Pussy Popper: Hi :3

I have to shut my eyes and look away from the screen. Her name is funny enough, but her little emote and the casual entrance just makes this entire thing ten times funnier.

My hand slaps over my mouth and I shake my head, tapping my fingers against my desk. I'm so going to get in trouble with these people.

I'm going to cough up a lung or something later, but it'll be worth it, so I look up at my computer again.

Subtract Thine Father: waddup pussy kween Subtract Thine Father: can u share sum bc i am lacking. Subtract Thine Father: u kno how the grinch's heart grows 4 xmas? well my dick shrinks the longer i go wo a snazzy lady Subtract Thine Father: save a horse ride a cowboy, as they say Subtract Thine Father: i am the cowboy. where r my bitches??????? lonesome. desperate. choking. dying.

The chat goes quiet momentarily so I smile and scoot away from my desk. The objective was to roll across the floor-- no, glide-- and look like some kind of fairy in slo-mo, but I forgot that I have carpeted flooring. So my chair rolls for not even a second before coming to an abrupt stop. Pathetic and not so glorious.

My smile slips off my face as I push myself off the chair and walk across the rest of my room to my bedroom door. Lame. 

Getting to talk with everyone has really upped my spirits in a way I didn't expect. It's really odd how the little things just so happen to matter so much when even big things don't seem to matter as much anymore. Even I don't feel like I matter much anymore, but Larry, Ash, and Todd somehow manage to remind me that they care in their own little ways. Whether it's through goofy conversations that don't even include me or silly nicknames, they're the sole reason for my overflowing dopamine.

My feet pad through the hallway and into the kitchen where I get my hands on the #1 best struggle meal that America has to offer.

Microwaveable ramen. Beef, specifically.

The funniest thing about microwaveable ramen is that hardly anyone makes it the right way. And if you do make it the right way, great job! You have an extra brain cell. The rest of us heathens, on the other hand, put the little styrofoam cup in the radiation incubation tank anyway and call it a day. Warnings be damned. 

So I walk back to my room with my little cup of ramen, styrofoam nice and warm, fresh out the microwave for all my haters, and I plop back into my desk chair with chopsticks at the ready.

But my eyebrows furrow when I place my headset back on and catch up on the Discord conversation I'd walked away from.

Kween Pussy Popper: Can we get on a call now? I miss Vi and starting early is my excuse to talk to her now :(  Kween Pussy Popper: OMGGG!!! It's also a really big day bc Vi is going to be on camera for once!!! eeeee >.<

Subtract Thine Father: ya getin on now >:)

I scroll down on all our channels to find all four members of The Faces in Ash's VC. I'm late to the party. Now, the issue with this is... I'm stuck. My cursor hovers over the voice channel, but I just can't find it in myself to actually click on the thing. My finger lightly sits on top of the mouse, ready to press down but I can't. My heart physically jumps into my throat, choking me with emotion and grief and unadulterated fear that has absolutely no fucking business hanging around in my body like this.

Truth be told, I knew I'd get tired of my fear sooner or later. I'd get so tired that I'd just grab my issue by the balls and disrespect it doggy style. And I'm close-- so close to finally following through with this aggressive exhaustion. But I need one more excuse to tip me over the metaphorical edge. 

My chopsticks dip into my steaming ramen and pick up brothy goodness in noodle form. I slurp up the last bit of dignity I need to be restored and finally click on the option that launches me into the chat before I can stop myself again.

Only, when I do this, I'm staring at all four other members of our server... but also myself. Noodles hanging out of my mouth, broth drip-dropping onto my desk because I'm a messy eater. Dignity not restored, but even more lost in exchange. 

I love life so much. Note the sarcasm.

Larry grins while everyone else kind of watches me, stuck like a deer in headlights and unable to just eat my food like a normal human being. "Gobble, gobble, Closet Dweller," are Larry's first four physically spoken words to me since I hugged him goodbye in the Las Vegas airport about a week ago.

A small smile tugs at my own lips as I quickly suck the rest of my way too big bite of noodles into my mouth and, well, gobble as Larry suggested.

"Closet Dweller was targeted. I'm only a little offended, but I think that name would be better suited for Todd, right?" I ask, eyes glancing between Ash, Larry, and Todd on the screen while purposefully avoiding a no doubt brooding Sal. I refuse to look at him.

Ash's nose scrunches up in disagreement, her melodic voice flowing through my headphones to follow the action. "Todd is out of the closet. You, on the other hand, are still playing hide and seek behind your mom's pajamas like you're looking for a passage to Narnia. Plus, Todd is a renowned pegger."

Todd nods, pinching his lips together. I wait for him to laugh and say 'Jay kay' or something, you know, odd like he is, but he doesn't. And even freakier is that no one seems alarmed.

"He also has a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel' so no one is more worthy of that nickname than him. King Arthur ain't got shit on my guy," Ash chirps proudly, tilting her chin up with a little smirk on her lips. Her cat ear headphones glow a bright green, reflecting the joy and pride she feels regarding the nickname she came up with.

My eyebrows pinch together beneath my mask and my attention turns to Todd. "You have a shirt that says 'I got pegged at Cracker Barrel?'"

Todd gives me the sweetest little upside down smile and quickly rises from his seat, showing off the back wall of his room that is... plain as fuck, to be quite honest. But that's okay because Todd is organized, so it's only fair that his walls are organized as well. 

Todd reappears just two seconds later, holding up a long-sleeved, mustard yellow shirt that says exactly what he and Ash claimed it would.

I break into a face-splitting grin. "That's sick," I voice, moving closer to my computer to get a better look at the shirt. I didn't lie either. I'd assassinate some really important government leaders to get my hands on that.

"See! You're such a closet hermit!" Ash exclaims, pointing a finger at me with wide eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

"Since when?" I counter, crossing my arms over my chest good-naturedly. This is all in fun, Ash knows damn well I wouldn't have kissed her or even entertained the idea if I wasn't a little fruity. "Sal should get the nickname, he was the one trying to bed Hot Excalibur Emo Knight."

Yea, the acknowledgement and statement left my lips before I could remember that I was inadvertently giving Sally Face the silent treatment. Hades' personal hellhound is a taboo here. That man is a curse word in this house. I set myself up and now I have to put a quarter into my mental swear jar.

I note how Sal shifts in his seat out of the corner of my eye. Not that I care. In fact, I saw nothing.

"You're missing the point, Vi!" Ash shakes her head, faux disappointment marring her meticulously designed facial features. "Sal is out of the closet. He's as much of a cooked noodle as he is a raw one." Her distinction between gay and straight is fascinating. "You, on the other hand, are a recluse and hiding betwixt MawMaw bras and old, dusty infinity scarves from your mother's regretted youth. You want a different name, then come out of your hidey-hole already."

My jaw drops and I stare at my friend who looks quite proud of her outlandish accusations, even if they aren't so outlandish.

Larry is red-faced and Todd couldn't care less; he's too busy folding up his Cracker Barrel shirt. 

"How come I'm a target today?" I snicker, leaning my head on my fist as I look back at my best friend. 

"Because I'm feeling extra aggressive and a little frisky. In other words, the fruit is ripe. Flirt with me and I'll be in your bed within two to five business minutes," Ash winks at me, tongue swiping along her bottom lip.

I frown. "Well that sucks. I don't have any good pick-up lines. I only have really shitty psychology jokes. I guess I'll be sleeping alone tonight." I sigh and take another bite of ramen, dramatically looking off into the distance-- which is just the wall behind my computer. Blank space, baby.

"There's so much sexual tension packed into you two that I'm starting to suffocate," Larry pipes up, voice soft and astonished. "I'm drowning and I love it." He has stars in his wide, hickory-colored eyes.

I can't stop smiling. This expression is permanently etched onto my face, a tattoo. "We're just picking, Lar. Don't get your hopes up."

"Picking?" Ash gasps, feigning shock. She leans back with a hand to her chest. "All this time, your affection was a lie?"

"Alas, it was never real," I reply, dipping my head down to hide the my happy smile again. I have to play my part, but I can't do that with my face set like this.

Larry cackles in response. "The one woman you can't get, Ash!" He exclaims, wild giggles filtering through the call. I look up again, watching the way Ash's eyes narrow.

"I never thought this would happen to me. Not my Vivi..." She trails off, shutting her eyes to express her sadness.

"The fuck did you expect?" Larry prods, scooting close to his camera so that all we see is the bridge of his nose, dark eyes, and his thick brows-- one is arched in question. "Unicorn guts and fairy shit?" He quotes himself beautifully, reusing his remark from in-chat. "Fellatio and scissoring? This isn't Disney, Ash. If anything, we're wrapped up in a Grimm Brothers' fairytale."

I have to put my fist over my mouth to hide my reaction because that's the most accurate thing that Larry has said all day. And he even brought out big boy words like fellatio. Has he been studying?

Sal lets a boyish chuckle slip and my gaze cuts to him despite my better judgement. He's bent down, instinctually covering the mouth of his prosthetic, seemingly forgetting that we can't actually see his facial expression. It's such a normal action, one that I'm not used to when it comes to him. It's a moment where I can't look away. A rare moment where I get that weird feeling for him again-- one that I've only experienced maybe three times since meeting him. It's that domestic and naive feeling, where he's a normal person that I yearn for a bit. He's not an asshole, he's not hidden behind a prosthetic. He's just a guy that I know. A guy that I'd like to touch and see and feel on a deeper level.

I blink when he tilts his head back, revealing his pretty dagger tattoo and a veiny hand that runs through his hair. He pushes his fringe back, making little blue strands stick up in different directions.  

I can't help but straighten my sitting position. Slouching gone, body attentive. I don't know if I'm nervous, wary, excited, or stuck in some admiring state. But it's weird. And I do not want to be feeling it. I never asked for this.

And yea, he still looks the same. Painfully the same. Like a beacon in the dead of night. Tales of his past on his skin, his hair like streaks of bright cerulean paint on a canvas. The worst aspect of him is his eyes. They haunt me. 

He looks up at the camera again, having finally collected himself a few moments ago, showing off the feature of his that I loathe so much.

All the colors of an Aurora Borealis dance in his irises; the natural blue hue darkened into a teal from the lack of lighting. Little flashes of green and pale purple reflect onto his eyes from his computer screen, creating a kaleidoscope clash of colors that cover his entire prosthetic face. So many shades of life that mix to mimic something I've always wanted to witness for myself. I just didn't expect to see it in the eyes of who I both despise and desire most in this miserable life of mine. 

What the hell is wrong with me? How dare I fall into this kind of depression over Sal Fisher? No one has ever betrayed me as many times as I've betrayed myself at this point.

Ash's voice steals me from my mind's ruthless vices. "That's a pretty morbid scarf, Vi."

My gaze flicks to her and I scrunch my eyebrows again. "Scarf?" I ask. I'm not wearing a scarf. It's summer. In Los Angeles. "What scarf?" She's probably going to make some kind of joke that she's been holding out on for a while.

Ash scoots closer to her computer, eyes filled with confusion. They squint and she says, "Yea... scarf. It looks like a hand. Is it a hand?"

"Ash, what the fuck are you talking about? It's summer. Why would I wear a scarf?" I give her a bewildered look that's buffered by my mask, but the conversation attracts everyone else's attention too. Larry and Todd both move closer to their computers and, shockingly, Sal even tilts his head, eyes glued to the screen.

I look down, but I can't see anything near me or on me. Is this some elaborately planned joke or something?

"Uh," Todd says, voice a mix of confused and concerned, which sets off alarm bells in my head. "Yea. There's a hand. That's a hand."

I plan on answering, but then Ash screams and then something cold wraps around my throat and I scream in turn.

My reaction is instant-- I shove myself away from my desk, headset ripped off my head and the hand forced off of my neck. I hear a resounding 'oof' as I knock into something, or more like someone.

My room is dark, pitch black, so I leap off of my chair and into the darkness. My heart is racing a mile a minute, my hands shake with fear and adrenaline, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Who the fuck is in my room. What the fuck is going on?

I see the silhouette of a tall figure through the low light of my computer. It's bent a bit, pale arm wrapped around their stomach.

I back up toward my wall, listening to the quiet, panicked voices of my friends yelling for me to answer them from my headset. And then my phone rings in my pocket-- for fuck's sake-- so I have no choice but to rush to the knife hanging on the wall right beside my door (I'm paranoid and clearly for good reason) and flick on my bedroom light, ready to launch and attack whoever's dumb enough to be here.

I hold my breath, wide-eyed with a war drum hammering away at my chest as light floods my room. I'm going to either get charged with homicide or be the homicidee. Is that even a word?-- actually, I don't care. It's a word now.

But as soon as I see the supposed figure squinting in the sudden brightness, I'm so relieved that I nearly fall to my knees, whimpering despite how embarrassing that might seem to someone else.

The Faces start yelling again.

"Did I scare you?" His hypnotizing, baritone voice fills me with an eerie calm that melts away the string of adrenaline keeping me afloat as of present.

"And my friends who think I'm about to be murdered? Of fucking course, you thundercunt," I hiss, stomping over to what I previously thought was going to be my demise.

"That's for never bringing back my screwdriver."

I roll my eyes, groaning in a mix of anger and exasperation once I stand in front of my neighbor and long-time friend. Nate looks down at me with a handsome little smirk on his full lips and forever messy black waves hanging over his forehead. "Fuck you," I grunt, taking a step past him to kick in the back of his knees. Said knees buckle and he yelps, quickly catching himself with a hand on my shoulder as a deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

I grab my headset off the ground and lean down so my friends can see me. I watch relief flood their faces instantly, with the exception of Sal, of course. I grab my mic without putting the headset on and say "I'll be right back."

Setting them back down, I turn away from The Faces and look to Nate again, arms crossed over my chest. I pull my mask off just so he can see how astronomically pissed I am.

The asshole only laughs harder. The charm in that singular sound alone makes me want to punch him in the face. 

Nathaniel Emilio Luis Espinosa has been a daredevil since I met him, always raging over danger and reaching for that incomparable fear factor. He has lots of personality, and a lot of that personality has been met with a chancla to the face, courtesy of his overprotective mamá that won't take his bullshit even after she's in the grave. 

And that's why Mrs. Lucía and I are besties at heart. And in sandals.

But to go with Nate's desperate yearning for bad things is social anxiety. He hardly ever leaves his apartment and he'll claw at his walls to stay inside. I think that's why he's more than happy to make brownies for me and get absolutely decimated in Mario Kart whenever he comes to visit-- he isn't really leaving the apartment building, but he isn't alone either. 

He's also quite a looker. I have no doubt that if Sal ever met him, he'd be drooling all over the guy. Nate has sharp facial features that are just... perfect in almost every way. Little beauty marks on different sections of his face, angular nose, a jawline that could cut air. Everything is only accentuated by his shoulder length, wavy, midnight black hair that he hates so much (all he ever talks about is how aggravating the upkeep is) and his equally as dark eyes that still entrance me to this day. Plus, he's tall. 6'4 last I checked and built like Stonehenge-- gorgeous and unbreakable. 

Basically, he has no problem getting pussy. I'm never concerned about his sex life. His love life, on the other hand...

"You're in deep shit," I huff out, looking away from my friend who grins proudly. I move over to my bed-side table and dig in the one drawer it has, pulling out his beloved screwdriver. I turn back to him and hold it up for him to see, waving it dramatically before walking back over to him.

I grab his hand and slap it into his palm. "You're lucky I don't scrape off your kneecaps for that. I ought to call your mom and tell her what you've done. I could have had a stroke!"

Nate's eyebrows pinch together as if to sarcastically say 'sure bitch' but then he seems to process what I said. He suddenly hisses and his sable eyes go wide. "Please, I'm actually really sorry. Don't call my mom."

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't," I counter with, stepping up so we're nearly chest-to-chest.

"Because you love me," Nate bats his eyelashes at me, but that ship sailed years ago. He can't get me with that look anymore. He licks his lips, pink tongue darting out quickly. "And because I'll make brownies for you every week for the next month?" he tacks on.

I purse my lips. "Let me continue to borrow your screwdriver and it's a done deal."

Nate looks like a kicked puppy over our game of deal-or-no-deal. But he accepts anyway, sniffling over his loss. 

"How did you even get into my apartment?" I ask with a scoff, putting my mask back on and plopping into my desk chair. I face my friends who watch me in confusion, terror, and intrigue. 

"With the key you gave me. Duh," Nate says matter-of-factly, walking up behind me. I need to go get checked out or something because how could I forget that I gave Nate a key? "What's with the mask?" he asks.

I suck in a breath. "That's a really long story for another time," I tell him, grabbing hold of my headset and situating it back on. 

Nate leans over me, settling his chin on my shoulder from behind as his hands grip the armrests on my chair. I watch him through my camera as he gazes at my screen, meeting the eyes of The Faces. 

Tongue in cheek, I address my friends again. "Sorry, I'm not a victim of murder," I say quickly. "this is my neighbor, Nate."

Larry blinks, "Oh. He's brownie boy?" I snort. "He's kinda..." A sexy grin forms on his face and I roll my eyes. 

"Yea, he'd love to hear that," I say pointedly, glancing at Nate who's still hanging around.

"Wait," Nate murmurs, lifting his head and moving closer to the screen. "Why are you talking? You're just watching a video, right?"

"You're late to the party," I tell him, unable to stop myself from giggling a bit. "This is a discord call. With The Faces. I know you've heard of them, I talk about Ash all the time." 

"Of course I've heard of them. I just... didn't think you meant this Ash," he says bashfully, shaking his head a bit so his hair falls into his eyes. It's a little anxiety thing of his, makes his hair fall into his face in an attempt to hide however much he can. 

I put my hand over his that's still holding onto my armrest in hopes of both calming and reassuring him. He gets so nervous...

He lets out a little sigh behind me before setting his chin on my shoulder again. He doesn't say another word. That skill is lost on him at the moment, which is a frequent thing for him in social and social-ish settings. 

I look back to my other friends and give them a little smile, but they're still staring. They look so confused that they don't know how to act, which, okay. Fair.

And all is quiet up until Sal talks for the first time since the call started.

"You moved on from the hot knight pretty quickly." 

It's said in a very... suggesting way. It makes my eye twitch in response. It's so aggravating that he still manages to piss me off by simply breathing. I swear if his mic was too close to his face right now and I heard him take a breath, I'd have to fly to Nockfell just to slap him. 

"Hot knight is still on my list," I say tastelessly. "But I didn't see him interested in you so I don't understand why he's a topic."

I watch Sal's eyes narrow in agitation and I match his emotions and expression. He thinks he's so important. What was the point of bringing up Timothy the knight? He's been quiet this entire call. Why couldn't he have just stayed that way?

"I can talk about whatever I want. You just piss me off. Your boyfriend tried to kill you and he's getting in on our call. I have an issue with his presence. Yours too, honestly," Sal says, voice monotonous and bored, like it's a waste of his time to have to explain himself.

"He's not my boyfriend, jackass," I say in a grating voice. I'm at that tired point again. Just fucking tired of him... and not at the same time. Part of me is yearning for the aggression. The vexation. The resentment we share for each other and all the delicious arguments and loathing it brings. I miss it-- everything before we embarked on our short-lived shit-uationship. "And I have an issue with your presence too. You piss me off. I see why Ash nicknamed you two-face-- you're so nice to everyone, but you're a wolf in sheep's clothing. You're actually just a lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet."

"Damn," Larry hisses, leaning back in his chair and staring at his screen like he's been stabbed. "I felt that in my prostate."

Nate's head moves from my shoulder and I turn to address him, but end up watching his form crumple to the floor in a heap of laughing mess. He shoots me a quick thumbs up, but whether it was an agreement, pride, or to tell me he's okay-- I'm not sure.

Ash is holding herself together by a thread, bottom lip between her teeth as tears well in her eyes. She doesn't dare blink, or else those tears will fall (and crash around me, or whatever Bullet For My Valentine once said).

"You're lucky as fuck that I'm not in your general vicinity," Sal barks out, fire blazing in his otherwise frosty eyes.

"Or what?" I taunt, tilting my head. He wouldn't hit me. He's a self-proclaimed feminist after all, if that's even true. So what would he do? Punish me? Tarnish my squeaky clean online image? He could still do that without being in my general vicinity. That statement was so loaded that I'm starting to get a little nervous...

"Military weapons-grade, apocalypse-inducing, soul-severing revenge. That's all," Sal says nonchalantly. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed and ring-clad fingers tapping his biceps. And he's... hot. And terrifying. And so, so infuriating. I hate him.

"I'd like to see you try all that," I reply, sucking my teeth. In truth, I'm not as on top of my shit as I could be because I'm still upset and confused over him. I'm angry, but not enough to properly express it. Sal's been an issue from the start, but now he's becoming even more of one.

"Watch me," is his snarky reply. And I know I can't actually determine if it's me he's staring at like that, but the feeling I get says that his glare is baring right into my image on his screen. I can feel his detest across the country, aimed directly at me. It makes a shiver run down my spine and I grip my armrests tighter.

"Is that a threat?" I bite out, swallowing thickly.

His eyes light up a bit, and then they squint. Almost like he's smiling. And then he says, in a sickeningly gentle and dark voice, "It's a promise."

________________

A/N::::: On today's episode of Ryver Rhoulette: is that a decomp stain or is it just moldy cum?

SORRY anyway, HI I AM BACK <333 i spent most of my break sick and suffering from writer's slump... it's not a block because i know what i wanna write, just couldn't get the thoughts out o_e

first off, i know this chapter is a little shorter and i'm sorry about that. i know it's been a while, so i definitely owe you guys a LOT more content than what's in here (especially since it's pretty much filler...) but next chapter is going to be VERY fun :D i can't promise or predict when the next chapter will be, but i have plenty of time to work on it before i go back to school on january 12th! so if not soon, definitely whenever college starts up because i have a yucky habit of procrastinating and getting WONDERFUL fic ideas instead of doing work >:)

also of note: i will be posting a Sal-lore chapter again soon. it may come before the next Faceless Fixation canon chapter, just fair warning. i literally have no idea which i will get inspo for first LOL

until next time, my sweet doves! i love you all so infinitely much <33 have a great morning/day/evening/night! sending big squishes and loves :3

P.S. GUESS WHO NATE IS BASED ON I FUCKING LOVE HIM SO MUCH LIHEIWHEL