For dead solo Rumi. How the heck does Bobby respond? How does Celine if/when she finds out she was Miyeong’s daughter? Does she learn about Bobby and get her hands on her birth certificate?
Bobby doesnt know his daughter died until she returned as a full demon. He ends up with a sword and tries to kill Celine. She disarms him, but doesnt stop him or fight back as he jumps on her and starts hitting her.
It’s not until Jinu jumps in to pull him off that he realizes he’s scaring Rumi. He refuses to let Zomira or Celine into the bar, or his house, so he can keep them from Rumi.
He is 10x worse the solo!Rumi when it comes to the guilt tripping. Hes constantly reminding the three hunters what happened to his daughter, and always blames Celine.
Oof. Celine ended up sending in the blood before she killed the demon, so she assumed the blood just vanished as well. So imagine her shock to get a call to come in to talk about it.
It feels like her whole world view gets ripped in half when she finds out she killed miyeongs daughter. That, on top of killing the third Hunter, sends her into a depressive episode very similar to what happened after Miyeong died originally.
When Mira and Zoey say they can sense their third again, shes elated. She might have killed the last piece of Miyeong she would ever have, but at least she didn’t kill the third Hunter!
…
It’s not an understatement to say Celine almost tries to join Miyeong in the ground, in the following days.
She learns about Bobby when he tries to stab her, and then subsequently starts punching the crap out of her. She doesn’t even acknowledge a demon pulling Bobby off, she just can’t find it in herself to care at that moment.
Because shes responsible for destroying another generation of hunters.
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In which Bobby signs Dean up for dance classes one summer. Fluff then angst. Now posted to ao3
One time when the boys (11 and 7) are staying at Bobby’s for the summer, he catches Dean staring into the window of a local dance studio. Assuming he’s ogling the girls practicing, he cuffs him on the back of the head and tells him to quit gawking and keep moving.
It’s not until later that night, when he hears light thumping from upstairs after he told the boys to go to bed an hour ago and goes to scold them, that he finds Dean with headphones on trying to replicate the moves he had seen that afternoon. Thats when he realized it wasn’t Dean just being hormonal and girl crazy but having an actual interest in dance. He tries to slip back out before he’s noticed but that’s right when Dean does a turn and freezes. Bobby feels like shit as he watches the happy and carefree look on his face melt into fear and panic as he rips the headphones off and tries to stutter out some excuse. He tries to reassure him it’s fine but that’s only seems to make things worse.(Maybe “relax, twinkle toes” wasn’t the best way to phrase it) Finally he just cuts him off and tells Dean he’s got ten minutes before he duct taps his ass to the bed because he’s got things to do in the morning and he’ll be damned if he has to manually drag him out of bed. Dean nods in agreement and ten minutes later the light but now more hesitant thumps stop all together.
It takes two days for Dean to stop avoiding him . Well, two days for Bobby to finally grab him by the shoulder and tell him to stop his damn sulking already. He gets hit with a 'yes sir' that makes his stomach sour.
The next day he calls up that dance studio and asks if they have openings for a boy under thirteen in any of their classes. They have a few. There’s a hip hop class, a jazz class, a tap class, and a ballet class. They tell him his son can come in for a free trial run before he commits to any particular class (Bobby doesn’t bother correcting them)
It takes another two days for him to finally bring up the idea to Dean. The kid isn’t avoiding as much him but he’s still not making eye contact like he did before and keeps conversations to a minimum. Bobby has to practically corner him with a plastic bag that has two new pairs of sweatpants, two new black shirts, and some new socks that the studio had recommended. He hands it to him and tells him he’s got tap on Thursday at 5 and ballet on Saturday at 11. The studio has rental shoes for him and if he likes it Bobby can scrounge up a new pair for him. Dean tries to deny any interest but Bobby just shoves the bag into his arms and tells him to just try the damn thing and he better not be late.
Bobby doesn’t stick around to watch like some of the other parents do. Dean's already to nervous about this and having him watch will probably make him quit all together. He tires Sam out at the park instead. When he comes back to pick him up an hour and a half later, Dean is beaming and so is the instructor. She tells him Dean is a natural with fast reflexes and solid rhythm that would make a great addition to the class. On the drive home Dean excitedly tells him about the cool moves he learned and how he’s already doing stuff other kids who had been in the class for more than a month can do while Sam naps in the back seat.
Saturday rolls around and Dean’s excited energy is palpable. He’s practically vibrating while he helps Bobby prepare breakfast (Bobby hates that he does this, wanting him to just sit back and be a kid for once but Dean gets jittery when he’s not helping out so he allows it) At 10:30 he’s dressed and ready to go even though they don’t have to leave for another fifteen minutes. When they arrive Dean's enthusiasm seems to fizzle out and Bobby has to damn near shove him through the door. He decides to stick around that time, he’s got a library book, two coloring books, and an action figure to keep Sam busy. Dean stays at the back of the class, looking unsure as he glances around the class of twelve girls and only one other boy. His nervous energy is gone after they go through warm ups and stretches. He finally looks like he’s enjoying himself when they get to the part about feet positions and turns. It almost falters when he makes eye contact with Bobby for the first time but he’s prepared for that and shoots the kid a fast thumbs up and is rewarded with a smile.
His teacher was right. Dean picks up everything fast. He takes corrections better than anyone else in the class and Bobby tries not to think about that too hard. He wants to curse John out more than ever when he thinks about the shooting and sparing practice instructions he had left him, along with asking him to teach Dean how to get out of different knots. This is what kids should be doing, not learning how to kill and avoid being killed.
The instructor (a different one this time, the first had been blonde and young this one was red headed and closer to middle age) approaches Bobby after and all but begs him to enroll Dean. Not only is the class desperate for boys so they can do more lifts (which Dean immediately brightens at) but Dean is spectacular and it would be a waste of talent if he didn’t. He enrolls Dean in the summer courses for both classes that same day. Dean gives him a fierce hug and thanks him a thousand times over. That afternoon he gets Dean a pair of his own tap shoes and a pair of ballet slippers, both in black.
Dean gets anxious about the money that’s being spent but Bobby waves him off. Business is doing fine and it’s not like he’s got any one else to spend it on. He tells him doing his chores is payment enough. From then on, the bathroom is cleaner than ever and Dean never has to be reminded about setting the table or putting dishes away.
They fall into a steady routine that’s almost normal. He still takes Dean shooting and quizzes him on lore, but only enough to keep him sharp. And Dean keeps salt, a small bottle of holy water, and an iron ring in his dance bag. On Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Bobby takes Sam to the park or the library after dropping Dean off unless he asks them to stay. On the drive back Dean recounts everything that happened in class and they pick up a treat, sometimes takeout other times ice cream.
And Dean is thriving. He dances any chance he gets. Around the house (although his tap shoes are limited to the kitchen or outside on an old piece of plywood so he doesn’t fuck up the wood flooring), through the aisles when they grocery shop. He even dances with Sammy, using him to practice the minor lifts he’s been taught while Sam giggles up a storm. There’s a recital at the end of August and Bobby’s already got a blank tape set aside with “Dean’s Dance 1990” written in black sharpie on the label. Dean makes friends with the kids in his class. He trades comics with the other boy there and argues with him about who the best superhero is. The girls adore him and not because he’s pulling his typical playground Casanova routine. Bobby can tell it’s different from the way they slug his arm at pick up and he pretends it hurts or how they sneak clips into his hair when he’s not looking and fall over laughing when he snatches them out. (There’s three butterfly clips in the truck’s cup holder from times Dean didn’t notice until they had already driven off) Bobby overhears the girls trying to convince Dean to learn how to french braid which he vehemently says no to but Bobby later finds him practicing on Sam. He's got four different types of braided friendship bracelets tied to the handle of his duffle and he actually gets calls on the main phone line asking if Dean is available to play or go to birthday parties.
For the first time in a long time he looks at Dean and sees an actual kid instead of a soldier shoved inside a too small body.
It’s all perfect. Until John shows up two weeks earlier than he said he would be. A true rarity from the eldest Winchester. Dean and Sam both run into their father’s arms and Dean only lets his face fall for half a second when John announces they’re heading to the east coast and to pack their bags for tomorrow. Bobby tries to argue that they should stay for the time they were promised but John waves him off. He’s already got them enrolled at a school in Maryland that starts on August 30th, the same day as Dean’s would-be recital.
Dean plays it cool, telling all about John how he can shoot down ten cans with ten bullets in under five seconds now and redirecting to how Sammy’s starting on chapter books already when Sam tries to talk about “Dee’s special classes”. But that night, when Bobby does his nightly check ins, he finds Dean face down in his pillow doing his best to muffle his sobs.
Bobby says nothing. There’s nothing he could say that would make Dean feel any better. He can’t tell him it’ll be alright, because it won’t. He can’t tell him it’s for the best, because it’s not. He can’t tell him he’ll figure something out, because he can’t. He has no real claim to the kids. He can’t tell John to fuck off and leave them be. He certainly can’t tell him why Dean should stay since it would only piss him off and Dean would have to face all the repercussions on his own. The whole situations sucks and Bobby wants to kick himself for leading Dean into something that could cause him so much grief and disappointment.
So he just sits there, perched on the edge of the mattress, rubbing soothing circles into Dean’s shuddering back as he mourns yet another aspect of his childhood lost. Another part of himself he has to push to the side for the sake of his father’s moronic revenge quest.
As the Impala kicks up dust with the Winchesters in tow, Bobby finds Dean’s dance shoes messily shoved far under the bed. He takes them and tucks them into his own closet. By the time the boys stay again, Dean has out grown the shoes by at least two sizes. Not like it matters, Dean doesn’t mention dance again. He acts like a demon splashed with holy water every time Bobby tries to bring it up. He straight up leaves and goes for a two hour walk when he mentions the dance instructors have been asking about him. Bobby has a feeling Dean hid out in one of the abandoned cars but he gives him his space. When they go into town he walks with hunched shoulders and fully ignores the girls that squeal "omg Dean is that you?!" It's like he's erased any part of that summer from his mind, completely scrubbed clean.
He still catches glimpses of it in Dean sometimes. Small fleeting moments. In the way he finds his balance after taking a hard hit. Or how he stretches out his sore muscles, same way he was taught to do for 2 and a half months. He sees it in the spark that flashes in his eyes for only a moment when a tv commercial invites viewers to the South Dakota Performing Arts Center for a rendition of The Nutcracker, before it’s stamped out with a snort and Dean calling it gay as he changes the channel with a forced nonchalance. Bobby takes a swig of his beer to ignore the tightness in his chest when he thinks about how Dean could be on that stage, had he fought a bit harder for him. How he’d be icing sore feet right now instead of a dislocated shoulder and three broken fingers he won’t ever get properly set.
Bobby can never find the will to throw out the dance shoes. He doesn’t even donate them. Because although he’ll never wear them again and he’d probably deny their existence if it was ever brought up, they're still Dean's and he can’t bear to toss away the memories of that last sliver of lost childhood. So they stay in that closet, collecting dust for decades, until the fateful day the house itself gets turned to dust.
Bobby dies never knowing Dean still holds that love for dance deep in his heart. That he’s gone off on his own to watch ballets on stage and movies about it in secret. That it’s still so deep at 33 years old, a pair of cursed pointe shoes that targets dedicated ballerinas calls out to him like a siren song. That when he’s knocked out on laughing gas, he dreams of a tap routine he learned three decades ago that never got to see the stage, etched in his brain like the day he learned it.
He never knows Dean regards that summer as one of the best of his life.
Bobby made a list of all the possible things that could’ve gone wrong that day. He was going to update it that night, once the show was done and they had rocked out the Orpheum. It started out great. The four boys woke up with hardly any sleep in them because of their excitement for the day, but nothing could kill their adrenaline for the day ahead of them. Even Bobby, who usually tried to hide his emotions, was almost all smiles that morning. They all got their parents to agree to let them stay the night in the studio.
“Just think, later tonight we could have a manager and we could finally get big like we’ve always dreamed!” Luke said, being the band’s usual hype man. Reggie nodded,
“Yeah! Who knows what’s gonna happen tonight, but it’s gonna be a big night.” Alex smiled in response, but the band knew the fact that their entire future was almost riding on that night, it would make him more anxious than the rest of them. They were all anxious about it, of course, but they wouldn’t let it take away from their excitement in any way.
“No matter what happens I’m sure everything will turn out good in the end.” Bobby tried subtly reassuring Alex, which didn’t do much, but Alex appreciated the attempt.
“Yeah for sure.” he nodded. They knew he wouldn’t wanna ruin their fun with this, so they all shared a look and immediately knew what to do.
“Hey, let’s go check out the area. Maybe we’ll be able to meet some fans!” Reggie got his big grin, opening the garage doors for them to start on their quest to calm Alex down at least in the slightest.
Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 1. An instrument could get damaged.
They ended up seeing some people already lining up outside the orpheum, waiting just so they could get good spots. All of their hearts felt like they were flying when they saw the sight. Alex actually got a real smile at that, not the one he gave them to make them feel better.
“Luke, are you sure you wanna open with ‘Now or Never’?” Bobby questioned him, “It kinda feels like one we should save for last, y’know, to really blow them all away. It’s our song we always hear the most positive response to.”
“That’s exactly why we gotta start with it, man! We gotta show everyone how good we are, catch them by surprise and keep them on the edge of their seats. I don’t want them to just enjoy us at the end, we gotta keep them going the whole time!” Bobby couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s enthusiasm.
“All right, fine, but if the crowd doesn’t seem as passionate about the rest, don’t blame me.” Reggie chuckled and put his arm around his friends.
“I say we go check out the area and see if we wanna get something to eat and we just kill time for a while before we go and rehearse.”
~♧~
That’s what they did for a while, they ended up having a lot of fun and they managed to get their nerves set aside and that allowed them to get fully excited for the show later that night.
“Hey, do any of you wanna hear my joke about the blunt pencil? Oh it doesn’t matter, it’s pointless.” Bobby said, and he got an evil grin at the sound of his friends letting out an annoyed groan.
“No, I want to hear it!” Reggie said excitedly, which only made his friends get more tired of them.
“Reggie that-” at the look on Reggie’s face Alex just paused and sighed, “okay.”
Luke decided to ignore the terrible puns going on and turned to his friends. “Hey, let’s go do that sound check- we don’t wanna not be ready for our performance.”
~♧~
“You sure you don’t wanna go with them? I’m not sure you’ll be able to occupy yourself for two hours.” Rose smiled at him,
“Nah, they’ll be fine. I’m not sure even they could fuck everything up in the time they go get food and come back.“ Bobby chuckled, trying to come up with more flirty lines but given his tendency to use terrible puns, he’s not exactly the best with flirting either.
It had been almost an hour and a half since they’d left. Bobby knew it might’ve taken them awhile to find food and get it but it shouldn’t be taking them this long.
“Bobby, I say we just go out and search for them. Maybe they lost track of time and we just need to go get them.” Rose suggested to the anxious guitar player.
“No- No, they wouldn’t ever lose track of time. This means the world to them. They’ll be here. I know they will. Even if they died, they’d find a way to play the Orpheum.” Bobby started pacing back and forth. They both knew he was just trying to convince himself at that point, “They wouldn’t miss this.”
Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 2.The equipment is messed up.
“Luke, R-Reggie” Alex croaked out, tears streaming down his cheeks from the pain. They didn’t respond. Alex felt everything inside him stop. They were gone. The pain from the hotdogs weren’t even anything compared to the loss he felt. Alex screamed, his two best friends just died. He started coughing up blood, everyone around him trying to save the boy but knowing they couldn’t.
“Please, I don’t wanna die.”
Bobby started getting a little upset at them for taking this long, they had missed the rest of rehearsal and they only had minutes before they were supposed to go on stage. Why were they taking so long?
“I don’t wanna go to hell.” He begged.
Bobby could hear everyone chanting just thirty feet away. They were late, he couldn’t go on without them. He felt everything in his body freeze up when he saw the doors open, he hoped it was them.
The last thing Alex heard was a thumping noise filling his ears, slowing down into nothing, and a scream.
“Are you Robert?”
Bobby nodded, a wave of fear washing over him. He knew it would be bad but nothing could prepare him for why this man was here.
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but.. You won’t be playing tonight.”
“Alex Mercer, time of death at 10:24 PM”
Bobby stopped breathing for a moment, “What do you mean?”
Everything felt like a blur after that.
“Kid, I don’t know how to tell you this.” the next words felt as if they were being said through a loudspeaker, as Bobby was underwater. “Your bandmates all passed away about half an hour ago.”
Bobby’s list of things that could go wrong - 3.One of them is late.
Bobby was completely calm with the next few words. “Why wasn’t I told right away?” It caught the officer off guard. He shifted, slightly worried at how easily this kid was taking the loss of his friends.
“We had to fix everything up and tell their parents-” before the officer could even finish, Bobby took his guitar off and smashed it right at his feet, which would have hurt like hell if he had cared enough to notice. Bobby was now shaking, but no one could tell if it was out of anger or pain. He had a look that they couldn’t read. He looked at the broken guitar, feeling a mix of dread and relief from doing that. By now, the crowd had started to get quiet after the loud crash of the guitar.
Still trying to stay completely calm, he responded “I’m sorry about that officer. I gotta go, now.” Bobby started walking off only to be stopped.
“We’re gonna have to take you in for investigation. We apologise, but we have to go down to the office.” Bobby paused for a moment, staring off into the distance before he burst into tears. He collapsed, and Rose rushed forward to help him. She’d still been in shock about the whole situation. Just hours ago, she flirted with people who are now dead.
“I- I did this, didn’t I?” Bobby whispered to Rose, she felt her heart break. The officer got more suspicious, thinking this was some kind of act. To try and trick them, he confesses to the act and acts broken about it so no one truly suspects him. People can think that sometimes, when they aren’t the ones affected by the situation.
“We’re going down to the office right now, if you try to resist I will have to arrest you. I don’t wanna do that to a kid, so let’s just go right now and we can get it all settled.” Bobby stood up, but he couldn’t feel his legs. The noise from earlier came back - like he was underwater, pushing up against the waves and trying to escape, but losing the fight. The officer held him by the arm and pulled him along.
~♧~
“Why didn’t you go with them to have the hot dogs?” Officer Smith asked. Bobby glanced at the voice recorder, still feeling like none of this was real.
“I stayed behind to talk with Rose.” He knew how stupid it sounded. They’d already gone over it but he was already interrogated and ripped apart by that. Bobby couldn’t believe how stupid it sounded, either.
Officer Smith was clearly exhausted, he hadn’t gotten any real evidence so far and he tried doubling down on questions but it wasn’t working. He sighed, pressing stop on the voice recorder.
“Alright, well, we’re gonna let you go home but we’ll have to schedule another interrogation.” Bobby yet again felt like he was pushed underwater. He wanted to say it was him, it was all his fault. He should’ve stopped them, but he didn’t. That might as well make him a killer. He wanted to scream at the officer, to tell him it was all his fault. “You should’ve stopped them” he felt a voice whisper. That voice was him. Bobby knew that. But it didn’t hurt any less. Now the water he’s fighting against is a raging sea, and it’s pitch black out. He can’t tell which way is up and which is down.
Bobby nodded, and got up to leave. As soon as he left the interrogation room, he felt free, though. He felt as if the moon was finally shining a light for him to see which way to go. He started running, he had to tell them about what just happened. How he got into trouble with the police, they’d be concerned but they’re the only ones he can see right now.
He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life before, nearly getting hit by several cars. He saw a girl, she was sitting there in shock. He slowed down just a bit, he heard her muttering something about flirting with death. Bobby recognized her as one of the fans who was lined up outside the Orpheum earlier. He decided not to mess with it, he needed to see his friends.
Bobby was halfway home, and he started to go numb again. They won’t be there. Bobby shook those thoughts away, they would be there. They had to be. Maybe he just... imagined the last few hours. They haven’t even rehearsed yet.
As soon as Bobby opened the doors, he knew it was all real. The only thing he could see, was a dark, empty room. He collapsed to the ground, and this time, the numbness didn’t die down.
The only way Bobby knew he was crying- no, sobbing at that point - was because his neighbor came out to see what had happened. So as soon as the old woman saw her neighbor sitting there, sobbing like he’d just lost the most important thing in the world to him, she had to see if he was okay.
When she went up to him and tapped him on his shoulder, he didn’t even react. He was still crying, staring at the dark garage.
Bobby was thinking of all he just lost.
He’d lost Luke, the passionate writer of the group. Luke was the one in the first place to have come up with the idea of them being in a band together. Him and Luke had been friends since they were at least seven years old. He was there for Luke’s birthday when he first got his guitar, he remembered the excitement Luke had on his face. He was there for all of it, he and Luke worked together on a lot of songs. Luke, the one who would tease him and have fun with almost everything they did. Luke, who he let stay in his garage because his parents wouldn’t let him play music.
Then there was Reggie, the sweet and innocent soul that Bobby had met next, they hadn’t been friends for quite as long but they got along really well. Bobby regretted every time he didn’t take one of Reggie’s offers for hugs, even if they were joke offers. He rarely wrote music with Reggie but he remembered hearing his country songs and country was never Bobby’s style but he definitely liked Reggie’s country songs. They held passion and happiness, it was Reggie’s escape just as much as it was Luke’s.
Then there was Alex, the one who used to have a really good family life. He and his parents always got along, they always let him play music. They didn’t like the idea of him being in a band, but they never tried to stop him. Then he came out and all that changed. He was one of the most talented and humble people Bobby had ever met. He was kind and also the most sarcastic and snarky person Bobby had ever met.
He’d lost them.
“Robert, are you okay?” He got snapped out of his thoughts as he looked at his neighbor with tears still streaming down his face. How could he be alright? His entire world just collapsed around him. He lost everyone he loved. But Bobby couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even open his mouth.
He recalls a time once, when he was younger, at the beach. Before he met any of the guys. He’s surprised he even remembers a time before them - he’s known them for what feels like his entire life. He was always a good swimmer, growing up by the water, but being small and easily pushed over left him defenseless as a particularly strong wave pulled him under. He remembers feeling helpless. Wondering if he might drown.
Sitting there, in the studio, he thinks that he might as well stay under and let the water fill his lungs.
The entirety of the next few months, that feeling stayed the same. He’d hardly spoken a word to anyone, so his parents made him go to a therapist, but they didn’t understand why he would look past him and mutter random words, why the parents said he talks to himself almost all day. Of course, they knew the boy had lost his best friends , but with how Bobby seemed to handle every other problem in life, they knew that this broke him.
Bobby had to see his therapist at least once a week for many, many years. But Bobby never felt the same. Yes, he was freed of any suspicion under having killed them by the police. But he still felt like he was being pushed farther underwater by large waves, and he’d accepted that he’d never get out of that ocean.
He changed his name, found new people, and even started to make music again. But he couldn’t write any new music. Nothing good, anyway. He couldn’t do it without his band, his family. Every time he released a song, he just felt more numb. More cold.
He felt moments of happiness, yes. He felt that with Olivia, who he was with for a long time. He had new friends. He had many, many fans. But somehow, none of it felt like it would ever change the fact that he lost his family.
Only a few years later, he saw the sunlight. His little girl, Carrie. His hope, his joy. Olivia and him had split up, but he knew he could provide the best life for her. He might not be able to get out of the ocean, but he can see his way around now. It didn’t have to change his loss of his friends, it didn’t change his guilt, but he had something to live for.
Bobby centered fic with a slight hint of rebby/boggie. Word count: 1306
WARNING: QUICK HOMOPHOBIC SLUR AND DISCUSSIONS OF DEATH
You know there’s a feeling you can’t quite describe.
A gaping hole in your chest, something irreplaceable. Death is a weird thing. Something is just...suddenly out of existence. It’s just gone. And you can’t do anything about it. No take backs, no redoes, you’re out of lives. It’s just Over. The worst part about it is that it can happen so suddenly. To anyone. Anywhere. Anytime.
It’s not a feeling you think about often. One he didn’t anyways, until you experience it. Bobby didn’t like to think about death. He didn’t like to think about things being Permanent. It’s something he always tried to ignore. He lived life in the fast lane. Lived it like it was now or never. He didn’t always think about the consequences of his actions and didn’t worry about the last words he spoke to someone because he’d see them once more.
Until he didn’t.
Bobby Wilson’s life was turned upside in one night and not in the way he had initially expected. It was the night. The night that was going to change their lives. They were gonna be legends! Hell, they kind of were. But not in the way Bobby had ever expected.
Reduced to a tragic news article.
And people moved on. They were sad for a few days and then they had the luxury of suddenly no longer giving a shit. Acting like this..this hadn’t changed the entire course of everything Bobby had ever known.
Like Bobby’s whole world hadn’t been ripped clean out of his hands.
His best friends, gone without a chance to say goodbye. No one understood. No one understood why he couldn’t look at a hot dog and not want to sob his eyes out. Why listening to Whitney Houston felt like a punch in the gut. Why he could never pick up another red flannel again. Why an orange beanie made him go pale in the face. No one fucking understood.
What it was like.
To have everything completely gone in a matter of one night. A set of monumental hours. What it’s like to just have seen your best friends and for them to just. Not exist anymore.
When you had just spent hours reassuring a pink hoodie clad boy that he was going to do amazing the night before. When you had stolen his drumsticks and ran around the room, making sure you got laughter out of the tallest of the bunch, making sure his nerves fluttered away like butterflies and his eyes crinkled up into a smile that made life worth living.
When you just held a puppy reincarnated as a man in your arms, reassuring him that his parents would finally see the worth in music. That life was going to pick up from here, and they were going to play the song they’d slaved over for forever. Letting his friends' words out into the world so everything left unspoken finally got said out loud. That Emily would understand. That his home didn’t have to be Bobby’s dingy little loft anymore.
When you had been hyping yourself up to ask out the beautiful boy all fucking night, the one with raven hair and dark emerald eyes who lights up your world like no one else can. When you were just holding him a few nights before everything went down, singing soft words and comforting him down from the loud yelling he’d just run from.
When they were suddenly all gone.
All of them. Three of them, in one fucking fell swoop.
In what world was that fair? What on earth had Bobby done? To deserve something like this. To have this guilt that eats away at him, picking the skin from his limbs and deserting him to the bone.
That night. They believed he had abandoned him to flirt with some random girl. Saying he didn’t eat hot dogs, couldn’t kill an animal. When really he was planning out the perfect way to ask his best friend out. To have the perfect end to a perfect night.
He should’ve chickened out. Because at least then he’d be at their side.
But no. Bobby is here right now, the one sole survivor. The angry man who hid pain behind walls he’d spent nights building while going through remnants that remained.
He remembers the first time he lashed out. He was in the hall, retrieving something from his locker when he heard a group of boys talking. Gossiping. They were amongst those who could just move on. Who couldn’t see Bobby crumbling as they laughed and joked. One of them had the audacity to say “Well that faggot got what he deserved in the end anyways.”
Bobby had tapped the guy’s shoulder, and he didn’t even think before his fist was flying through the air.
That event was just the tiny snowball that started it all. It got it rolling down the hill, collecting more and more snow along the way before it was out of Bobby’s control and causing more damage than he ever thought possible.
Fighting, yelling, screaming, kicking and punching, it provided a small amount of relief. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening with bloodied knuckles and a head pounding. He had so much pent up anger and guilt and no where to put it because the therapist didn’t understand and his parents didn’t understand and no one fucking understood!
Little things would set him off and the sickening crunch of someone’s nose was the only thing that provided his flooded mind with relief for even just a minute. A second to breathe, a reprieve, one Bobby so desperately desired.
But as punches were thrown and grades dropped and clocks ticked by, the inevitable was still true. While Bobby was caught in the past, the boys were gone and the world was still turning around him. Soon he was forced to look at college applications and make the permanent decision of what his future should be.
But Bobby didn’t have one. He wasn’t Alex with his words. Able to write the most eloquent of essays in a matter of a short hour and wasn’t the respectable boy who had a future cemented in stone. He wasn’t Reggie, quick with numbers and a brain that he’d never understand. Reggie who pretended to be oblivious but could sniff out what was going on in any situation without you even knowing. Or charming Luke, who could wiggle his way into anything, who took action and was beloved. He didn’t have a future.
The only thing he had was music and he thought there was no hope.
With the pressure of his parents to pick something and the deadlines coming closer and closer to apply and the threat of a college debt he’d never pay off because he was bound to wind up working a minimum wage job and be miserable for the rest of his fucking life.
Bobby was left in a vulnerable state, dropped into a ditch dug so deep that he could no longer tell if the sky was something he imagined or if it had always been that dark.
So when a man with a smile and a promise of a future offered the solution to Bobby’s problems, he was easily swayed.
The price of a few songs that would never have seen the light of day and maybe the possible chance of honoring his friends in his own quiet way, as long as he promised to change his identity and pretend they were his, to have something to live for once again. Well..how could Bobby Wilson refuse?
So he signed the contract.
And in doing so he cemented a guilt he never could’ve thought imaginable.
Not until three boys appeared on the Orpheum stage next to a one Julie Molina, anyways.
Synopsis: You being in true love with his feelings.
When I readed his letter, his first letter, I realized that my feelings were nothing.
He was like a poet, using means of saying everything in his own way, in his expansive and elegant way. His words only told the truth, without being direct, but making you imagine every heartbeat that kept beating hard in his chest while writing that letter so white and full of different worlds.
I could hear his voice confessing his feelings, saying every detail he likes and how much he love those details as if they were gifts given only to him.
For me, the gift was that letter.
I had fallen asleep thinking about every word and trace of his writing, wishing he had the intention of writing more to have more nights like that.
The more I dreamed of his smile, more I felt the need to beg for his poetry, waiting every day to smell that sweet scent of the paper and see his messy signature.
I saw him go by, I didn't see who was around, in fact, I couldn't, my eyes walked down his neck to the smallest features of his hair and when his eyes turned towards me, I felt that finally my day was fully complete for seeing an art as unique and precious as he was.
Then he made his second letter.
My cheeks heated up, I had to hold on to the euphoric smile with all my strength, no one could see how happy I was to just see his signature again, to imagine his voice again.
He said every second was precious, every look, every smile, all he needed was his most beautiful treasure, all those words that stuck to my head, traveling and echoing like a thin transparent fabric, as if trying to welcome me, tell me to calm down, to continue breathing deeply, so that my heart does not enter a dangerous state of fragile sentimentality.
Each day seemed like a test of emotional endurance, I could not understand how I could stand so long silent, lost in naive and fanciful thoughts. Was I like a child? Had I never been in love before? Had I never kept these deep secrets in my head before? So what was I doing? What did I think I was doing with this?
One day, when we coincidentally touched ourselves to pass this secret on, I couldn't admire his eyes for long. His drawn eyebrows showed embarrassment, his ears burned with redness, so I had to smile to relieve that burning inside my chest a little, that's when he smiled at me, only at me, and I realized that he was a deep well and that I was afraid, I was terrified of falling and drowning, without being able to return to the surface, I was afraid that this would happen, but I had not stopped myself, I was not careful not to fall.
So I readed the third letter.
This letter was special. He didn't talk about appearance or personality, he just said how he felt, with courage said things he hadn't confessed before, he thanked and he promised, swore that he would keep that feeling with him until the day he could make his wishes come true. It was a big confession with small letters so as not to throw any thought away, and I liked that, I saw for a moment everything that was missing in me, then I noticed that what was missing in me was everything he had for himself, he had all the things I needed, so he became my biggest inspiration, that's when I wistfully realized that I shouldn't have judged him as a deep well. A well is dark, scary, small and holds you in despair as if there were no other ways. He was not a well and I felt sorry for thinking that about him.
He was like the ocean.
So big, so full of everything, waves, beauty, calm.
It was okay for me to be afraid of the mystery that was still in him, of the things that were still hidden to be given to someone special, it was okay, since his beauty still enchanted me. His confessions still enchanted me.
Time was running out anyway and he still had a letter to deliver.
This letter was simple, but I could feel its euphoria coming out of it, wanting a date to finally not need to use those cards as a tool. Deep in my heart I felt sad to think of never reading a letter from him again, and I had all day to be able to look in the mirror and give me the confidence I needed, to practice all the phrases, all the looks, all the gestures so as not to let him perceive anything, to think nothing of me, not to imagine anything beyond the ordinary for a single moment.
It was a bright night, the square was full of decorations, everyone was celebrating a random festival that didn't interest me at all.
I was the one who saw him first, he was standing, looking through the crowd, then he saw me near the fountain, coming at me with a smile. My heart couldn't stay in control, so I felt totally lost when I felt his warm hug, his so cute sweatshirt hiding me in his arms, I closed my eyes for a moment, returning the hug, he pressed the side of his face against mine to whisper in my ear.
"Thanks for everything."
I nodded, smiling amiably, forcing my fingers to let go of his sweatshirt to let him go to the owner of his letters behind me, the very best friend of mine who let me read the letters and ask me to be the cupid of them, waiting for him to hear an real confession, face to face this time.
I slowly withdrew, looking at him one last time, knowing I couldn't read him again.
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I’ve written more of Ghost of You... this was supposed to have fluff with angst sprinkled throughout, it’s now angst with fluff sprinkled rarely throughout... i didn’t know i could write this much angst, damn
→ Pairing: Bobby x Reader (feat. Jinwoo of WINNER)
→ Genre: angst and smut
→ Word Count: 3.903
→ Warnings: cheating and infidelity, lots of stupid banter and swearing
→ Summary: It was never your intention to cheat, especially with someone as cocky and annoying as Jiwon. But as your little love affair becomes more than just a few nights of casual sex, you quickly realize that this is a mess you won’t be able to fix.
→ Gifted to: @jungwoo-girl-24
Checking the time on your phone, you try to ignore the overwhelming constriction in your chest. It’s currently two in the morning and here you are, standing in the freezing cold waiting for Jiwon to come pick you up. Why you decided to leave the comfort of the indoors before his actual arrival, you aren’t entirely sure, but it is now too late to go back inside. You aren’t willing to take the risk.
Deep into the night, you notice headlights turn around the corner, the suspected vehicle driving far slower than you would have liked. But it’s only to be expected as to not draw too much attention considering everyone in your neighborhood checks out for the night by nine o’clock. How you’ve managed to survive in a such a boring, family-oriented city, you aren’t entirely sure. But you suppose it’s no reason to complain. At least not yet.
With the black vehicle finally in front of you, you don’t hesitate to open the passenger door and hop inside. Immediately you are met with the fresh scent of his cologne, your weakness that he takes advantage of any chance that he can get.
“Hey,” he says, already placing a hand on your thigh, “you ready?” Nodding your head, you lean back against the seat with your hand clasped over his. The sound of his voice only becomes more sensual at night with just a few words being enough to turn you into a puddle. Even as he returns his gaze to the road, the way he squeezes your flesh underneath his palm is only one indication that he is quickly growing impatient. Likely just as much as you are.
When he had texted you to put on your prettiest outfit, you had expected that you wouldn’t get much farther than a few blocks before he pulled over to tear your clothes off, but the rigid concentration on his face only tells you that he has something else in mind for the night. It’s become custom to leave these escapades in his hands, his utter desire to surprise you and pamper you far outweighing your curiosity. It would be a lie to say you didn’t like it – you love it. Jiwon seems to be the only source of excitement in your life and it’s a fact that he knows very well. If only the circumstances were better than how they stand.
“Jinwoo sleeping?” With a small nod of the head, you try to dispel the thoughts of your boyfriend from your mind. Why Jiwon loves to bring him up whenever you are together, you aren’t sure, but whatever it’s doing to bloat his ego, you wish it would stop. He may feel no guilt, but you feel it all. You always have.
“That’s good.” In your mind, your only thoughts are ‘no shit’, the thought of even trying to sneak out with him awake only sending chills down your spine. Over the last few months, you’ve created excuses in your mind for everything, what you would say if you got caught leaving or what might happen if he finds out you were with Jiwon of all people. You’ve prepared for it all. But if you were ever to find yourself in that situation… you don’t think you could bring yourself to lie. Between the two of them, you know exactly who you’d choose.
“So where are we going?” In an attempt to rid yourself of those incessant thoughts, you try to focus on something else. Even if it means starting useless conversations.
“You know it’s a surprise.” Jiwon states, scoffing underneath his breath as if you’d just offended his intelligence.
“It was worth a shot…” The way your voice trails off catches his attention, but he chooses to say nothing. Even from your periphery, you can tell he’s struggling to keep his mouth shut. He’s well aware that he has a tendency to cross the line, but even so, he can never seem to grasp his words until after they are spoken.
Grabbing his hand, you begin to play with his fingers, carefully brushing over every vein, every line on his arm. If there’s one thing about Jiwon, it’s that he’s handsome, every feature of him capable of bringing you to your knees. Even these hands, which have caressed you and loved you, seem to creep into your mind every so often. But even now, as you drive into the night underneath blinding streetlights, you can’t help but focus on everything but him. You’ve been doing this for far too long, having mastered the art of sneaking out, but every subsequent time, your heart tears apart at the seams. You will never get used to this, to living such a double life, but at this point it’s far too late to stop. Even if you wanted to end everything, stop the car and return home, you know that you wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. Jiwon is like an addiction, having him pressed against your chest on fueling the desires which have been concealed for the entirety of your relationship with Jinwoo.
“Are you okay?” Looking over, you notice the concern in his eyes, the way he bites his bottom lip as he examines your face.
"Yeah I'm fine." Resting your head against the chilled glass of the window, you hold your tongue. You are very blatantly not fine, after having gone through the normal, regret filled routine, but considering Jiwon has no sympathy when it comes to the state of your relationship, you know its best to just stay quiet. His responses tend to only upset you more, as if your feelings were of no concern to him. And yet he has the audacity to bring him up as if it wasn't already considered taboo.
When he turns into the entrance of a hotel, the bright lights immediately catch your attention. All stress dissipates from your body once you realize exactly where you are. You can't help the way your eyes light up at the sight in front of you. Not only did he choose one of the nicest hotels in city, but he chose your absolute favorite one: The Viridian. Not only is it a hotel, one that only gives rooms to the rich, lavish and business oriented, but it is also attached to a world-famous, 24-hour spa. Oh, how you loved to be pampered.
"You like?" He didn't even need to ask as you could barely contain your excitement. Although, had you known you would be coming all the way here, you would have worn something a little more... expensive.
Tossing those thoughts aide, you can't help but smile when the valet kindly opens your door, allowing you to step out into the bright lighting of the hotel. Considering it's nearing holiday season, you aren't surprised that they've gone all out on decorations, hanging lights lining everything from the trees to the grand entrance. With Jiwon finally by your side, he takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your skin. Very rarely does he commit to skinship, at least outside of the bedroom, and as much as you hate to say it, you are loving this more affectionate side of him. It's the little things, you suppose, that tend to win your heart over everything else. Hence why only going on one date with Jinwoo was enough for you to call him yours. He did all the things that made you swoon - kissing your forehead, his hand gently on your lower back, and of course, all the back hugs. As a lover, it doesn't take a lot to win you over and he has it down to a science. But how you ended up in the hands of Jiwon, you will still never understand.
But you suppose the excellent sex is something that's undeniable.
And just looking at the golden key card in his hand, after having received from the person at the welcoming desk, is enough to put dangerous thoughts in your head. You were so concerned about sneaking out that you forgot why you were even doing it in the first place.
Once in the elevator, the entirety of large interior left only to you both, the real fun begins. The doors hadn't even closed completely before he was already attacking your neck, one hand against the wall, the other snaking its way up your shirt. The way he gently licks at your skin, nibbling on it soon after is only one way he loves to mark his territory. Even with his precision, he's never once left a trail, knowing well that the consequences would not be in his favor, but the thought of it is enough to satisfy, at least for the moment.
"Ah..." you sigh, "hold on." Even as you say those words, your body seems to act entirely on its own. You can only lean into his touch as he slides past the fabric of your thin sports bra, playing with your hardened nipples as he begins his journey along your jaw and to your lips.
Hearing the sound of the doors opening, you push him off you, rushing him to exit so that he can finish what he started as quickly as possible. Checking the plaques on the wall, he grabs your hand, leading you in the direction of the room. From what you can tell, he's splurged quite a bit, but there is no way in hell he would be able to afford the suite at the end of the hall. But that's exactly where he seemed to be headed.
Just as you expected, he stopped at the door right before it, a sliver of disappointment surfacing. But just as quickly as it arrived, you push it aside, knowing full well you were never in this for the money or the perks. Although being in the room next to the suite is still something to brag about.
After finally opening the door, his skills with hotel room keys always lackluster no matter how many times he's done this, you can't help but kick him to go inside. He had ignited a fire within you that you could no longer ignore, and the longer you had to wait, the more likely you were going to kill him. When it comes to sex and pleasure, you are impatient. And Jiwon knows it well.
"Relax baby, we'll get there." He chides, dropping the key on the island counter and kicking off his shoes. If it weren't for the fact that you overwhelmingly horny, you might have actually cared to take a tour of the place. But the only thoughts you could possibly muster were surrounding Jiwon and his lower half.
"Want a drink?" He asks sarcastically, rummaging through the large stainless steel fridge. If it weren't for the fact that you specifically needed him, then you might have just gotten yourself off. One thing you've learned is that no matter what you do, nothing will ever add up the pleasure this asshole provides. Nothing.
Taking off your shoes, and, well, everything else along with it, you saunter over to the bed, not daring to look him in the eye. Whenever you do this, doing your best to make a statement, he always loses. He's weak for your body in the same way you are for his, and that is something you always use to your advantage. At the very least, you try.
Lying out on the bed, you stare at the ceiling, counting down to when Jiwon finally stops being a prick. But as you wait there, a full thirty seconds having passed, you realize that he plans to make this night as difficult as possible. Looking over, you see him standing against the counter, a beer in his hand as he sips on it and stares.
"Are you really going to be like?" You ask incredulously, the frustration, both sexual and otherwise, starting to build up.
"Just warming up, that's all." Whatever the hell that meant, you wish he would stop fooling around. Your time is precious, especially if you need to leave before sunrise.
Rolling over, you decide to stare out the open window at the night sky. The nice thing about this hotel is that it's taller than most buildings within this small city, meaning you can fuck with the curtains open all you want. While looking at the stars of course.
When the other side of the bed begins to dip, you release a sigh of relief. Considering how stubborn he is, this could have lasted much longer. You appreciate the fact that you won't have to throw a fit this time.
Feeling his erection against your ass, you relish in the fact that he was kind enough to do the hard work for you. Undressing him, when he thinks he's being playful, is equivalent to undressing a statue. He doesn't even try to help. Especially when he gets to see your frustration up close. That's how he likes you best - when you are about five seconds from beating his ass. And thus that's how your "relationship" has always been. A quarrel between lovers that only ends in hot and steamy sex. And tonight better be no different.
Leaning back against him, you wait for him to make a move, but, of course, you are only met with that same shit-eating grin.
"Jiwon please," you whine, "I'm dying here." Placing a gentle kiss on your hairline, he looks at you lovingly. At least that's the way he appears.
"Whatever you want baby." Rolling over, he pins you underneath him, placing himself between your legs. With his lips so close to yours, you're hesitant to make a move. He could very easily give you what you want, but you know he never plays nicely.
"Since it's our anniversary, I'll do as you ask."
Anniversary? Never once have you heard that word come out of his mouth, the pure thought of Jiwon and commitment being in the same vicinity almost laughable.
"Did you forget? I'm hurt." Sporting the most pathetic pout, he leans in to place small kisses on your nose and outside your lips. For such a sex-crazed man, he sure knows how to be soft. You hate that it only makes your heart weak.
"We've been fucking like rabbits for 100 days. Cute right?" If your hands were easily accessible, you probably would have slapped him for being so vulgar yet sweet at the same time. He really is the most annoying booty call you've ever had.
"Yeah so cute. The hotel is nice though, so at least you have that going for you." Lifting your head, you try to chase his lips, but when he turns his head away, you can't help but grit your teeth.
"I have a lot of things going for me. Like my dick. Something Jinwoo doesn't have." Lifting your leg, you knee him in the thigh, the overwhelming guilt coming back. You try so hard to forget whenever you're with Jiwon, but of course, he has no sense of decency. He makes you hate yourself more than you already do.
"Sorry I couldn't help myself." Crashing his lips against yours, he places his palms against your cheeks. The way he delicately pulls on your bottom lip makes your heart ache, the feeling of having him against you an addicting euphoria. With him starting to grind against your core, you're not sure how much longer you can wait. He'd been on your mind all day, but now that he's finally within your grasp, you can't seem to pull yourself together. Unlike other nights, you can't bother to fight him. You can't fight the desire which continues you plague you. He has nothing that you want, but he is everything that you crave. And you will let him take you as far away as possible so long as get what you need in the end.
Lifting himself up, he lines up his erection with your entrance. It doesn't take much for him to slide himself in, your arousal in his presence never being a problem. The breath you had been holding is finally released once he begins moving, expletives already leaving your mouth.
"Are you gonna last?" He sneers, slowly picking up his pace as he rests his forehead on yours.
"Shut-the-fuck-UP." When he slams into you, you only choke on your words. This boy is so close to ending you here and now that you aren't sure if you will survive the night without at least going for another round. And you know damn well he would be up to the challenge.
"Watch that mouth of yours. I know I said whatever you want, but there are rules ya know." His words go unheard, your nails digging into his shoulders to keep yourself grounded. Being away from him for so long clearly did a number on you, the coiling in your stomach already starting without him having once touched your clit. He truly is one of a kind.
Once the mewls start to fall from your lips, he changes up his pace. He returns to his slow and steady movements, instead focusing on the space between your neck and your jaw, indeed his favorite spot. This area is particularly sensitive for you, every brush against it immediately sending chills down your spine, a shockwave straight to your core. It's a weakness for you, one that he loves to take advantage of and abuse. With the combination of stimulation to the clit, you are as good as gone. But of course he avoids the duo after learning the first time that it often puts you out of commission. At least he's considerate of one thing.
"Get on top." He commands. Removing himself with a lewd pop, he falls over until he's on his back. Typically this position comes later in the night, which means that he is just as impatient as you are. At least you know you're not alone in your suffering. He missed you just as much as you missed him.
Getting up, you straddle his lap. He holds up his erection so that you can place yourself over it, quickly returning to its place deep inside of you. As you lean back, adjusting to a better angle, you can already feel that you're not going to last much longer. Especially when you have the honor of watching him cum from this angle, you really are at your weakest position. You aren't meant to last long which is probably why he jumped straight to it.
Grabbing his hands, you place them on your hips, grinding slowly until he face begins to contort in pleasure. He has a tendency to throw his head back, but because of the obscenely large pillows at this hotel, he doesn't get the chance. Instead, he can only force his head back and close his eyes, which to you, is still a perfect image.
Before you get the chance to move on your own, he is already lifting you up, pounding into you with no mercy. At first, it takes you off guard, having to hold his wrists just to keep yourself stable. His aggressiveness when it comes to sex varies depending on the day. It seems to you that he uses this as a way to vent. There's probably a lot on his mind.
After getting your rhythm back, you try to match his pace, moving so that he hits you deeper with every thrust. Simply placing your hand at your clit is enough to get you closer to your orgasm, your sensitivity being more extreme than usual. It became clear to you during your text exchange earlier in the day that this was something you both needed, and it couldn't have come soon enough.
His grunts suddenly begin to fill the room, the shaking of his muscles only a small indication of his proximity to orgasm. But as a man in need of control, you aren't surprised when he suddenly swats away your hand. Using what little multi-tasking abilities he has, he begins to rub at your clit at a pace that nearly matches that of his thrusts. It's an art, in a way, but more than anything, it's his workout. On a normal day, there might have been breaks, maybe some oral or just pure, unforgiving orgasm denial. But this time he is willing to put himself at work, at least until he has no other choice but to collapse and maybe breathe. And from the way you have been clenching in the onset of orgasm, you are almost certain he hasn't taken a breath in quite some time.
With one final thrust, he spills into you, throwing his head back as he tries to reset the rapid beating of his own heart. He must have been struggling from the way you can see his pulse through the veins in his neck.
"Fuck... fucking hell." He curses, wiping the film of sweat lining his forehead. Just like him, you feel out of breath, the muscles in your legs having already tensed up. As much as you'd like to move, you don't seem to have it in you. Staying here for a while sounds like a lovely option. But of course that thought doesn't last long as uses his last bit of strength to toss you off him. When you land next to him on the bed, you glare in his direction. If only his eyes were open to see it.
"Can I tell you something?" The way he speaks in a lower tone makes you anxious. Very rarely does he ever get serious with you, and whenever he has previously, they were never in any way positive.
"Of course." Regardless, you would be there for him. No matter what.
"I... honestly, Y/N. I love you. I love you a whole fucking lot. And I know you love Jinwoo, but I need you to know this moving forward."
You're speechless.
"I can't hide it anymore. Because I want to tell you I love you when I see you. Every single time. But I couldn't. I respect you. A lot. But I need you to know... even if it means we have to stop meeting like this." Wiping his face with his hands, he can't bare to look at you. At least not without breaking into pieces.
"Jiwon... you know it's complicate-"
"Of course I know! I know this is fucked up and it's wrong, but I can't unlove you. I tried. I tried really fucking hard. But I can't. And at the end of this you're going to go back to Jinwoo and pretend like this never happened. Unlike you, I only have one person. Only you. And you're the only one I want." Even still, he can't look at you. It's like he's talking to the ceiling.
"Jiwon I-"
"You don't have to give me an answer. I think I already know it anyway. We should probably leave soon." Getting up from the bed, he fetches his clothes. Deep down you feel broken. Lost. Confused. You know who you would choose, so why is dealing with this so fucking difficult?
Grabbing your phone, you try to check the time, only to see a message you hoped you'd never get.
