#fezco

The bill counter on the table slows as the bills flipped through come to a stop, Fezco takes the stack and fixes it neatly against the surface.

Wrapping a band around the cash, he looks up as you appear from the hallway, your bag being pulled over your shoulder. You and Ashtray, the boy is mumbling something to you, looking miserable. Or as miserable as he can look with the disgusted, upturned nose he's giving you as you give him a big smooch on the cheek.

"Hey!" Ashtray swatted you away. "That ain't right, man! We got peoples comin'!" He made a face at you, Fezco chuckled a bit to himself, this was the first time Ashtray hadn't gone tomato red after a kiss from Ma. He was getting used to it, Fez realized with a laugh.

Luckily, you weren't wearing any lipstick this time, but that didn't mean he didn't try to wipe any potential mama's boy imprints you always seemed to leave on his face.

"I know, I know," you could only smile in your humor, before audibly chuckling. Running your thumb along the area, just for safe measure for him, before cupping his cheek. "I'll see you later, ok?"

His chin upturned with confirmation. "Mmm," Ashtray stayed there, eyes flickering up to yours as he went quiet for your goodbye. "I'll keep him outta trouble."

"Says the trouble," you snickered, to which his lips shifted with glee at, he's the business partner for a reason after all. "You always do, I know you got him," you pinched his chin lovingly, before straightening, bag in hand. "Just be safe, babe. Ok?"

Ashtray nods, sharply, face finally burning red. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." He then half-heartedly shoves you towards the hall, "Now, get outta here, man. We got work to do."

"Alright, alright," you put your hands up, taking a few skipping steps down the hall towards the living room. "I love you!"

Ashtray grumbles, embarrassingly. "Just get out of here!" he disappears back into the hallway, jumping a bit too boyishly back into his bedroom.

Fezco could laugh, but he held it back, he didn't need the boy more embarrassed then he pretended to be during most of your motherly habits.

You chuckled to yourself as you spun around from the hallway, eyes finally landing on your boyfriend, Fezco. Your smile never dampening, only growing bashful as you slowly glide around the couch, tracing your fingers along the fabric.

Fezco clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

Shit.

He didn't want you to leave.

I mean, well, he did. You had to leave, no question.

Mouse was nothing to play with. And Fezco made it perfectly clear he did not trust any of his dealers when it came to being around you. Least of all Mouse.

Its always been out of the question to get you involved in any of this, if he could help it.

He was literally inviting danger to his doorstep, if he could pride himself on anything it was that he'd distanced you from most of it, you couldn't put name to face, you hardly knew the shit he sold. Not that you didn't recreationally partake from time to time, but that was usually with him.

You grew up with smokers, so sharing a stick together used to be the closest thing you had ever came to a type of high.

Fezco wasn't necessarily proud he introduced you to drugs, it wasn't even related to how you met, or why you stayed. Why you stayed... Something that confused him to this day, god, you could be anywhere, be with anyone, BE anyone.

But, you were here. Lighting up the house with love, painting a picture of a family he had to think was impossible until you came into his life.

God, he was absolutely obsessed with the addiction he'd found in you. Easily a pinnacle high.

And so, there was no debate, you can't stay here tonight.

Fezco swallows, thickly.

He glances in your direction, as he tries to get his thoughts together. You're already looking at him, waltzing up casually, as he stands from his chair as you get closer, don't look at me like that, he wanted to say.

You didn't know how easy he gets lost in your presence, time just slipped away. Or maybe you did, maybe you thought the world would slow for the both of you in moments like this, when leaving his side felt like an impossibility.

Sliding your bag off from your shoulder, you let it settle next to your cardigan at the table leg. "Did he have to come today?" you knew the answer, your voice soft but frustrated.

"Yeah, ma. Ain't nothin' I can control right now," Fezco answers quietly, watching as you slide your hand across the table delicately, tracing the grain. "It'd just be us tonight. If I could."

"Business is business," You slide the ring of your keys into your palm, humming your understanding. You glance back from your keys that you slide behind you, back up to him. "Update me, ok? Don't forget." Safety check-ins after deals like this were always your number one rule, no exceptions.

He assures you, "I know, baby," stepping close to run his hands over your arms, his palms are warm and his thumbs dig in with a gentle pressure.. "I ain't forgettin', I gotchu."

"And eat something," you added. "There's leftovers from earlier. You never eat right on days like this."

Fezco chuckled. "You keepin' notes or somethin'?"

"Or somethin'." you teased back.

BZZZZ...BZZZZ...

His phone goes off , you don't turn recognizing the harsh alarm as the one he'd set to give you enough time to rush out before his exchange went down tonight.

They both release a breath, before he turns back at the replicated sound. Straightening to face you again, "Hey," he breathes at your pout.

Fezco lifts his phone, turning off the alarm. "You text me when you're home, ight?" he leans down to take your bag off the floor, his other hand now rested on you hip, held it right. Pinching the skin, tenderly, "Hear me?"

"Mm hmm." You inch into him, brows that pinch when you're about to lean in.

"Ok?" he repeated, he noticed.

"OK."

You had his face in your hands then, kissing him, hard. Breathlessly.

Pulling back to look at him, "And you'll call me when it's over." A reminder, instead of a question, you made clear of that. Pretty eyes that bore into his, easily stealing what little attention he'd given to anything else but you.

You kissed him again, he's pressing his lips to yours just as your pulling away. "Not a second after, ok?" You instructed, sternly. Though the worried crease in your brows made your intentions clear and left no room for debate.

He nodded, thoughtlessly, that was all he could manage. Mouth open and leaning down for another taste even as you blabber out another word. "I will, I will."

Not when you're pulling him down by the collar like this.

Again, your eyes dart to his lips, and unable to help yourselves, he's diving in for another when his alarm goes off again, the two of you pausing and then staring.

Alright, they've got ten minutes to get you out of here. Fuuuck...

Fezco grabs your keys off the floor, fits your cardigan between the holes of your bag and snatches your sneakers up for you to step into as you both rush towards the hallway to the door.

"Text me as soon as you're in, alright?," Fezco jogs after you, as you pepper kisses while backtracking to the gated door. "Come on, ma," he complains, half-heartedly, as you kiss him full on the cheek longer.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, before kissing him again. "Ok, I love you," he opens the door as you step into your shoes. Ashtray presses the release from the security room and the gate clicks open. It's raining, it hits the metal loudly, your car was just in front so there was no need for an umbrella.

Still, enough to get drenched as soon as you step out.

He's pushing open the doors for you, the two of you just stepping out when Rue rushes over. "The fu--Rue?"

The girl's a bit out of breath, curly hair sticking to her face from the rain.

"(Y/n) Baby cake!" she fired hand guns spouting the dumb nickname, before taking both of your hands to spin around and stumble her way into the house.

Pulling you back inside for a hug, she's completely soaked, easily clinging your shirt. "That was fast, came to see me? Or are you leaving already?" Rue gasped. "No, no, I haven't seen you in forever, come back. Distract Fez while I raid, alright? Cool."

"What, no--"

The curly haired girl excitedly runs off then, makes her way into the hallway, "Hold on! Rue!" Fezco doesn't have time to grab her when she's already strutting onto the carpet and around the corner, looking for the usual.

"How'd you guys know I was outside? Shit, I didn't even ring yet," she laughed, impressed. "Oh, that a hickey?" she snickered, pointing nowhere in particular at you, already trapezing through the house.

"Rue! What're you--" you close the doors, the security click sounding, just as Fezco''s rushing after the girl. "oh my, fuck--"

"Nah, Rue, you can't be here right now," Fezco shouts after her. "I need you out!"

Rue scoffed. "Oh, come on, I've seen porno's crazier than what you two get up to. Just act like I'm not even here."

Bursting into the living room, you follow after Rue as she throws off her sweater, looking to get comfortable. "Jesus, Rue," you pick it up off the couch as you follow behind Fezco.

Ashtray's head peeks out from the security room, brows raised in surprise as Rue trudges through the hall, he speaks aloud. "The fuck is she doin' here?" and then he sees you, yelling after you. "What the fuck are you still doin' here?!"

"I was leaving!" you sighed as you rushed past him. "And don't cuss at me!"

Ashtray rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair, checking the outer camera feed.

"Look, I just need a couple OCs and some socks," Rue plopped down on a bed in the back rooms, pulling off her soaked socks and started opening drawers.

Fezco cornered her in his room, frustrating eating at him. Glancing at the time on his phone. "Yo, for real Rue, you gotta go! I can't help you right now, come back in a few hours, I gotchu. But right now, you need to get up outta here."

You came up next to him, holding her jacket. Throwing it back at her as she pulled on some new socks, "Hey!"

"He's not joking around, Rue," you reiterated. "People are coming. And it'd be better if neither of us were here. You need to come with me."

Rue glanced between the two of you. "This is the weirdest intervention ever," she kicked off her jacket as she pulled on her socks. "Look, Fez, I'm drenched, and I'm out of drugs so...don't be dicks."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Oh god," shaking out your hands, you may just have to drag her out, kicking and screaming.

Fezco cursed, tensing up. "That ain't the fucking problem Rue!" they had less than five minutes, he was sure. " I need you to get up out my house right now before theses motherfuckers come through, for real!"

"Look, look, look, all I need are some OCs and a couple of Xanies, that's all," Rue explained.

You hummed, irritated. "Sure," you stepped forward, grabbing her forearm. "At my house. Let's go."

Rue's face pinched in confusion. "The only pill I've ever seen in your bathroom is a Tylenol."

"Uh huh," cause that's is all you had at home. "Well you're a terrible influence."

"Me?!" Rue laughed, appalled. Before glancing back at Fezco, who gave her glare at her clear insinuation. "Wait, wait, my jacket!"

You pulled her back with you, knowing she caught sight of a pill bottle as they passed by the security room. Shrugging off your cardigan, you tossed it over her head, "Here."

She puts it on, but isn't satisfied. "I know you don't got Xanies..."

"And you not hearing me when I say you ain't stayin', Rue," Fezco reminds.

Rue grinds herself to a halt, thinking hard, before she yanks herself through your grip, running around to the couch, flipping onto the cushion. "Prove you got 'em at home, go!" she points.

"Rue! I'm tryin'na tell ya, I ain't got shit right now," Fezco fought the urge to snatch the girl and throw her out. "I got whatever you need , but later. Get out."

"Rue!" your fists ball up, mostly out of your own anxiety. "Please, please, just get out of the damn house. There's some fucking weed to hold you over in the car!"

But Rue, the addict she was, Rue just glared. Staring directly at Fezco, "I know you got something, Fez." He was hiding it from her, he had to be, so why should she leave?

"Jesus Christ..." you ran a hand down your face. "Just come with me. Stay with me at mine, and then in a few hours, we're back here for you to do whatever," coming up to Rue as she braces herself on the backend of the couch. "I'm dead serious, I don't want you here when they get here, ok?"

Rue's brows furrowed at the softened delivery of your last sentence, now you have her attention. Her mouth opening but only a confused, "uhhh..." follows before she's glancing at Fezco, who's staring at the time on his phone. "You said who's coming again?"

Just as Rue's beginning to pull herself off the couch. Fezco opens his mouth to say something, "Rue--" while you're already pulling her to the doorway, and then the phone rings.

Stopping both women in their tracks.

Fezco stares down at the screen, the caller ID, and then sighs.

Making eye contact with you as your shoulders drop, realizing you were out of time, his lips press together guiltily.

His eyes flicker to Rue. "I could fucking kill you right now," he says, walking to the dinner table. He takes the walkie talkie, "Yo, Ash, they're here."

"Crap," the boy responds before the radio cuts silent.

Fezco gathers the money off the table, puts down the radio, walks over to the couch and fishes out the handle to a gun. That he checks for a loaded magazine before shifting the safety.

Rue swallows hard on the couch.

You breath out, running a hand down your hair. "Rue," you start. "Come."

You're already walking down the hallway. Rue swiftly follows, side stepping an angry Fezco.

"Ma," Fezco calls.

"She's not staying out here."

"If they find her..."

"They won't!" you argued. Giving your bag to Rue, pulling your cardigan hoodie over her hair. "They won't, right?" you stop and ask Rue.

Rue swallows, before nodding fast. "I can be quiet. I mean, when it counts, I can be quiet."

Pulling her into the farthest opposing room, you release her to move a few things around in the darkest corner of the room. Which happens to be with Grandma Marie, still sleeping peacefully as she always has in the hospital bed. "Sorry, OG," you whisper, before guiding Rue over.

"Touch nothing, say nothing, keep fucking still," you instruct Rue, pulling her into the corner, as far away from Grandma Marie as possible but in the busier corner of the room where she'd be much harder to spot if anyone were to glance in.

Rue wordlessly fixed herself into place, taking your bag and holding it tight in the corner as you moved a box in front of her to obscure her at least a bit. "Do. Not. Move."

You stepped away as you heard the front door slam shut and Ashtray whispering harshly behind you, "You gotta get over there!" before rushing out the room.

"(Y/n)..." Rue spoke finally as you began to pull the door closed, palms sweating, face flushed with anxiety.

You turned back to her.

"I..." she tried.

"Just don't move. It's ok," you assured her.

Rue watched as the hallway lighting vanished from the room, chest heavy as she recalled the terrified expression on your face as you pulled the door shut.

---

"So, this your bitch, huh?"

Your eyes flickered upwards from beside Fezco, tenses up at the question. You must've zoned out.

"Huh?" you didn't mean to say anything, but it made the man laugh.

Mouse.

As you make eye contact, his smile curls slow, a flash of gold in his teeth and the lighting makes his faded facial tattoos look more intense.

"Nah man, this ma girl, ma wife," Fezco gritted out, but he tried to keep his animosity to a minimum. "Ain't no bitch here."

Mouse snickered, before shrugging as if he could respect that. He drops to one knee to get eye level with you, staring like he's got nowhere else to be. With his palm extended for you to take, "Mmm,' he starts off, getting a good look at your face. "Well, hello there, wifey."

"Um, hi," your mouth dry.

He chuckled, clearly he found you interesting. "Got caught in the rain, huh?"

"I--" you didn't have to look down to feel your wet shirt sticking to you. Enough for the lace of your bra to show through. Fuck me, Rue. "I did."

"Course you did, mamas," Your eyes flicker anywhere but the eyes that haven't stopped trailing you since he'd walked in, extending your hand to shake. He takes it, instead pulling your knuckles up for a kiss, he keeps eye contact every second. "My name is Mouse," he introduced. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

You couldn't seem to find the words, he wasn't waiting for any, he turned his attention to a tight-lipped Fezco, beside you.

"Hmm," Mouse says, before he's pulling you off the couch with a jerk to the hand.

You follow with a surprised sound, pulled right out of Fezco's range just as he reaches out. "Wait--"

"Hey!" Fezco's already standing, hands shaking. "That ain't cool, man! What you think you doin', Mouse?"

"Relax, man," Mouse spins you around, enjoying the view, and sits you down on the opposing couch, facing Fezco. "I ain't know what ya'll got planned sittin' close like that, just precaution. This," he pinches your chin briefly. "Makes the room more...spread out."

Mouse smirks toward Fezco, who's eyes constantly flicker from you to him. "Sit down already. Let's get down to business," he demands. To which Fezco, not wanting the man to be here any longer than he needed, sits carefully. "Alright. Custer toss me that bag!"

The dealer walks around the couch, away from you, and you finally take a breath. Fisting the cushions beneath, you push yourself back onto the couch, eyes flickering up to Fezco, who leans forward at your attention, hands fidgeting and holding tight. You alright?

Your palm spread out wide over your bare thighs, you couldn't believe you wore a fucking skirt today. I'm fine.

But to Fezco, it looks like you were about to be sick.

Mouse took some plastic out the bag Custer provides him. "Alright, check it," he holds out a few things. "I got 100 OP-OC 80s, 500 Xanny bars, 500 20s of Addy," he listed off as the pill bottle clacked and the pills rattled with every push onto the table. "I'm low on Vikes, so if you wanna cop out some Vikes. You better cop 'em today, cause I got 50 left--" he just kept listing and you glanced off to the side, behind you was Custer. From across the room, Ashtray stood at a doorway, you were glad he was far out of interest to the two men.

Ashtray sees the gun in Custer's pocket, eyes pointedly looking to Fezco, communicating that instantly. He watches his brother's jaw flex at the info, before pressing his hand against the crack of the cushion where his pistol laid.

The boy then looks over to you, the woman's that had become his mom in the years they've known you, he hated that you were still here, god, he could kill Rue.

"Custer, what's the math on that?" Mouse finishes up.

"Uh, 25, 15, 1,100, 35, 77 and 25," he counts off. "7,750."

Fezco takes out the paper bag he's prepared. "Here."

He tosses the bag of money up and at Mouse, who tosses it right to Custer after feeling out the stacks.

Mouse steps around from the table. "Sure you don't want no Fentanyl?"

"Nah man, I'm cool off that shit," Fezco rejects. "Too many ODs and I don't want the heat."

Mouse didn't like that much, but he didn't show it. Not as he came around the couch, staring down at you, already peering up at him, "What about you, wifey, huh? Ever tried Fentanyl?" he comes to sit beside you.

"No," you said, your voice much too small.

"She's good, bruh." Fezco didn't like his shift in attention.

But, Mouse pays Fezco no mind, doesn't even look at him as he leans in closer to you. You look away, he's much too close. "Got hub talkin' for you, huh?" his arm comes around the couch bend and fists his fingers into your hair.

That's a question, he needs an answer. You remind yourself, you try to just look at your boyfriend, though seeing his rage and clearly being just as uncomfortable as you were, if not more, didn't help.

"He just, knows more about this stuff..." you say. Mouse's fingers trail your shoulders, near your neck. "...than I do."

"Not more than me, though," Mouse interjects, before shifting over. "Don't look at him. Look at me. You think he knows more than me?"

You're sure it's not wise to say yes, not as he presses you to make eye contact, he stares you down, hard. You shake your head, reluctantly, throat closing.

"That's right. Ain't nobody knows more than me about the game, wifey," Mouse gloats, rubbing your shoulder. "So, you don't got nothing to worry about, do you?"

You didn't answer, and his hand comes up, taking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

He pulls your hair over your shoulder, behind your ear. "You ever try it?" Fentanyl.

Mouse's calloused thumb drags over your check, his hand briefly cupping around your lips to see your pout. You're sure he's just trying to piss off Fezco, who's digging into the arm chair, trying to keep calm.

"Mm mm," you try to shake your head.

"Yo, for real, bruh," Fezco speaks up, voice lifting in his turmoil. "I don't want her fuckin' with that shit. At all, man. She ain't with that."

Mouse leans close, looking to pique your interest. "You know that feeling when you come so hard you can't feel or hear shit?" he questions. "You like that feeling? I know you like that feeling..."

"Sure," You glanced at him. "Doesn't everybody..."

Oh, shit. Was that the wrong this to say?

Mouse immediately grins, bursting out a short laugh, looking over at Fezco, then Custer.

"Mmm, That's a good answer. I like that," he glances over toward Fezco, smirking in his humour. "I like your girl, man. This a good bitch," He then leans down, snatching up the bookbag, "So, you're gonna love this," Mouse fishes through a few of the plastic wraps.

Mouse flipped open a knife then, startling you, unraveling a bag to take out a white packet. He pokes the metal into the bag, ripping it open, a bit of the liquid catches on the knife at the very tip.

He raises the knife in front of you, the sight of it makes your skin grow cold.

"I'm fine, really." Your press your lips closed. "I've never..."

"What?" Mouse chuckled at your flushed face, the color that had left it. "Never what? Come on, take a lick. What, you don't trust me?"

"Come on, bruh," Fezco seethes to the side. "She said she's good."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Mouse cursed him, glaring his way. "Ain't nobody talkin' to you!" He then turns to you, whispering close to you ear, knife so close it could cut you instead. "Tell hubby over there, nobody talkin' to him right now."

Your eyes lock on Fezco's right across from you, you hadn't even realized you were shaking. He looks so guilty, eyes much too expressive to be hidden from Mouse's sight, you wonder if he just doesn't like Fezco or if he just likes playing with his dealers.

Or if he just really likes torturing you.

"Come on," Mouse continues. "Tell him to 'Shut the fuck up'."

You don't, eyes flickering down to the knife he'd raised toward your chin, that had begun to graze your bottom lip.

"Don't be scared, mamas," Mouse suddenly snatches the back of your neck, making you jump. "It ain't gonna bit you."

"Bruh, stop touchin' her like that!" Fezco tries not to get too loud, there's a shakiness to his voice that maybe Mouse doesn't notice, but you do. "She don't mess with that shit."

"Yeah," he can tell. The man palms your thigh, maybe to test Fezco further. "Yeah, she don't. So, why not get the experience? Try it." He raises the knife further, this time between your closed lips. "Open, come on, good girl, open up. Try it."

You wanted to cry from the pounding in your nerves, heart beating fast enough to give anyone a heart attack.

Taking a final look at Fezco, who's put a hand up to his head, he runs it down his face, shaking his head, but he knows you don't really have that chocie.

Fuck, you should've just left.

Your lips close around the drop.

Mouse grins, proudly. "There."

The knife sliding from between your lips, you release a shaky breath, that feels more like the beginning of a sob. God, do you feel pathetic.

You inhale, trying to remember to breathe, as you lock your hands between your legs.

And now, he waits. Staring closely. Fezco can't look as you shrink away from Mouse's knife that he still holds at his lap.

You look so scared, and he can't help the sick feeling in his stomach, his throat tightening as he watched the drug you'd never even thought of take effect. He tried to find the words that you needed, he leaned forward as your eyes began to dilate, "I ain't goin' nowhere," he assures you, steadily. "Right here, whole time. You're just gonna ride it out, a'ight?"

You feel yourself nod, but for a second the ground seems to close and you keep yourself steady. Just ride it out...

They don't have to wait long when your hands ball up into your thighs, you lean forward a bit. Releasing a breath, Mouse chuckles. "Yeah, that shit works quick."

You're not sure if you like it...

But, nevertheless, the high catches you pretty instantly.

Blinking once, twice, before its harder to open your eyes. You lift your hand to your face as you feel heavy all of a sudden, your arm never lifts, instead you're following it down to the couch cushion.

Fezco watches as your head lolls, eyes fluttering, breath turned shallow, your body folding into the couch. Hair obscuring your face, your arm sinks to the carpet off the couch, you let out a gasp of a sound before completely slumping into your high.

This is your fault, Fezco says to himself. Your fault.

God, he's never felt more like shit.

But, with you, there’s become a floating calm, heavy and numbing, the world slipping a step farther away with every second.

There's a hand tracing circles on your skin, sending intense signals through your brain, but you just blink slowly, eyes locked on Fezco. Who hasn't looked away since.

One.

Twooo.

Five.

Eight...

Is that right?

Mouse's fingers run down your thigh, his nails biting into you gentle, possessive, pinching your skin as he leans over, his fingers snapping the lining of your panties back to your hip with a laugh. "You like the way that feels?" he asks, looking at Fezco.

"I dunno..." you drawl.

Mouse pulls your legs over his, shifting closer to you. "What's that mean?" he questions. "Don't you want some patches, girl?"

You hardly had an idea of what he was on about. "I don't..th'k I should.."

Mouse wasn't satisfied. "I think you should take a few patches," he surveyed the curve of your ass on the sofa, your skirt having pulled up. "Don't you agree with me?"

"Ok..." you breathed out.

He gave Fezco a humored look, flipping out three patches. "It's gonna cost you $300," he fits them under the band of your underwear. "Come on, pay up, wifey."

"I'm..." you say. He wants money? "I have half..."

Fezco closed his eyes briefly at Mouse's baiting. He kept his eye on the rise and fall of your chest, panic wasn't even close to the feeling he had stirring in his gut.

Mouse's hand climbs up, crawling up her skirt that hadn't done its job tonight. "How you gon' pay the other half, hm?"

"Mouse, man--" Fezco gritted out, violently. Forced to watch as he tapped the blunt of his knife against your ankle at his tone.

"I don't do a lot of...pills," you mewl, letting out a startled noise before sinking into the couch again. "I shouldn't have..." your words get lost in the mist.

"Yeah, well I got a strict no return policy, so get that outta ya head, wifey," Mouse cackled, slapping a palm onto your heated skin. You make no reaction.

And so, he's had more than enough. "Yo, I'm payin' for it man," Fezco held up the cash.

"Thought you were too good for Fentanyl," Mouse scoffed. "What is it? Everybody's changing their motherfuckin' minds on me?"

Custer laughed. "Yeah." He then glanced over at the boy in the doorway, Ashtray wasn't lookin' at him anymore, his eyes on you, slumped on the couch.

"If she can't afford it, she gon' have to find another way to pay me," Mouse said, nose upturned at the young man that clearly thought he was better than him. "Straight up."

Fezco should've shot Mouse in the face with what he was insinuating on doing to you, on the shit he's pulled tonight. But he knew best than to do that with you right in his grip and a knife still in his opposite hand.

"Just let me pay for it, man. She my wife," Fezco takes his hand from the couch, standing. "I got the money right here."

Handing over $300 to Mouse, eyes locked on you as you're quick to knock out now.

"Dang, that's that real marriage shit, huh," Mouse counted, while you moaned at the mention. "But, price just went up. It's $600 now."

Fezco gritted his teeth, but forked over the extra $300. He didn't trust himself to say anything else as he walks to the opposite side of the couch, closest to your head.

"Pleasure doin' business with you," Mouse smirked finally. Taking a last look at you, hands sliding off your thigh, he stands to fix his jacket. "Later, little wifey."

You exhale, heavily. No words leave you for him.

Not until Fezco comes into view. "Fez..." you mewl.

He goes down to his knee in front of you, your eyes had already begun slipping closed, recognizing him briefly as you moaned. "Oh, ma, hey. I'm right here," Fezco whispered, moving your hair out of your face as you breathe slowly against the cushion. "You're ok, I gotchu."

He lifts your hand from the floor holding it tight and letting it settle on the couch by your face.

"I like my bitches lightweight too," Mouse says to Fezco, while lighting a cig between his fingers, before him and Custer make their way out of the house.

Fezco is quick to action as the door slams to a close, fishing the packets off your underwear as Ashtray comes over. A hammer in hand, and an anger he hadn't acted on yet, Fezco's too lost in the moment to see how it's still violently building in his eyes.

"Get the Narcan, just in case, and get rid of these." He hands his brother the packets and points down the hallway.

Ashtray follows his instructions, putting the hammer down on the way.

Fezco turns and returns to your side, a blanket in hand. He pulls it over you, up to your shoulders, you're already feeling feverish though.

He doesn't shift you too much, there's nothing to heave out, or a needle to pull from your skin, there's nothing he can do besides keeping you as comfortable as possible.

All he can do is wait...and watch.

He swallows down the tight pit in his stomach that builds up in his throat, reddening eyes that burn as he settles your head on his lap as you've begun to slip into your slumber.

"I'm sorry..." you drawl, sleepily. "I took it. I didn't..."

The fuck were you apologizing for, he wanted to cry. He stroked your hair, pulling it back and away from you face, holding his palm to the top of your head. "No, ma, it's on me, it's on me," Fezco leaned down to place his lips on your cheek. "It's ok, you're ok. Just rest, ok?"

You're already out.

And with that, Fezco leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his eyes and smearing any evidence of his heartache.

Soon, Ashtray comes to sit on the opposing couch, when he feels a bit composed, Fezco finally looks to his brother.

But, they say nothing, both just sit here, where they both wait together.

A few moments later, Rue comes out of the opposing room.

He had nearly forgotten.

The girl hesitantly enters the hallway, looking into the opposing room before she catches site of Ashtray already staring her down from the living room. She pauses mid stride for a moment at that. "So, your dudes cleared out then, huh?" she awkwardly stepped into the living room.

Fezco hasn't turned to her yet. So, when she's looking around she spots the bags of pills, the drugs unopened, fresh prescriptions, the real, good stuff. "Holy shit..." she breathes out. "What the hell! That's a crazy haul, your guy is the best, oh my shit--"

"Rue!" Fezco lets out an absolutely seething hiss toward her, he doesn't yell or scream, he sneers. Trying his hardest to keep his volume at a minimum, the effort makes him shiver.

Rue's not sure she's ever seen Fezco actually angry. Pissed, yeah. Irritated, definitely, she just tends to have that effect. But, Fezco just wasn't a person she had known to have a real temper, in the way he was glowering at her, she was wrong.

Her voice likes to run away from her despite knowing she should shut up. "What? I was just saying--" she then noticed someone missing. "Did (Y/n) leave already?"

She came closer. Then, seeing you on Fezco's lap, completely out. Beads of sweat already beginning to collect on your forehead.

"Is...everything alright?"

"Ash."

Ashtray lifted himself off the couch, eyes on Rue. He pulls a small bag from his pocket, 4 or 5 pills, the usual. And it's selfish, but she was hoping for more, she doesn't dare say that though.

"Shit, thanks, but..." she dragged. "Um, is she ok?"

"Get out, Rue."

The girl wanted to argue, she also wanted to get the fuck out of here and drown her guilt in the little tablets that put those feelings right to sleep. "I mean, can't I just wait till she--"

"RUE!"

Fezco fumes, enough for a vein to pop. Then he flinches, looking down to make sure he hadn't disturbed you before sighing harshly.

Her hands go up. "Fine, fine! Fuck!" Rue turns quick, making her way down the hall and out the front door. "Fine."

Ashtray locks up behind her, wordlessly. The slam is enough of a tell to his own irritation with her.

Rue clears her throat, walking off the porch and down the walkway, slowly. Her eyes instantly finding your car, she stares at it for sometime, before opening the bag Ashtray had shoved into her hand a moment ago.

She takes a pill, sticking it on her tongue to swallow.

As she snatches up her bike, she waits for the guilt to pass like it always would with every high.

---

An hour or two later, as Ash is beginning to fall asleep on the couch. Fezco decides to move you to the bed, his arms slipping up your knees and around your shoulders, carrying you to the bedroom.

He keeps you turned on your side, his hand braced on your shoulder blade to anchor you there as he blinks back exhaustion. Ashtray crawls onto the end of the bed, deciding to fall asleep there, Fezco tossing a pillow his way.

Ashtray is fast to fall asleep, it was late after all.

Fezco tiptoes around sleep, but he can't.

He has to feel every breath, every shift, every sound, what ifs are infinite right now and he wasn't taking any chances.

He holds you to his chest as you snore quietly, his focus stays locked on the pulse beneath his thumb, on the slow rhythm of your lungs. Every few minutes, placing his lips on your bare shoulder, he whispers small, steady nonsense in case you were listening to him. "You're ok. Stay here. Stay with me."

"You're ok," he mutters against your skin as he blinks slow, the clock glows at 3:40 a.m. when he begins to close his eyes from exhaustion. "I'm here..."

It's 4:12 a.m. when he wakes up to your body tensing up next to him.

"Hey," he rubs your shoulder as you stir to life.

A small, strained sound catches in your throat, a hand clutching at your stomach. Disoriented, you try to lift yourself off the bed, limbs uncooperative, you just slump back to the bed. Fezco quickly leaves the bed, coming around to help you up.

You seemed surprised to see him, hands balled into his sweater as he lifts you. "Fez..."

"I gotchu, ma," he lifts you off the bed. Guiding you forward, he's already sure you'd prefer your first stop being the bathroom. You stumble your way with his help, your weight sagging into him, the ground just won't stop moving!

You drop to your knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling against the porcelain. The first heave hits you hard and sudden, your whole frame shaking with it, enough to make tears sprout. Fez kneels behind you immediately, one hand holding your hair back, the other spread between your shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, barely louder than breath. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’re okay. Just let it out.”

You cough up what you can, choke, tears spilling without you meaning to. The sick feeling wracks through you in waves, leaving you gasping between them. Fez stays exactly where he is, his hand warm against your back, holding you tight with every shudder.

As the worst of it passes, Fezco stands for a towel, wiping off your face after wetting it. "M' sorry, I woke you," you apologized as you pressed your head into his chest.

He keeps one arm around your shoulders as you sag into him, exhausted, shaking, breathing uneven but real and steady against his chest.

"Don't apologize for anything," he holds you tight on the bathroom floor. "Please."

You sink into him inch by inch, the last of your tension finally giving up. His chin rests against your hair. When your body jerks again with a small wave of nausea, he tightens his hold as you try to settle your stomach. "I'm ok," you hiccup.

He strokes your cheek, leaning down to embrace you and shield you as he should have tonight.

Soon, you both make your way back to bed, both sitting upright, you've leaned into his chest, trying your best to rest.

Lying there like this now, tangled and still, both wrung out in different ways. Ashtray at your feet, exhausted himself. The day sits heavy between them, what almost happened, what did happen...

Maybe he really was the bad influence...

And as if you could hear his thoughts, you turn in his arms. "Stay w'me tomorrow.." you huff out. "Don't leave me..." and you say so in a way he could never betray.

He was the bad influence that could never go away.

And he wasn't proud of that...

He kissed your temple, tenderly. "Never."

For now, you're safe and warm and breathing, and he’s here, as if he would ever go anywhere else.

Your breathing evens out as you let yourself rest. His finally does too, but he takes in every moment.

⸻

The couch at Fez's place has a permanent indent where you always sit. Right side, corner cushion, close enough to the armrest that you can tuck your feet under you. You've been coming here for months now long enough that Ashtray doesn't look up when you walk in anymore, long enough that Fez keeps your favorite chips in the cabinet even though he doesn't eat them himself.

Tonight the living room is dim, just the blue glow of the tv playing some documentary Fez isn't really watching. He's on the other end of the couch, one arm stretched along the back, and there's maybe two feet of space between you. Might as well be miles.

"You good?" he asks, and his voice has that softness he only uses with you and Ash. Rough around the edges but careful, like he's afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Yeah." You pull your sleeves over your hands. "Long day."

He nods, doesn't push. That's Fez, he gives you space even when you don't want it. His beard is getting longer, you notice. There's a small scar near his temple you've never asked about, you know too much and not enough about him all at once.

The documentary goes on about ocean life, neither of you are watching. You can feel the weight of his attention even though he's looking at the screen, the way the air feels different when someone's aware of you. Your heart does this stupid thing where it speeds up just because he moved.

"Come here," he says quietly.

You look at him. His eyes are already on you, have been probably, and there's something in his expression that makes your stomach flip. Not quite vulnerable but close, like he's offering something he's not sure you'll take.

You uncurl your legs, start to shift closer. The couch cushion dips as you move, and suddenly you're near enough to smell his cologne that you've come to associate with safety. His arm is still stretched along the couch back, and you're hyperaware of how easy it would be to lean into him, to close that last bit of distance.

Fez's hand moves, just slightly, fingers almost brushing your shoulder. The touch is so light you might be imagining it, but your whole body responds like he's set something on fire. His eyes drop to your mouth for just a second, and you forget how to breathe.

"Fez—"

"Yo, we're out of—" Ashtray's voice cuts through the moment. He stops in the doorway, takes in the scene with those eyes of his. "My bad."

The spell breaks. Fez pulls back, runs a hand over his beard, and you're suddenly very interested in the documentary, something about coral reefs. Your face feels hot.

"What you need, Ash?" Fez's voice is steady, but you catch the slight tension in his shoulders.

"Nothing. Handle it tomorrow." Ashtray disappears back down the hall, and you hear his door close with a pointed click.

The space between you feels wider now. Fez clears his throat, shifts away just slightly, and that small movement hurts more than it should.

"Getting late," you say, even though it's barely ten. "Should probably head out."

"Yeah. Yeah, a'ight." He stands when you do, walks you to the door like always. His hand hovers near your lower back but doesn't quite touch. "Text me when you get home?"

"Always do."

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and there's so much unsaid in the space between you that you could drown in it.

In your car, you grip the steering wheel and stare at his front door. The porch light is on he always leaves it on until you drive away. Through the window, you can see his silhouette moving back toward the couch.

He doesn't actually want me, you think, and the thought sits heavy in your chest. If he did, he would've said something, done something. He had the chance.

You drive home with that thought on repeat, trying to convince yourself it doesn't matter. Trying to ignore the ghost of his touch still burning on your shoulder.

⸻

You don't go back for a couple of days.

It's not dramatic, you don't block his number or anything. You just...create space. When he texts asking if you're coming by, you say you're busy. When he asks if you're okay, you say you're fine. The lies taste bitter, but they're easier than the truth.

Leaving first hurts less, you tell yourself. Pull back before he does.

But on the fourth day, Ashtray texts you: fez is being weird. come over.

You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't. But you've never been good at staying away from things that hurt you, so you go.

Fez opens the door, and the relief on his face is so naked it makes your chest ache. "Yo, where you been?"

"Around." You slip past him into the house, keeping distance between you. "Ash said you needed something?"

"I—nah, I just..." He closes the door, runs a hand over his head. "You been avoiding me?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me, ma." His voice is gentle but firm. "You ain't been by in days. Won't hardly text me back. What's going on?"

You can't look at him. "Nothing. I've just been busy."

"Bullshit."

The word hangs in the air, Fez doesn't usually push, which means you've worried him. Guilt twists in your stomach.

"I'm fine, Fez. Really." You force a smile. "Where's Ash?"

He studies you for a long moment, and you can see him deciding whether to let it go. Finally, he sighs. "Store run. Should be back soon." He gestures toward the kitchen. "You hungry? Was about to make something."

You should say no, should make an excuse and leave. Instead, you follow him into the kitchen, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.

The kitchen is small, Fez moves around the space with easy familiarity, pulling out ingredients for sandwiches. You lean against the counter, trying to stay out of the way, but he keeps having to reach around you for things.

"Sorry," you murmur when he stretches past you for the bread. His arm brushes yours, and electricity shoots up your spine.

"You good." His voice is low, close to your ear. He doesn't move away immediately.

You should step aside and give him room. Instead, you stay frozen as he reaches across you for the mayo, his chest nearly pressed against your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of him, smell that cologne that makes you dizzy.

"Fez." It comes out barely a whisper.

He pauses, hand still on the refrigerator door. Slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You're close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the exact shade of blue in his eyes. His gaze drops to your mouth again, and this time it lingers.

"Yeah?" His voice is rough.

Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure he can hear it. The air between you feels dangerous. His hand comes up, fingers almost touching your jaw, and you lean into it without thinking.

The front door slams. "Yo, they were out of the good chips!" Ashtray's voice carries from the living room.

Fez steps back like he's been burned. You turn away, gripping the counter edge, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

"In here, Ash," Fez calls, and his voice sounds strained.

Ashtray appears in the doorway, takes one look at both of you, and his expression goes flat. "For real?"

"What?" Fez is aggressively making sandwiches now, not looking at either of you.

"Nothing." But Ashtray's eyes narrow as he looks between you. "Absolutely nothing, apparently."

You can't do this. Can't stand here in this too small kitchen with Fez's almost touch still burning on your skin and Ashtray's knowing eyes seeing too much. Can't keep wanting something you can't have.

"I should go." You're already moving toward the door.

"Wait—" Fez starts, but you're not stopping.

"Thanks for...I'll text you later."

You're out the door before he can respond, and you don't look back. In your car, you grip the steering wheel with shaking hands.

Leaving first hurts less, you repeat to yourself. Leaving first hurts less.

It's a lie, but you're getting good at those.

⸻

Fez is staring at his phone when Ashtray walks into the living room. Has been for the past twenty minutes, reading and rereading your last text: sorry for leaving weird. talk soon.

"You gonna actually text her back, or just keep looking at it like a sad puppy?" Ashtray drops onto the couch next to him.

"I texted her back."

"Yeah, three hours ago. 'It's cool.' Real romantic, bro."

Fez shoots him a look. "The hell you know about romantic?"

"More than you, apparently." Ashtray grabs the remote, but doesn't turn on the tv. Instead, he sits there, radiating judgment. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or we gonna keep pretending?"

"Ain't nothing going on."

"Right. That why she keeps running out of here? That why you been moping around for days?" Ashtray's voice is flat, matter of fact. "Y'all are being stupid."

"Watch your mouth."

"I'm serious, Fez." And he is, Ashtray's expression has gone hard, the way it does when he's about to say something he thinks needs saying. "She comes over, y'all do this whole thing where you look at each other like you're dying, then she leaves and you get all depressed. It's exhausting."

Fez sets his phone down, rubs his eyes. "It ain't that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because!" The word comes out sharper than he intends. He takes a breath, softens his voice. "Because I can't...Ash, you know what our life is like. What we do. I can't drag her into that."

"She already in it. She's here all the time."

"That's different."

"How?"

Fez doesn't have a good answer for that. He stares at the blank tv screen, jaw tight. "I could get her hurt. People we deal with, the shit we're involved in...If something happened to her because of me—"

"So you're just gonna keep pushing her away? That's your plan?" Ashtray's voice is hard. "You think that don't hurt her?"

"Better than the alternative."

"Is it?" Ashtray leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Fez, look at me."

Reluctantly, Fez does. Ashtray's eyes are too knowing. Sometimes Fez forgets he's just a kid, and then moments like this happen and he remembers that Ash has seen too much, grown up too fast in this life they're living.

"You're already hurting her by doing nothing," Ashtray says quietly. "I see it every time she's here. The way she looks at you, then catches herself. The way she leaves before she wants to. She's protecting herself from you, bro. Because you won't be straight with her."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Fez wants to argue, but he can't. Because Ash is right. He's seen it too the way you pull back, the careful distance you've started keeping. He did that, his fear did that.

"What if I can't keep her safe?" His voice comes out rough.

"What if you can?" Ashtray counters. "You keep everyone safe. Me, the people who come through here, even the ones who don't deserve it. You think you can't do that for her?"

"That's different. Y'all are—"

"Family?" Ashtray raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. And what's she?"

Fez doesn't answer, can't. Because the truth is you've been family for a while now, and he's been too scared to admit it. Too scared to reach for what he wants because wanting things has always been dangerous in his life.

"I don't know how to do this," he admits finally. "Don't know how to be...that. For someone."

"You're already doing it, dumbass. You just won't admit it." Ashtray stands, heads toward his room. At the doorway, he pauses. "She's not gonna wait forever, Fez. Eventually, she's gonna stop coming back. And then you're really gonna be miserable."

He disappears down the hall, leaving Fez alone with his phone and his thoughts and the weight of everything unsaid.

Fez picks up his phone, looks at your text again. His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He types and deletes three different messages before giving up, setting the phone down.

But Ashtray's words echo in his head, You're already hurting her by doing nothing.

He's spent so long trying to protect you that he never considered he might be the thing you need protection from. Not because he'd hurt you intentionally, but because his fear is doing the job just fine.

Outside the sun is setting, the house feels too quiet. Fez thinks about the space on the couch where you always sit, the indent that's shaped like you. Thinks about your laugh, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're nervous, how you're the only person besides Ash who makes him feel like maybe he's not just the sum of his mistakes.

He picks up his phone again.

This time, he doesn't let himself overthink it. He just types: can we talk?

Your response comes faster than he expected: when?

Tomorrow? Come by whenever.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Finally: okay.

Fez stares at the word, heart pounding. He has no idea what he's going to say to you. No idea how to explain the mess in his head, the fear and want tangled up so tight he can't separate them.

But Ashtray's right, he has to try.

Because losing you slowly, watching you pull away inch by inch, is worse than any risk. And maybe you deserve to make your own choice about whether he's worth the danger.

⸻

You almost don't go in.

You sit in your car outside Fez's place for ten minutes, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to talk yourself into driving away. Whatever he wants to talk about, you're not sure you can handle it. If he's going to tell you to stop coming around, to give him space, you think it might actually break something in you.

But you're here and you've never been good at protecting yourself from him.

The door opens before you can knock. Fez stands there, and he looks tired and worried. His eyes search your face like he's trying to figure out what you're thinking.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey."

Neither of you move, then he steps back, gestures you inside. The house is quiet Ashtray must be out, or hiding in his room. Probably the latter, knowing him.

You follow Fez to the living room, but neither of you sit. The air feels heavy, with everything unspoken. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and you cross your arms, and the space between you might as well be an ocean.

"So," you say, when the silence gets too loud. "You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. I—" He stops, runs a hand over his beard. "Shit, I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?"

"This. Talking about..." He gestures vaguely between you. "This."

Your heart is pounding. "Fez, if you're trying to tell me to stop coming around, just say it. I can handle it."

"What? No." He looks genuinely shocked. "That ain't—why would you think that?"

"Because you keep pulling away!" The words burst out before you can stop them. "Every time we get close, you back off. Every time something almost happens, you shut down. I'm not stupid, Fez. I can take a hint."

"That ain't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" You're angry now, months of frustration bubbling over. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like you don't want me here."

"That's not true." His voice is firm, almost desperate. "That ain't true at all."

"Then what is it? Because I can't keep doing this. Can't keep coming here and wanting—" You cut yourself off, but it's too late.

"Wanting what?" He takes a step closer, and there's something intense in his eyes. "Say it."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. Say it."

"You!" The word rips out of you. "I keep wanting you, and you keep acting like I'm something you can't touch, and I don't understand why. If you don't feel the same way, fine. But stop—stop looking at me like that if you don't mean it."

The silence that follows is deafening. Fez stares at you, and you can see something crumbling in his expression, some wall he's been holding up finally giving way.

"You think I don't want you?" His voice is rough, raw. "You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

"I think about you all the damn time." The confession comes out like it's been pulled from somewhere deep. "Every day. Every night. You're in my head constantly, and it's driving me crazy because I can't—I don't know how to—"

He stops, jaw clenched, and you realize with a shock that his hands are shaking.

"Fez—"

"I'm scared, a'ight?" The words sound like they cost him something. "I'm scared of dragging you into my mess. The shit I'm involved in, the life I live—it ain't safe. And you're..." He looks at you, and his eyes are so full of emotion it makes your chest ache. "You're good. You're the best thing that's come into my life in years, and I can't stand the thought of something happening to you because of me."

"So you were just going to push me away?" Your voice is softer now. "That was your solution?"

"I was trying to protect you."

"From what? From you?" You take a step closer. "Fez, I know what your life is like. I've known from the beginning. I'm not some naive kid who doesn't understand what she's walking into."

"You don't get it—"

"No, you don't get it." Another step. You're close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "You don't get to make that choice for me. If I want to be here, if I want to be part of your life, that's my decision. Not yours."

"What if I can't keep you safe?" His voice breaks slightly. "What if something happens and I can't—"

"What if it doesn't?" You reach out, slowly, and place your hand on his chest. His heart is racing under your palm. "What if we're careful, and smart, and it's okay?"

He covers your hand with his, and his touch is gentle. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"You already are." The truth of it sits in your chest, solid and sure. "You've been what I need since the day we met. You're just too scared to see it."

"I'm terrified," he admits, and this is Fez at his most vulnerable no walls, no protection, just raw honesty. "Of fucking this up. Of losing you. Of not being enough."

"Fez." You step closer, until there's barely any space between you. "Look at me."

He does. His eyes are desperate, pleading, full of want and fear in equal measure.

"I'm here," you say quietly. "I'm standing right here, telling you I want this. Want you. The only way you lose me is if you keep pushing me away."

For a long minute, he just stares at you. Then, slowly, his hand comes up to cup your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and the touch is so tender it makes your eyes sting.

"I want you," he says, voice rough. "God, I want you so much it scares me."

"Then stop being scared." You lean into his touch. "Stop running. Just...be here. With me."

"I don't know if I can do this right."

"We'll figure it out." You cover his hand with yours. "Together."

Something in his expression shifts. The fear is still there, but underneath it is something else hope, possibility. He leans his forehead against yours, and you both just breathe for a moment, sharing space.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "For pushing you away. For making you think I didn't want you. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. For pulling back instead of talking to you."

"We're both pretty stupid, huh?"

You laugh, and it comes out watery. "Yeah. We really are."

His thumb traces your jaw, and you shiver. "Can I—" He stops, swallows hard. "Can I kiss you?"

Your heart stutters. "Yeah. Yes."

But he doesn't move right away. Just holds you there, forehead to forehead, like he's savoring this moment before everything changes. His breath is warm on your lips, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

"Fez," you whisper.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." But still he hesitates, and you realize he's shaking. This man who's seen and done things you can only imagine, who's always so steady and sure, is trembling at the thought of kissing you.

So you close the distance yourself.

⸻

The kiss is gentle, like you're both afraid of breaking each other.

Fez's lips are softer than you imagined, and he kisses you like you're made of glass careful, reverent, like he can't quite believe this is real. His hand cradles your face, and the other finds your waist, pulling you closer but not too close. Still giving you space to pull away if you want.

You don't want to.

You sink into him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he makes this sound low and rough and desperate that sends heat flooding through you. The kiss deepens, but slowly. He's still holding back, still being careful, and you can feel the restraint in every touch.

When you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard. Fez rests his forehead against yours again, eyes closed, and his hands are shaking where they hold you.

"Fuck," he breathes. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

"Yeah?"

"Since the first time you sat on that couch and laughed at one of Ash's terrible jokes. Since you stayed up with me when I was stressed about a deal. Since—" He opens his eyes, and they're so full of emotion it steals your breath. "Since always, feels like."

You kiss him again, softer this time, a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You sure about this? About me?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He studies your face like he's looking for doubt, for hesitation. Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, still racing, and you wrap your arms around him.

"Stay," he murmurs into your hair. "Tonight. Just stay."

"Okay."

You stand there in the middle of his living room, holding each other, and it feels like something has shifted. Like the world has rearranged itself into a new configuration, one where this is possible. Where you and Fez can be this.

Eventually, you migrate to the couch. He sits in his usual spot, and you curl into his side, head on his chest. His arm wraps around you, and it feels right in a way nothing else ever has.

"Ash is gonna be insufferable about this," Fez says after a while.

You laugh. "He's been trying to get us together for months."

"Yeah, kid's too smart for his own good." There's fondness in his voice. "He told me I was being stupid. That I was hurting you by doing nothing."

"He wasn't wrong."

"Nah, he wasn't." Fez's hand runs up and down your arm, the touch absent and soothing. "I'm gonna try, a'ight? To be better at this. At talking instead of shutting down."

"That's all I ask."

The tv is still off, the neighborhood is quiet. You can hear Fez's breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and everything feels suspended in this perfect moment.

"What are you thinking?" you ask softly.

"That I don't deserve this. You." His voice is quiet. "But I'm gonna try to anyway."

You shift to look up at him. "Fez, you deserve good things. You deserve to be happy."

"You make me happy." He says it simply, like it's a fact. "Happier than I've been in a long time."

"Good." You settle back against him. "Because you make me happy too."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. It's such a sweet thing that your eyes sting.

"I think about you all the time," he says again, like he needs you to understand. "When you're not here, I'm thinking about when you'll come back. When you are here, I'm trying not to stare at you like a creep. You're in my head constantly."

"I think about you too." You trace patterns on his chest. "More than I probably should."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think about your voice. The way you laugh. How you're so gentle with Ash even when you're pretending to be tough. How you make me feel safe."

He's quiet for a moment. "You are safe. With me. I'll make sure of it."

"I know."

And you do. Despite everything the danger, the uncertainty, the complicated reality of his life you've never felt safer than you do right now, wrapped in his arms.

The night stretches on. You talk about everything and nothing childhood memories, favorite foods, the documentary about ocean life you never actually watched. Fez tells you about his grandmother, and his voice goes soft with grief and love. You tell him about your family, your dreams, the things you've never said out loud to anyone.

At some point, you shift positions. You're lying down now, Fez on his back and you tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. His hand plays with your hair, gentle and rhythmic, and you're so comfortable you could fall asleep right here.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you. For not giving up on me."

You tilt your head to look at him. In the dim light, his face is soft, unguarded. "Thank you for letting me in."

He kisses you again, and this time there's less hesitation. His hand cups your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and the kiss is deeper, hungrier. You can feel the want in it, the months of restraint finally breaking down.

When you pull back, you're both breathing hard again. Fez's eyes are dark and there's a flush on his cheeks.

"We should probably slow down," he says, but his hand is still on your face, still touching you like he can't help himself.

"Probably," you agree, but you don't move away.

"I want to do this right. With you." His voice is rough. "Want to take my time. Make sure you know—" He stops, swallows hard. "Make sure you know how much you mean to me."

Your heart feels too big for your chest. "Fez—"

"I'm serious. You're not just—this ain't just physical for me. You get that, right?"

"I get it." You kiss him softly. "It's not just physical for me either."

"Good. Okay." He takes a shaky breath. "Okay."

You settle back against him, and his arms wrap around you again.

"Stay with me tonight," he says again. "Just sleep. I just want—I want you here."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise.

And as you drift off, warm and safe in his arms, you think that maybe Ashtray was right. Maybe you were both being stupid but you're not anymore.

Now you're just here, together and that's enough.

⸻

You wake up to early morning light filtering through the curtains and Fez's arm heavy across your waist. For a moment, you just lie there, taking in the unfamiliar feeling of waking up next to him. His face is relaxed in sleep, the worry lines smoothed away, and he looks the most peaceful.

You shift slightly and his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer even in sleep. The gesture makes your heart squeeze.

"You watching me sleep?" His voice is rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there's a smile playing at his lips.

"Maybe."

He opens his eyes, and they're soft, warm. "Morning."

"Morning."

For a moment, you just look at each other. Then he leans in, kisses you slow and sweet. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek.

"Been wanting to wake up like this," he murmurs against your lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Another kiss, deeper this time. "With you here. In my arms."

You shift closer, and suddenly you're very aware of the warmth of his body, the solid weight of him against you. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and the kiss turns heated.

"Fez," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." His voice is rough, strained. "Any time. Just tell me."

"I don't want you to stop."

He groans, low and desperate, and kisses you harder. His hand slides down your side, over your hip, and even through your clothes the touch burns. You arch into him, and he makes that sound again the one that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

"You're so—" He breaks off, kisses your jaw, your neck. "So beautiful. Drive me crazy."

Your hands find the hem of his shirt, slide underneath to touch warm skin. He shudders at the contact and you feel powerful knowing you affect him like this.

"Can I—" His hand hovers at the edge of your shirt. "Is this okay?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He takes his time, though. Pushes your shirt up slowly, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. When you don't stop him, he leans down, presses kisses to your stomach, your ribs. Each touch is soft, slow, like he's memorizing you.

"So soft," he murmurs. "So perfect."

You pull him back up to kiss him, and it's hungry now, desperate. Months of wanting finally breaking free. His weight settles over you, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer.

"Wait, wait." He pulls back, breathing hard. "We should—I want to make sure—"

"I'm sure." You cup his face, make him look at you. "I want this. Want you."

"Yeah, but—" He takes a shaky breath. "I want to do this right. Want to take care of you."

The words make your chest ache. Even now, even in the middle of this, he's thinking about you. Making sure you're okay.

"You are taking care of me," you say softly. "This is taking care of me."

He searches your face, and whatever he sees must satisfy him because he nods. "Okay. But you tell me if anything's too much, yeah? If you want to slow down or stop or—"

You kiss him to shut him up, and he melts into it. His hands start moving again, sliding under your shirt, and this time when he pulls it off you let him. He stares at you for a long time and there's so much want in his eyes it makes you shiver.

"Beautiful," he says again. "So fucking beautiful."

He kisses you everywhere he can reach your shoulders, your collarbone, the curve of your boob. Each touch is careful, restrained, like he's holding himself back. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting for control.

"Fez," you murmur. "You don't have to hold back."

"Yeah, I do." His voice is strained. "Want to make this good for you. Want to—" He breaks off with a groan as you arch against him. "Fuck, you're making this hard."

"Good."

He laughs, breathless, and kisses you again. His hands map your body like he's learning it, committing every curve to memory. When he touches you, really touches you, you gasp into his mouth.

"This okay?" he asks, even though your reaction makes it obvious.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"Not planning to."

He takes his time, drawing it out, watching your face to see what you like. Every time you make a sound, he does it again, learning you. It's overwhelming, the attention, the care he's putting into this.

"You're so responsive," he murmurs. "So perfect. Love watching you like this."

You pull at his shirt, and he helps you remove it. Finally, you can touch him properly run your hands over his chest, his shoulders, feel the strength in him. He shudders under your touch, and you realize he's just as affected as you are.

"Your turn," you say, and push him onto his back.

He goes willingly, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You kiss him, then start working your way down. He watches you with an intensity that makes you feel powerful, desired. When you touch him, he groans, head falling back.

"Fuck, baby. That's—yeah, just like that."

The endearment makes your heart skip. You've never heard him call anyone baby before.

"You like that?" you ask, doing it again.

"Love it. Love—" He cuts off with another groan. "You're gonna kill me."

"Good way to go though, right?"

He laughs, breathless and wrecked. "Best way."

You continue exploring him, learning what makes him gasp, what makes his hands fist in the sheets. He's vocal, telling you what he likes, praising you, and the words make you bolder.

"Come here," he says finally, pulling you back up. "Need to kiss you."

The kiss is deep, consuming. His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in the sensation of skin on skin, heat and want and something deeper. Something that feels like love, even if neither of you have said it yet.

"I want—" You break off, suddenly shy.

"What? Tell me what you want."

"You. All of you."

His eyes darken. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "Okay. But we go slow, yeah? And you tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop."

"I will."

He takes his time preparing you, making sure you're ready, checking in constantly. The care he takes, the attention he pays to your comfort, makes you fall for him even more.

When he finally pushes inside, you both gasp. He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

"Okay?" His voice is strained.

"Yeah. More than okay."

He starts moving, slow and careful, watching your face. Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, and you can see the effort it takes him to hold back.

"You feel so good," he groans. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he curses. "Baby, you can't—I'm trying to go slow here."

"Don't want slow." You roll your hips, and he groans. "Want you."

"You got me. You got all of me."

The rhythm builds, and he's still careful but less restrained now. His hands grip your hips, and he kisses you like he's drowning and you're air. You're lost in it, in him, in the feeling of finally being this close.

"So beautiful," he murmurs. "So perfect. My girl. Mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill through you. "Yours."

"Yeah. Mine." He kisses you hard. "And I'm yours. All yours."

When you come apart, he's right there with you, holding you through it, murmuring praise and endearments. After, he holds you close, pressing kisses to your face, your hair, anywhere he can reach.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

"More than okay." You curl into him. "That was—"

"Yeah." He sounds awed. "It really was."

You lie there together, tangled up in each other, and everything feels right. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he says after a while.

"Mm?"

"I love you."

The words are quiet, almost hesitant, like he's not sure how you'll react. You pull back to look at him, and his eyes are vulnerable, open.

"I love you too," you say, and watch relief flood his face.

He kisses you, soft and sweet. "Good. That's—that's good."

You laugh at his awkwardness, and he smiles against your lips. "Shut up."

"Make me."

So he does, kissing you until you're both breathless again. And when you finally settle back into his arms, you think that this warmth, this safety, this love is worth every moment of fear and uncertainty it took to get here.

⸻

You wake up to voices in the hallway. Fez's arm is still around you, and you're wearing his shirt, and the morning light is brighter now. You must have fallen back asleep.

"—just saying, you could've texted me," Ashtray's voice carries through the door.

"I did text you," Fez responds, voice still rough with sleep.

"Yeah, at like 2 am. Real helpful."

You feel Fez sigh, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. "Ash, come on."

The door opens. You have just enough time to register that you should probably be embarrassed before Ashtray walks in, takes one look at you and Fez tangled together in bed, and stops.

For a minute, nobody says anything. You're frozen, Fez is tense, and Ashtray just stands there, expression unreadable.

"Finally."

The word is so flat, so deadpan, that you can't help it you laugh. Fez groans, covering his face with his free hand.

"Ash, man, can you not—"

"What? I'm happy for you." Ashtray's expression doesn't change. "Only took you like six months. Was starting to think I'd have to lock you in a room together."

"We're having a moment here," Fez says, but there's no real heat in it.

"Yeah, I can see that." Ashtray looks at you. "You good?"

The question is serious despite his tone. He's checking in, making sure you're okay, and the protectiveness of it makes your chest warm.

"I'm good, Ash. Really good."

He nods, satisfied. "Cool. Fez, we need to talk about the shipment later."

"Later, Ash. Jesus."

"Just saying." He heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and you're making breakfast. Both of you. I'm not doing it just because you finally got your shit together."

He leaves, closing the door behind him, and you and Fez just lie there in stunned silence.

"Did that really just happen?" you ask.

"Unfortunately." But Fez is smiling, and when you look up at him, his eyes are soft. "Kid's got timing, I'll give him that."

"He's been waiting for this."

"Yeah, he has." Fez pulls you closer, kisses your forehead. "We all have."

You stay in bed a little longer, just holding each other, before finally getting up. Fez gives you a pair of his sweatpants to wear with his shirt, and they're way too big, but he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

In the kitchen, Ashtray is already at the table, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you enter, and something in his expression softens.

"Pancakes?" you offer.

"Hell yeah."

You and Fez move around the kitchen together, and it's easy, natural. He stands behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You lean back into him, and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.

Ashtray watches you both with something that might be approval. "You know you're gonna have to be careful, right?" he says suddenly. "People find out about her, they might try to use that."

The words are serious, a reminder of the reality you're walking into. Fez tenses behind you.

"I know," he says quietly. "We'll be careful."

"Good." Ashtray goes back to his phone. "Because I like her. Would suck if something happened."

"Nothing's gonna happen," Fez says firmly. "I'll make sure of it."

You turn in his arms, cup his face. "We'll make sure of it. Together."

He kisses you, soft and quick, mindful of Ashtray's presence. "Together."

Breakfast is comfortable, easy. Ashtray tells a story about something that happened at school, and Fez listens with that particular attention he gives the people he loves. You sit there, eating pancakes in Fez's clothes and think about how this is your life now. This kitchen, these people, this love.

"What are you smiling about?" Fez asks, nudging your shoulder.

"Nothing. Just happy."

"Yeah?" His own smile is soft, private. "Me too."

Ashtray makes a gagging sound. "Y'all are gonna be disgusting, aren't you?"

"Probably," you admit.

"Great. Just what I needed." But he's smiling, just a little. "Worth it though, I guess. Fez has been less of a grumpy asshole lately."

"Watch it," Fez warns, but there's no heat in it.

The morning stretches on. Eventually, Ashtray disappears to his room, giving you and Fez space. You end up back on the couch, in your usual spots, except now you're tucked against his side, his arm around you.

"This okay?" he asks. "Having you here like this? Not too fast?"

"It's perfect." You tilt your head to look at him. "This is exactly where I want to be."

"Good." He kisses your temple. "Because I'm not letting you go now. You're stuck with me."

"I can live with that."

Outside, the neighborhood is waking up. Inside, everything is warm and safe and right. Fez's hand runs up and down your arm and you can hear Ashtray's music playing faintly from his room

"Hey," Fez says softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For being patient with me. For not giving up."

You shift to kiss him, slow and sweet. "Thank you for letting me in."

"Always," he promises. "From now on, it's always."

And as you settle back against him, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you believe him. This is just the beginning there will be challenges, dangers, moments of fear. But you'll face them together. Because that's what love is. Not the absence of fear, but the choice to stay anyway. To build something soft and safe in the middle of chaos and to find home in another person.

And you've found yours.

In a house that smells like pancakes and safety, with a boy who loves fiercely and carefully in equal measure, and a kid who's too wise for his years but still knows how to hope.

This is your family now and you're not going anywhere.

⸻

MASTERLIST

Efficiency. It was what you preached and practiced.

Getting a job done and doing it well was your forte. You'd picked this hustle up from an old mentor - a man named Dante who'd found you at fifteen, all sharp elbows with a clever tongue. You were quiet, alone, and running nickel bags to college kids who underestimated you. He'd seen something in you instantly. Potential beyond how pretty you were.

He'd taught you everything. How to cut product without compromising its quality, how to spot a narc from a mile away, and even how to smile at men while palming a blade. With his help, you walked into rooms and owned them before anyone could even question your place there. He'd been a business man first, a criminal second, and had drilled it all into your young, impressionable skull.

Look the part, baby girl. Nobody suspects a little girl wearing pink.

Luckily, you didn't just look the part. You were that girl.

Even before, you'd always had painted nails, immaculately done hair, and clean shoes. Your mother had been absent in the ways that raised a proper girl, but she'd left you with one thing: understanding that looking put-together was the way to live. People treated you differently when you looked soft and expensive. They held doors. They underestimated your intelligence. They saw a pretty face and bright colors and assumed you were fragile.

You let them.

The femininity wasn't a costume you put on for the job. It was you. The acrylics, the gold hoops, the lip gloss that left sticky prints on coffee cups and cheeks alike, all of it was genuine. You just happened to have learned that it was also deeply, profoundly useful. Men saw pink and thought harmless. They saw a skirt and thought easy. They saw you smile and never once clocked the calculation behind it.

Dante had recognized the weapon you already carried. All he did was sharpen it.

He was gone now. Two years dead, buried in a plot you still visited on his birthday. His death had been a lesson all its own. Someone in the inner circle had gotten greedy. Someone had mistaken Dante's age for weakness. You'd corrected that assumption personally.

Afterward, there was no question of who would take over. The men who'd worked under Dante grumbled at first. A woman, barely twenty, with a closet full of pastels and a perfume collection that cost more than their cars. But you restructured the operation from the ground up. Streamlined supply lines. Cut dead weight. Within a year, your product was the cleanest on the East Coast, and your reputation was immaculate. You didn't start conflicts, but you ended them with surgical precision. Everyone who mattered knew: you were not to be fucked with.

Now you were expanding. East Highland was fresh territory: a quiet suburb full of bored kids with trust funds and insufficient supervision. A goldmine. Through the grapevine, you'd heard about a local dealer worth knowing. Fezco O'Neill. Quiet, professional, ran his business out of a convenience store with his younger brother. No turf disputes, no attention, no mess.

Your kind of people.

You'd arranged the first meeting through a mutual contact. Tuesday night. Behind the store. After closing. Samples for cash. Straightforward. Clean.

Fezco, however, had never heard of you. To be quite honest, he was suspicious. He was reluctant to even meet with you.

Your messages didn't come through with a name. They came through with initials, so he didn't even know who to expect. Whether you were a man or a woman, trouble like Mouse or harmless like Laurie.

The first text had come through three weeks ago.

Heard you're the man to talk to in East Highland. I've got product. Clean. Consistent. I'm looking to expand. - D.

No name. No number he recognized. Just a letter and a business proposition. Fez had stared at his phone for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen, before showing it to Ash.

"The fuck is 'D'?" Ash had asked, not looking up from his Playstation he was playing.

"That's what I'm tryna figure out."

"You text back?"

"Nah. Not yet."

He'd waited two days. Let the message sit. In his experience, people who pushed too fast were either desperate or dangerous, and he didn't have time for either. However, the follow-up never came. No double-text. No pressure. Just silence, patient and professional. That, more than anything, made him curious.

So he'd responded. Short. Careful.

Who put you on to me?

The reply came within the hour. Mutual friend. Used to run product through the East Coast. Said you were solid.

No name-dropping. No sloppiness. Just enough to let him know it wasn't a setup. Fez respected that.

Still. A new supplier was a risk. His last connect had flaked, leaving him scrambling to keep up with demand. He needed someone reliable, but need made you vulnerable. Need made you sloppy. And Fezco O'Neill did not do sloppy.

Over the following weeks, the messages stayed sparse. All business. You proposed a meeting, neutral ground, after hours, his territory so he'd feel comfortable. You offered to bring samples first, no commitment. When he mentioned he ran the operation with his brother, you didn't flinch or question it. Just acknowledged it and moved on.

Tuesday night came slow and heavy, the air thick with the kind of heat that made the asphalt shimmer even after dark. Fez had sent Ash to close up the store while he waited out back, leaning against the hood of the Cadillac. A blunt burned between his fingers, more for something to do than anything else. He wasn't nervous, exactly. Just... alert.

The text had said midnight. It was 11:57.

"You think they're gonna show?" Ash appeared at his elbow, quiet as always. The kid moved like a ghost when he wanted to.

"Three minutes early," Fez said, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Ain't late yet."

"Could still be a cop."

"Could be."

"You keep saying that."

"'Cause it's true."

Ash didn't respond. Just crossed his arms and stared out at the dark parking lot, his small face unreadable. Fez sometimes wondered what it must be like inside his brother's head. If he was scared. If he ever got tired. Ash never showed it. He just stood there, solid as a pit bull, ready to bite if things went sideways.

Headlights cut through the darkness.

Not a cop car - too old, too sleek. A Mustang. Cherry red. Vintage. It rolled into the lot with a low, throaty purr, chrome catching the flickering glow of the broken streetlight. Fez straightened slightly, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his sneaker.

"Nice car," Ash muttered.

"Yeah."

The engine cut. Silence rushed back in. Through the tinted windshield, Fez could just make out a silhouette. Small. Waiting. After a long moment, the driver's side door opened.

And you stepped out.

The first thing he registered was the heels. Strappy. Pink. Six inches, easy. The kind of shoes that announced themselves before you did, clicking sharp against the asphalt like a countdown. His gaze traveled up, long legs, a white dress that skimmed your thighs, a coat the color of cotton candy cinched tight at the waist. Gold glittered at your ears and wrists. Your hair fell in soft waves past your shoulders, and even in the dim light he could see your nails, perfectly shaped and painted the same shade of pink as the coat.

You looked like a cupcake. Like a trap.

"What the fuck," Ash breathed.

Fez didn't answer. His brain was still buffering, trying to reconcile the professional, clipped messages with the woman walking toward them. You moved like you owned the parking lot, the night, the whole damn city. Chin up. Shoulders back. A small smile playing at the corners of your mouth, like you knew exactly what he was thinking.

You stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to run. Smart.

"Fezco?" Your voice was sweeter than he'd imagined. Soft. Warm. Like honey poured over steel.

He realized he hadn't said anything yet. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah."

You extended your manicured hand, the small smile widening into a Cheshire grin. Lip gloss shimmered in the moonlight.

"I'm D." You tilted your head, waiting for him to shake.

He took your hand. Your grip was firmer than he'd expected, your palm warm against his. The acrylics pressed lightly into the back of his hand-not painful, just present. A reminder that the softness had edges.

"D," he repeated, letting go. "That your name?"

"D stands for something else." Your eyes glittered with amusement. "I'm Y/n. My old mentor was Dante. That's where the D comes from."

Fez filed that away. Dante. The name rang a faint bell, something from years back, whispers in the kind of circles that didn't make it to polite conversation. A businessman. A legend in certain circles.

"Dante," he said slowly. "Heard of him. Didn't know he had a.. princess."

"Most people didn't." Your smile flickered, just for a second, something softer and sadder bleeding through before you tucked it away. "He liked it that way. Kept me out of the spotlight until I was ready."

"And now?"

"Now I'm ready."

Ash shifted his weight behind Fez, a silent reminder that they were still standing in a dark parking lot. Fez cleared his throat and jerked his chin toward the back door.

"Come inside. We can talk."

You followed him, heels clicking steadily on the asphalt, completely unbothered by the dim lighting or the barred windows or the way Ash kept glaring at you like you might sprout fangs. Inside the store, you draped your pink coat over a dusty chair near the counter and turned to face them both, hands clasped loosely in front of you. Patient. Poised.

"So." You looked from Fez to Ash and back again. "You've been having supply issues. Your last connect flaked. You've been buying smaller, paying more, and stretching product thinner than you'd like. That about sum it up?"

Fez tensed. "You been asking around about me?"

You scoffed, like it was obvious. "Of course I have. Running this business, you gotta know your clients inside and out," you hummed, examining your nails. "If you're not doing that, that's probably why your people flake out. You're not choosing the right ones."

Fez opened his mouth. Closed it. Behind him, Ash made a sound that might've been a laugh. It was stifled quick, but Fez heard it anyway.

He didn't have a rebuttal. You weren't wrong. His last connect had been a recommendation from someone he'd trusted, and that trust had blown up in his face. He'd been so focused on keeping the day-to-day running that he'd let his vetting slip. It stung to hear it from a stranger in pink stilettos, but the sting meant it was true.

"Aight," he admitted, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Fair."

Your eyes flicked up from your nails, something like approval glinting in them. "At least you can take criticism. That's rare."

"It's rare 'cause most people don't like being told they're messing up."

"Most people stay messy, then." You shrugged. "Their loss."

You unclasped your tiny lipstick-shaped purse and pulled out a velvet pouch, sliding it across the counter toward him. The movement was casual, practiced, like you'd done it a thousand times.

"Sample. On the house. See what you're missing."

Fez nodded at Ash. The kid stepped forward, still watching you with those sharp, suspicious eyes, and took the pouch. He disappeared into the back room without a word.

Silence filled the room. Fez's blue eyes, missing nothing, analyzed you thoroughly. You stared back, crossing your arms. Without asking, you took a seat in the chair that held your jacket, waiting patiently.

"How old are you?" Fez asked.

You answered honestly. Honesty was important.

"Nineteen." You hummed.

Nineteen. Fez didn't know why that surprised him; maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the weight of someone who'd been doing this for decades instead of years. But no.

"Huh," he said.

"Huh?" You tilted your head, amused. "What's that mean?"

"Means you're younger than I thought."

"You're what, twenty? Don't act like you got years on me."

"Twenty-one." He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms to mirror you. "Just figured someone runnin' an operation like yours would be... older."

"Dante started teaching me at fifteen. I've been doing this for four years." You examined your cuticles, unbothered. "Age doesn't mean much in this line of work."

The back door creaked open. Ash reappeared, velvet pouch in hand. He caught Fez's eye and nodded once. Clean. Good quality. The tension in Fez's shoulders eased a fraction.

"Told you," you said, not smug, just satisfied.

"How much?"

You named your price. Fair. Better than fair.

"That includes delivery," you added. "I come to you. Every Tuesday. Same time, same place. No middlemen, no runners. Just me."

"Why?"

You blinked. "Why what?"

"Why you sellin' to me?" He gestured at the store, at you, at this whole situation. "You could sell anywhere. Why me?"

You shrugged, grinning.

"I liked what I heard about you. Reliable. Plus, no one raising a kid in this world could be some flaky pussy."

Ash snorted. Actually snorted. A sharp, surprised sound that he tried to cover with a cough. Fez just stared at you for a second, caught somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to laughter.

Then the corner of his mouth tugged up despite himself. "That your professional assessment?"

"It's served me well so far." You leaned back in the chair, crossing your legs with the casual elegance of someone who'd just commented on the weather. "You'd be amazed how many people in this business turn out to be flaky pussies. It's an epidemic."

"That so."

"Tragic, really." You examined your nails, the picture of mock solemnity. "All these big tough dealers, and the second things get hard, they fold. And short you and hope you won't notice." Your eyes flicked up to meet his. "You didn't strike me as that type. Was I wrong?"

Fez held your gaze. "No."

"Didn't think so." You stood, smoothing down your dress, and extended your hand. "So. We got a deal?"

He took your hand. Firm grip. Warm palm. Acrylics pressing lightly against his skin.

"Yeah," he said. "We got a deal."

The deal was simple. Easy to commit to, even easier to follow through with. Every Tuesday night, you'd bring him what you had to offer, and he'd pay for it. Sometimes, you'd grab a snack from out front of the store and chat to him while he counted shit out. Sometimes you'd tease and fuck with Ashtray, who'd gotten used to you finally a couple of weeks ago when he'd realized you weren't some sparkly narc. You became friends, almost close friends. Fez respected you, Ash admired you (even though he'd never say that shit), and you had come to like both of them. Very much.

Maybe Fez more than you'd let yourself admit.

On occasion, you sat in the living room with him until 3AM, sharing a blunt and telling stories. You'd hear him laugh - actually laugh, not just a stifled chuckle. He'd tell you about his shitty childhood, his badass grandma that you reminded him of. He'd tell you about how much he loved Ashtray and wanted to see him succeed.

You'd exchange eye contact. The type you tried to ignore, but simultaneously couldn't. Tension. Heaviness, but still soft. You always told him to be safe when you left, and he'd always say he'd try his best. It was a promise, though, hidden behind Fez's standoffishness.

Today, shit was weird. Shit was concerning. Because you, normally polished and up-beat, were bruised and bloody.

The Mustang pulled up at the usual time, but you didn't get out right away. Fez noticed that first. He was leaning against the back door, a fresh blunt between his fingers, and the seconds stretched long enough that he started to straighten up, a prickle of unease creeping down his spine.

The door opened, and you stepped out. You didn't wear heels tonight - flats, scuffed at the toes, but still clean. Your hair was in a high bun, messy ringlets falling into your face rather than your usual roller curls. Your coat was still pink, but a red stain tainted the front. You wore makeup, as usual, but it didn't fully hide the split in your lip or the dark bruise blooming along your cheekbone.

Fez went very still.

"Oh shit," Ash said.

You walked toward them like nothing was different, but your usual stride was off. Slightly stiff. Favoring your right side.

"I'm fine," you said before either of them could ask. Your voice was steady. Tired, but steady.

"You're bleedin'," Fez said. His voice came out flatter than he meant it to.

"It's not my blood." You held up a hand, and he saw now that your knuckles were split and raw, the pretty pink polish chipped in places. "Mostly."

He stared at you. You stared back.

"Inside," he said. "Now."

You rolled your eyes. "Fezco, I'm fine. I have product to-"

"Don't give a fuck," his voice was as calm as usual, chill, but it held a different vibe. A firm, uptight vibe. "Get inside, Y/n. Now."

Surprise flickered across your face. But you didn't argue. You'd never heard Fez talk like that. It may have had something to do with you being a lady or you being a distributor with such high status, but he'd never used any firm tones. For the first time since they'd met you, you didn't have a smart remark ready. You just followed them inside, Ash locking the door after them.

Fez didn't stop walking until he was in the back room, the one with the worn couch and the old TV and the stacks of inventory that lined the walls. He turned to face you, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"Sit."

You sat. Not because you were scared of him - you weren't scared of anyone - but because the way he was looking at you made something in your chest twist. Concern. Real, genuine concern. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at you like that.

Ash hovered near the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable as always. But he wasn't glaring anymore. His eyes kept darting to the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your coat. He was analyzing the damage.

And he was a little snitch.

"She ain't even putting any pressure on her right." He said, acknowledging the way your body leaned to the left like you were afraid to let your right ribs feel any pressure. "Somethin's under the coat."

You shot Ash a look. A warning. He didn't flinch, the little traitor.

Fez's gaze dropped to your torso, to the way you were holding yourself. The stiff, careful posture. The arm tucked just slightly against your right side. He'd been so focused on your face, your hands, the blood, that he hadn't noticed. But Ash had. Ash noticed everything.

"Take off the coat," Fez said.

"It's fine."

Fez moved, reaching for the right side of your pink coat, but before he could lay his fingers on it, you moved in retaliation. Your fingers wrapped around the gun in your thigh holster, tearing it out and pointing it towards the man. A Glock 19, sleek and packed.

It was supposed to deter him. To get him away. You were afraid of the concern, afraid of the care. It had been so long since someone gave a shit.

The only catch was that Fezco wasn't deterred. Your finger wasn't even near the trigger. You were just waving it around. He knew a scare tactic when he saw one, and you weren't particularly scary to him. Last week, you had literally been playing Crash Bandicoot with Ash on his Playstation.

He rolled his eyes.

"Put that shit away. 'Fore I take it from you."

Your grip tightened on the Glock. "Back off, Fezco."

"No."

The word was simple. Flat. He didn't even blink. Just stood there, arms crossed, looking at you like you were a kitten hissing at a bear.

"I'll shoot your-"

With an impatient yet passive grunt, he plucked the gun from your hand, clicking the safety on and tossing it onto the table behind him. He worked his jaw in annoyance, annoyance you'd never even seen him wear.

"You ain't shootin' shit. Take the coat off. I don't wanna have to do it and have you kickin' and screamin' and shit at midnight."

You stared at him. No one had ever disarmed you that easily. No one had ever dared try. And he'd done it like you were a child waving around a toy.

"Fez-"

"Y/n." His voice was still calm, still low, but there was steel underneath. "You're bleedin' through your shirt. You can barely stand straight. You just pointed a gun at me, which, by the way, we gonna talk about later. Right now, I need you to let me help you. Can you do that?"

Ash snickered from the doorway. "She really tried to shoot you."

"She didn't try shit. Finger wasn't even on the trigger." Fez didn't look away from you. "She's just scared."

"I'm not scared," you said, but your voice came out smaller than you wanted it to.

Ash came forward. He sat on the couch next to you, his voice soft but still a bit raspy. His eyes were still locked onto you, but you couldn't meet them. The kid was too perceptive, just too smart.

"You are scared. We ain't gonna hurt you. But we don't want you bleedin' out in here."

His fingers inched forward. You looked up at the ceiling, purposefully trying to ignore what was happening. Trying to ignore that they were exploring your bleeding wounds, your vulnerabilities, and you had no idea what their intentions were. People always had intentions. They had since you were 15 - ulterior motives, reasons to do what they were doing. But you couldn't read theirs. And that was what scared you.

Ash slowly pulled the shoulder of your coat down. Complete silence fell upon the room.

Underneath, your white blouse was ruined. A dark red stain spread across the right side. The fabric was torn, and beneath the tear, wrapped haphazardly around your ribs, was a bandage. Amateur work. Uneven. Already soaking through. The tear in the fabric revealed the edge of the wound itself, jagged and still seeping.

Fez inhaled sharply through his nose. He didn't say anything. But his hands, still raised from taking your gun, curled into fists at his sides.

Ash was the one who broke the silence.

"That's a lot of blood," he said quietly. Not squeamish. Not scared. Just observing. Cataloging. Like he was memorizing every detail for later use.

"I know," you said. Your voice sounded far away, even to yourself.

Ash, gently working your arm out of the sleeve, let the coat fall. You were limp, accepting your fate.

"You were tryin' to do business with a stab wound. And it's not even bandaged right." Ash said. His tone was almost comical, a motherly lecture. But you honestly hurt too much to laugh. "Looks like shit. You're bleeding still. Bad."

"I was in a hurry," you muttered.

"A hurry to bleed out on our couch?"

"Didn't plan on bleeding out. Planned on dropping off product and going home."

Ash gave you a look. It was the kind of look a disappointed parent might give a child who'd done something particularly stupid. Coming from a fourteen-year-old with a teardrop tattoo, it was almost surreal.

"Dumbest shit I've ever heard," he said.

Fez still hadn't spoken. He was staring at the wound, at the soaked-through bandage, at the jagged edges of torn skin visible through the rip in your blouse. When he finally looked up at your face, his expression was unreadable.

"Ash," he said. "Get the suture kit. And clean towels."

Ash slid off the couch and disappeared down the hall. Fez moved closer, crouching in front of you again. He reached for the hem of your blouse, then paused, eyes meeting yours.

"Gotta take this off too," he said. "Can't fix you through the shirt."

You hesitated. It wasn't modesty - you'd lost that years ago, in and out of motel rooms and back-alley patch-ups. It was the vulnerability. The exposure. The fact that once the shirt came off, there was nothing left to hide behind.

But Fez was waiting. Patient. His hands hovering, not touching. Letting you decide.

"Okay," you said finally. "Just... do it."

He was careful. So careful it made your throat tight. He helped you lift your arms, the right one barely moving, the pain too sharp, and eased the ruined blouse over your head. His eyes stayed on the wound, clinical and focused, never wandering.

Underneath, the bandage was even worse than it had looked through the shirt. Wrapped too loose in some places, too tight in others. The blood had soaked through multiple layers. And the wound itself - when Fez gently peeled back the edge of the bandage - was ugly. Jagged. Still oozing.

"Who did this?" Fez asked. His voice was calm. Dangerously calm.

"Fez."

He sighed, looking up at you. His eyes held a message - no more bullshit.

"You gonna tell me who did this? Or do I gotta test out my detective skills 'n shit?"

"Why does it matter who did it?"

Silence for a moment.

"'Cuz I'm gonna kill his ass."

The words hung in the air. Flat. Certain. Like he was commenting on the weather.

You blinked. "You're not killing anyone."

"The hell I'm not."

"Fezco."

"Y/n." He said your name the same way you'd said his. A mirror. A challenge. "Somebody put a hole in your side. You think I'm just gonna let that slide?"

"It's handled."

"Handled means he's still breathin'."

"He's got two bullets in his leg and a broken nose. He's not breathing easy."

"Not good enough."

Ash hadn't moved from his spot on the couch. His eyes flicked between the two of you like he was watching a tennis match. "Nah, Y/n, that motherfucker is going in the ground. Wouldn't be right if not."

You turned your head to look at him, ignoring the spike of pain the movement caused. "Ash, you're fourteen."

"Age ain't got nothing to do with it." He shrugged, casual as anything. "Someone stabs you, they don't get to walk around after. That's just how it works."

"That's not-"

"You shot him twice and he's still breathing. That's a loose end." Ash's voice was flat, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining basic math to someone who wasn't getting it. "Loose ends get people killed. You know that. Fez knows that. I know that. Only person who don't seem to know that is the guy who stabbed you, and he's about to find out the hard way."

"You ain't comin'," Fez said without looking at his brother.

"I'm definitely coming."

"You're staying here with Y/n."

"She don't need a babysitter. She's got a gun."

"She just pointed that gun at me ten minutes ago. She's clearly not thinkin' straight."

"I'm right here," you said.

Both of them ignored you.

"If I stay here, who's gonna watch your back?" Ash crossed his arms. "You always say never go in alone. I heard you tell Rue that. I heard you tell Mouse that. Now you're gonna go after some guy who already stabbed one person tonight and you're gonna do it solo? That's stupid."

"He's got a point," you muttered.

"I said stay out of this."

"You're not my boss either," Ash shot back. "You're my brother. That means we do this together. Same as everything else."

The room went quiet. Fez stared at Ash. Ash stared back. Neither of them blinked.

Finally, Fez exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But you stay behind me the whole time. You don't move unless I say move. And if anything goes sideways, you run. You don't look back. You understand me?"

"Understood."

"I mean it, Ash. You run."

"I said understood." Ash stood, brushing off his jeans. "We going tonight?"

"Nah. Tomorrow. Let him sit with those bullets in his leg for a minute." Fez finally looked back at you. "You got an address?"

You should've said no. You should've told them to drop it, to let you handle your own mess. That was what you always did. What you'd been doing since you were fifteen.

But you looked at Fez, at the steady certainty in his eyes, the way his hands were still curled into fists, the way he'd stitched you up without hesitation and talked about killing for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then you looked at Ash, at the fourteen-year-old who'd held your hand while you bled, who'd called you stupid with the affection of a brother, who was now calmly discussing a murder like it was a weekend errand.

"There's a warehouse on Fifth and Darrow," you said quietly. "Industrial district. Old meatpacking plant. He uses the basement level as a hideout."

Fez nodded, filing the information away. "Anyone with him?"

"The two guys who ran earlier might have circled back. Couldn't say for sure."

"We'll handle it."

You sighed.

"If you're going to do this, you do it clean. No mess. No attention. I meant what I said earlier, I don't need a murder investigation screwing up my supply chain."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You worried about your supply chain? Right now?"

"Business doesn't stop just because I got stabbed."

Ash snorted. "She's got a point."

He reached for the suture kit again, threading the needle with steady hands. "Don't move. This is gonna sting." You let him work. The first stitch went in, sharp and burning, and your hand found Ash's again. He held on without complaint.

"You know," you said through gritted teeth, staring at the ceiling, "most business partners don't offer to kill people for each other."

"We ain't most business partners," Fez said.

"No. I guess we're not."

Another stitch. Another spike of pain. Ash's grip tightened around your fingers.

"When this is over," you said, "I'm buying you both dinner. Something nice. Not gas station snacks."

"We like gas station snacks."

"Something healthier than gas station snacks."

"That's ain't a high bar," Ash said.

"Shut up."

"You shut up. You're the one who got stabbed."

"I didn't get stabbed. I got cut with a broken bottle. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Absolutely. Stabbing implies precision. This was messy."

Fez tied off the last stitch and sat back on his heels, shaking his head. "You the only person I know who would argue while actively bleeding out."

"Not actively bleeding out anymore. You fixed it." You looked down at the fresh bandage, the neat row of stitches beneath.

He shrugged. "Don't mention it."

"I mean it. Both of you." You looked at Ash, then back at Fez. "I'm not good at this stuff. People doing things for me, actually giving a fuck." You stopped. Swallowed. "You didn't have to do any of this."

Ash let go of your hand and stood, stretching. "Can we stop with the emotional stuff? I'm tryna go to bed. We got a busy day tomorrow."

"Murder is a busy day," you said, shrugging.

"It's on the to-do list." He headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. "Night, Y/n. Don't bleed on the couch. It's ugly enough already."

"Night, Ash."

He disappeared down the hall. Fez lingered, gathering the bloody supplies, tossing them into a trash bag.

"You know he likes you," Fez said quietly. "He don't offer to kill people for just anyone."

You snorted, letting yourself lean back onto the couch. Your head lolled against the ugly floral pillows, watching Fez with somewhat relaxed eyes.

"Didn't think murder was a love language. This business teaches you a lot of things."

He sighed, sitting down next to you. Ignoring the blood smeared into the cushions. The silence, once heavy, was now comfortable. These nights, here in Fez's presence, were normally the most relaxed you got to be.

"Nah. It don't teach you nothing good." He admitted, his eyes finally moving over to you. The weight of his gaze was different now. Softer. He wasn't looking at the wound or the bruises or the blood on your ruined blouse. He was looking at you. Just you.

"Dante taught me a lot," you said quietly. "Some of it was good, some of it wasn't, but he taught me how to survive. I don't know if that's the same thing."

"Survival ain't living."

"You sound like a fortune cookie."

"I'm serious." He shifted on the couch, turning to face you. "You spend too much time survivin' and doin' nothing else. You push away all the real shit about you."

You didn't have an answer for that. You'd been running for so long, running Dante's operation, running from enemies, running from the grief of losing the only father figure you'd ever known, that you'd never stopped to think about what came after. What happened when the running was over.

"Maybe I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

"How to be a person." You swallowed. "Y/n. Whoever that is."

Fez didn't say anything. He just waited patiently and steadily. The way he always was, without being frantic or angry.

"Dante used to say I was born for this," you continued. "Said I had a gift, and I do, I think. I'm really good at this shit. But sometimes I wonder if I'm good at anything else. If there's anything else left."

"There is."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours. "I seen it. When you're playin' Crash Bandicoot with Ash and you let him win 'cause you know his ego can't take another loss. And you bring those fancy snacks from the organic store even though you know I got a whole aisle of chips right here. You talk about Dante and your voice gets all sappy and shit, like you're still that fifteen-year-old girl he pulled off the street."

"I don't let Ash win. He's just better than me at Crash Bandicoot."

"Bullshit. You let him win every time. I ain't stupid. I notice everything," Fez said, as if reading your mind. "About you. Always have, even the sad shit."

The words hung in the air between you. Heavy. Meaningful. Your heart was beating faster than it should've been for someone who'd just lost a concerning amount of blood. You swallowed hard, feeling his blue eyes on your face. You couldn't ignore how your chest felt. Like when you were in 8th grade and you were meeting up with your crush for your first kiss.

You turned and met his eyes. You thought your heart would explode, but he was just too intoxicating.

"I notice you, too. At first, it was just business. Now it's.." You couldn't finish.

"Personal." He finished for you, his voice a low, solid sound.

Yeah." The word came out barely above a whisper. "Personal."

He didn't move. Didn't push. Just sat there, knee brushing yours, those blue eyes steady and patient. Waiting for you to decide what came next. You both knew what was being said. It was an exchange of unspoken words through the spoken ones. A language that only the two of you understood.

It was in the way he'd taken your gun without flinching. The way he'd stitched you up with hands steadier than any doctor's. The way he'd promised to kill a man for you and meant it. The way he was looking at you now, like you were something precious. Something worth protecting and waiting for, and a language written on a wall that he understood completely.

"Dante always told me there was nothing personal about business." You said quietly.

His lip quirked up a little, that lazy smile that he wore. Usually, when he was high. But there was no weed involved. He was high on something else.

"I don't think this is business no more, ma."

You exhaled, your eyes still on his face. The steadiness on it, the lack of panic. As if he hadn't just signed himself up to kill for you, and wasn't subtly admitting he wanted to be more than business partners. You fought the urge to shudder.

"I'm scared. To be honest." Your voice was small.

"Of what?"

"This," you chuckled breathlessly. "It's dangerous. It's wrong to feel this.. when you're dealing drugs and running around with people who could kill you. This will kill you quicker than any gun."

Fez cleared his throat.

"Like I said before.. Business got you so outta touch. You a real person, not just a distributor," he said, his hands shoved into his pockets, as if to resist touching.

You stared at him. At his hands, buried in his hoodie like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you. At the tension in his jaw, the way he was fighting every instinct to close the distance between you.

"Dante-"

"Dante's dead." His voice was gentle, but firm. "I ain't tryna be disrespectful. I know he was like a father to you. I know he taught you everything. But he's gone, Y/n. And you're still here, runnin' his operation and killin' it. But you ain't livin'. You're just... survivin'."

"Survival kept me alive."

"Survival kept you alone." He pulled one hand from his pocket, gesturing at the room around them. "Look where you at. It's two in the morning. You got stabbed. You showed up at my store 'cause some part of you knew that this was the safest place you could be. Not a hospital. Not your own crib. Here. With me and Ash." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That ain't survival. It's some shit you been fightin' 'cause you think it makes you weak."

"What is it, then?"

"Trust." He said it simply. Like it was obvious. "You trust us. You trust me. And that scares you 'cuz you think it's wrong."

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Because he was right. He was right about all of it.

"I ain't gonna lie and say this life ain't dangerous," he continued. "It is. People die, they go to prison. I know that's some scary ass business. But pushin' everyone away don't make you safer. It just makes you lonely. And you been lonely a long time."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I was too. Before Ash and Rue. And before you." He pulled his other hand from his pocket and reached for you, slow, giving you time to pull away. "I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you. And I ain't gonna let you push me away 'cause you think carin' about someone is wrong. It's the only thing that makes this shit worth it."

You looked at his outstretched hand. Scarred knuckles. Blunt nails. The hand that had taken your gun, stitched you up and held you steady.

"You're really not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"And if I try to push you away?"

"I'mma push back."

"If I tell you it's too dangerous?"

"I'll tell you you're wrong."

"You're annoying," you whispered.

"Yeah. You've mentioned that before."

"I'm serious, Fez. This is-"

"Dangerous, whatever else. I heard you the first time." He still hadn't lowered his hand. "You done?"

"Done?"

"Done listin' reasons we shouldn't do this. 'Cause I got a whole list of reasons we should, and my list is longer."

You shook, but you finally lowered your fingers into his. You intertwined them through his calloused ones, feeling his warmth and feeling the certainty of all his words. His words were comforting, solid, and never panicked. His touch was exactly the same - the most sure thing you'd ever felt.

He looked down at your hand, brushing a small smudge of blood off the back of it. He smoothed a finger over your damaged knuckles.

"'S easy now, right?" He said softly. "Lettin' yourself feel shit instead of fightin'."

You stared at your joined hands, at his thumb tracing gentle circles over your bruised skin. At the way his palm dwarfed yours. At the scars on his hand.

You didn't respond. Instead, you started to cry.

You knew why the tears were gathering. Not because Fez had done something wrong. You were crying because of Dante, you were crying because you got stabbed, and you were crying because your favorite silky white blouse was completely ruined. You took a breath of air, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to let the tears drop from your eyes.

You were crying because you felt safe enough to do it.

"Fuck." You said, a watery, breathless laugh puffing from your lips.

Fez, his face developing a slight frown, gently turned you towards him a bit more.

"You hurtin'?" He was worried about the stab wound. Maybe the bottle had hit something more important than they'd thought.

You sniffled, pressing down on your eyes with the heels of your hands. You almost didn't want to answer. It was so embarrassing, you were worried he wouldn't understand. He wouldn't understand that beneath the distributor was still a girl who cared about her clothes.

"C'mon, ma. Talk to me."

You laughed again, though it was tearful.

"My blouse. It's ruined."

Silence. You couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see the confusion, the judgment, the reminder that you were supposed to be tougher than this. You were the boss. The distributor. The girl who'd shot a man twice and driven herself to a convenience store with a hole in her side. And here you were, crying over fabric.

The blouse, ripped and covered in blood, was at the other end of the couch, discarded.

Fez was still quiet, gears turning.

"We can get you a new one. Tomorrow." He said softly. Not judgmental. Not questioning or rude.

Another sniffle, then a sob.

"But that one.. It was designer."

Fez looked at the ruined blouse. Then back at you. His expression didn't change, still soft, still patient, but something flickered in his eyes. Understanding.

"Designer," he repeated. "Like, fancy designer? The kind with the names?"

"The kind with the names," you confirmed, your voice wobbling. "Vintage Dior. Fall 2004 collection. I found it at this little shop in SoHo. The owner didn't know what she had. I paid two hundred dollars for something worth ten times that."

Silence again.

Another string of sobs, embarrassed and full of mixed emotions, dribbled from your lips. Your face was officially wet. Then an arm, nudging you closer.

"Shh, c'mere."

You went. You didn't have the strength to resist, didn't have the walls left to keep him at arm's length. You let him pull you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you careful and warm, mindful of your bandaged ribs. Your face pressed into the soft fabric of his hoodie, and you cried. Really cried. The kind of crying you hadn't done since you were a kid, since before Dante, since before you learned that tears were a luxury you couldn't afford.

He didn't tell you it was okay or that it was just a blouse or that you were being silly. He just held you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back. His heartbeat was steady under your ear. Solid. Calm.

"I got you," he murmured. "Let it out. I got you."

"I'm sorry," you hiccuped into his chest. "I'm getting snot on your hoodie."

"I got other hoodies."

"It's a nice hoodie."

"It's from Target. Cost me twelve bucks. You can ruin ten of 'em if you want."

A watery laugh escaped you. "Target doesn't sell twelve-dollar hoodies."

"Okay, it was fifteen. You caught me." His hand smoothed over your hair. 

You let yourself cry for the blouse and the broken bottle and the two years of loneliness. For Dante, who'd never see what you'd built. For the girl you'd been at fifteen. For every night you'd patched yourself up alone. And for the fact that you weren't alone anymore.

And through all of it, Fez held you. Steady. Patient. A solid anchor in the storm.

When the sobs finally faded into hiccups, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His hoodie was damp. His eyes were soft. He reached up and wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little." You sniffled. "My face is a mess."

"You look beautiful."

"I have mascara all over my cheeks."

"Yeah. Beautiful."

"You're lying."

"I ain't never lied to you." He said it simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Not once. Not gonna start now."

You stared at him. At the freckles. The scar. The steady blue eyes that had seen straight through every wall you'd ever built.

"What did I do to deserve you?" you whispered.

"Nah." He shook his head. "That's my line."

You turned slightly to wipe your face, smudging your mascara further.

"I should let you sleep. You and Ash have shit to do tomorrow."

Fez looked down at you, cradled in his arms like an injured bird. He looked over at the blood soaked blouse, and immediately, his mind was made.

"You ain't driving home tonight."

You scoffed, a small smirk forming on your face.

"This is a business partnership. You're not my boss." You asserted, although weakly.

Fez hummed, still rubbing soft circles into your back. "Told you it ain't business no more. And Ash swiped your car keys earlier, so you ain't leavin' anyway."

You pulled back just enough to stare at him, your mouth falling open. "He what?"

"Swiped your keys. When he sat down next to you. Kid's got quick hands. Learned from his grandma."

"That little-" You looked toward the hallway where Ash had disappeared, then back at Fez. The smirk on his face was infuriatingly calm. "You were never gonna let me leave."

"Guilty."

You rolled your eyes. "Why?"

"I want you to stay where I can see you." He said it without embarrassment, without hesitation. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're hurtin', not as strong. Somebody's still out there who wants to hurt you more. If you're here, I know you're safe. That's all."

You looked at him. At the steady certainty in his eyes. At the way his arm was still wrapped around you, holding you close but not too tight. At the ugly plaid couch and the flickering TV and the stacks of inventory lining the walls. You softened.

"You have anywhere for me to sleep besides the bloody couch?" You said quietly, but not angrily, giving up on fighting.

He cleared his throat. "I can take it. You can have my room. 'Long as you don't mind guns. A lot of 'em."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed."

"You ain't kickin' me out. I'm offerin'." He shifted, already moving to stand. "C'mon. I'll show you where it is. Got clean sheets and everything. Put 'em on last week."

You frowned. "You're really giving me your bed."

"Yeah."

"And you're gonna sleep on the couch."

"Yeah."

"On the bloody couch."

"I'll throw a towel over it. It'll be fine." He wiggled his fingers. "You gonna take my hand, or we gonna debate furniture all night?"

You took his hand. He pulled you up gently, careful of your ribs, steadying you when you swayed slightly on your feet.

"Easy," he murmured. "You lost a lot of blood. Don't need you passin' out on me."

"I'm not gonna pass out."

He led you down the hallway, past the bathroom and what you assumed was Ash's room, door closed, no light underneath, to the last door at the end. His room was simple. A bed with a plain navy comforter, a nightstand with a lamp and a book you couldn't quite make out in the dim light, a closet with the door slightly ajar. True to his word, there were guns. A shotgun propped in the corner. A handgun on the nightstand. A rifle mounted on the wall above the bed.

"Told you," he said, following your gaze. "Lot of 'em."

"I'm not intimidated by guns, Fez."

"I know you're not. Just warnin' you in case you rolled over and got a face full of barrel."

"Your pillow talk needs work."

He laughed, a warm sound you'd gotten used to. You didn't know it was only for you.

"Shit, I'll remember for next time."

The implication hung in the air. Next time. Like there would be a next time. Like this wasn't a one-off, an emergency, a favor he was doing for a business associate.

"You're very sure of yourself," you said quietly.

"'Bout some things. Yeah." He pulled back the comforter, revealing the clean sheets he'd promised. "Bathroom's the next door down. There's a clean shirt on the dresser if you want somethin' to sleep in. It's gonna be huge on you, but it's better than-" He gestured vaguely at your ruined blouse.

"Better than sleeping in a bloody Dior?"

"For sure."

You stood in the doorway, suddenly very aware that you were in his bedroom. His space. Surrounded by his things, his guns, his books, his clean sheets. You felt awful. This was his space, and you were taking it up.

You couldn't let him sleep on the dirty couch.

"Fez."

He turned back, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"You're not sleeping on the couch."

"It's fine. I've slept on worse. Slept in the back of the Cadillac once. Couch is luxury compared to that."

"There's blood on it. That's disgusting."

"I'mma throw a towel down. Told you that already, ma."

Silence for a moment. You stood there staring at each other.

"Fezco," you said, preparing yourself for the move you were about to make. "Sleep with me. Please? I.. I don't want to sleep alone."

The words hung in the air between you. Vulnerable. Raw. Nothing like the polished, put-together distributor who'd walked into his store months ago in six-inch heels and a pink trench coat. This was just you. Asking for what you needed. Terrified he might say no.

Fez's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes. Softened. Deepened.

"You sure?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

He held your gaze for a beat longer. Then he nodded, slow and steady.

"Aight." He pushed off the doorframe and walked back toward the bed. "Which side you want?"

"Don't care. Just want you to stay."

"I'm stayin'." He pulled back the comforter on the left side and climbed in, then held it open for you. "C'mon. Before you fall over. You're swayin' a little."

You were. The exhaustion and blood loss were catching up, making the edges of your vision blur. You slid into the right side of the bed, hyper-aware of the warmth of him inches away, the clean scent of his sheets, the gun on the nightstand glinting in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You lay there side by side, staring at the ceiling, the silence stretching. Then, you turned towards him, shifting up. He did the same, face-to-face. His warmth spread closer to you.

You broke the silence.

"Your eyes are pretty."

He blinked. Then, slowly, that lazy smile spread across his face. The one you'd come to know. The one that made your chest feel too tight and too warm all at once.

"You hittin' on me, ma?"

"Maybe." You were too tired to deflect, too drained to put the walls back up. "Is it working?"

"Yeah." His voice was softer now. Lower. "It's workin'."

"Good."

The space between you felt electric. His face was inches from yours, close enough that you could count his freckles if you wanted to. Close enough that you could see the way his pupils had widened, the way his gaze kept dropping to your mouth and then back up to your eyes.

"You got pretty eyes too," he said quietly. "Always thought so. Since that first night. You stepped out the car and looked at me and I thought.." He paused.

"What?"

"I thought, 'Damn. That's gonna be a problem.'"

"A problem?"

"Mmhmm. 'Cause I knew right then. You were gonna mess up my whole life." His hand found yours under the covers again. "And I was right. You messed it all up. I was fine before you. Just business. Just me and Ash. And then you showed up with your pink heels, your glittery ass gun and your organic snacks and now I'm plannin' a murder, shoppin' for vintage blouses and sharin' my bed for the first time in-" He stopped and thought. "Ever, actually. Never shared my bed before."

"Never?"

"Never wanted to. Not 'til you."

You stared at him. This man who'd killed people. Who'd raised a child that wasn't his. Who'd built an empire in a convenience store and still found time to buy granola just in case you were hungry when you showed up. Who was looking at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever held.

"I must be a really special girl." You said softly, cool breath fanning over his face.

"For real. You don't know how special, ma."

Your heart stuttered. The way he said it, not like a line, not like flattery. Like a fact. Like he was stating something obvious, something undeniable, something he'd known for a long time and was just now getting around to saying out loud. You couldn't even speak, your chest squeezed so hard you felt like your heart might explode.

"Y/n?" He saif, gruff voice gentle.

".. Yeah?" You managed.

"Gonna kiss you now. That okay?"

You didn't answer with words. You just nodded, a small, breathless movement, your eyes never leaving his.

He leaned in slow. Giving you time to change your mind. To pull back. To put the walls up one last time. But you didn't. You stayed exactly where you were, heart pounding, ribs aching, feeling more alive than you had in years.

His lips encased yours. There was no desperation, like you'd drunkenly had before with some random man outside of a bar. It was soft and deliberate, like worship and reverence. His hand came up to gently cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek and tilting your face to just slightly fit against his. He kissed you with no rush, like there was all the time in the world to do this. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be. Because truthfully, there wasn't.

You shifted closer, a manicured hand pressing against his chest. His heart thumped against it, steady. He smelled like woody aftershave and clean laundry and gunpowder. He made a sound low in his throat, something between a sigh and a hum, and it was the best thing you'd ever heard.

He was gentle with your body, his hand avoiding your bandages. He rubbed your back, gripping the t-shirt hanging loosely off your body. When he finally pulled back, his forehead came to rest against yours. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, his breath warm against your lips.

"Gotta be careful with you," he said, his voice low. "You ain't healed up yet. Not even close."

You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the gentle pressure of his hand on your back. Your heart was racing, your skin tingling everywhere he'd touched.

"I'm not made of glass, Fez."

"I know you ain't. You're a tough girl." He opened his eyes, pulling back just enough to look at you. "But you got stabbed tonight and lost a shit tonna blood. I ain't about to be the guy who hurts you more 'cause he couldn't keep his hands to himself."

"You weren't hurting me."

He chuckled. "Could never. Not a chance. That's why we had to stop for the night."

You whined, flopping back against the pillows. He found you under the covers, putting a warm hand back around your waist.

"You gonna be fine. You lived through worse." He shifted closer, his chest pressing against your shoulder. "You want me to feel bad for bein' responsible?"

"I want you to feel bad for being a tease."

"I ain't a tease. I'm a gentleman who ain't gonna rip your stitches back open."

"You're annoying."

"You mentioned that. Lotta times tonight."

"Because it's the truth. Hot, but annoying."

He laughed, low and warm, his breath fanning over your hair. "You know what I think?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"I think you're just mad 'cause for the first time in your life, somebody's takin' care of you instead of the other way around. And you don't know what to do with it."

You opened your mouth to argue. Closed it. He wasn't wrong. God, he wasn't wrong.

"Now go to sleep, mama. We got shit to handle tomorrow."

And for the first time in two years, you fell asleep without fear. Quickly, surrounded by warmth and certainty. You even slept through the night, without a single nightmare.

When the morning light began to filter through the curtains, you even slept through that. However, you didn't sleep through Ashtray walking in.

"Yo, Fez, where's the -- what the fuck?"

You pulled the blankets over your head, groaning.

"Ash, man." Fez's voice was thick with sleep, but still somehow calm. You felt him shift beside you, the mattress dipping. "The hell you doin' bargin' in here?"

You heard a loud snort.

"I fuckin' knew it. I knew you two were feelin' each other!"

"Lower your voice. She's sleepin'."

"She's clearly awake, she just pulled the blankets over her head like a turtle." Footsteps. Then Ash's voice, closer now, directed at the lump of blankets that was you. "Y/n. I know you're awake."

You, sensing your defeat, came out from under the blankets. Ash's eyes widened further.

"In his clothes, too. That's wild, the Wu-Tang shirt," he said, an amused grin forming on his face. "My brother is dating his whole ass supplier!"

"It's not-we're not-" You looked to Fez for help. He was absolutely no help. He was lying back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, watching the whole thing with a lazy smile.

"Ash," Fez said calmly, "you gonna stand there and roast us all morning, or you gonna let my girlfriend sleep?"

Girlfriend. The word hit you square in the chest. You turned to stare at him. He met your eyes, that smile still playing at his lips, and shrugged.

"What? Too soon?"

"No, I just.." You blinked. "We didn't exactly define anything last night. There was a lot of blood."

"Consider it defined, ma."

Ash snorted.

"No way out now, girl. I knew it like, a month ago. You were hella close on the couch, making goo-goo eyes at each other."

"We were not making goo-goo eyes," you protested weakly.

"You definitely were. Fez would pass you the blunt and your fingers would touch and you'd both just-" Ash made a face, half disgusted, half delighted. "Stare at each other for like five seconds. Every time. Rue noticed it too. We had a whole conversation about it."

"You and Rue talk about us?"

"Someone has to. You two clearly weren't talkin' about it yourselves." He crunched a chip, a purple bag in his hand. "You're welcome, by the way."

"For what?"

"For stealin' your keys last night. If I hadn't, you woulda driven home and bled out on your fancy apartment floor and none of this-" He gestured broadly at the bed, the two of you, the situation in general. "-woulda happened. So technically, I'm the reason you're together. You owe me."

"We owe you, bruh?" Fez raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Big time. I'm thinkin' a new PlayStation game. Or maybe a car when I turn sixteen."

"You're fourteen."

"Fifteen in March. Never too early to start plannin'."

"Ash." Fez's voice was firm, but there was no real heat behind it. "Get out, man. Start breakfast and we can make a deal later."

"Fine. But this ain't over." He pointed a Takis-stained finger at you. "Y/n, you're my favorite supplier. Don't break his heart or I'll have to kill you. And I don't wanna kill you 'cause you bring those fancy snacks."

"Noted."

"Cool. Welcome to the family." He turned and headed for the door, calling over his shoulder: "Pancakes in ten. Don't do anything gross while I'm gone. The walls are thin and I've already seen enough."

The door clicked shut.

Silence.