#lula may

you knew deep down that this would be a fruitless attempt.

your date was cute, yes. he had exactly what you would've looked for years ago. blonde hair, blue eyes, a sharp jawline and muscular arms. he was respectful (he'd agreed for your first date to be at your apartment because of your hesitancy), he made you laugh, he did everything right. and he wanted you. you could tell. it was obvious in the way that he gravitated towards you, made you his priority in every time he was in your presence. in reality, he was perfect.

too perfect, unfortunately. this wasn't the first time you'd tried this. and every time, your mind flicked straight back to jack.

you envisioned the dark curls instead of the blonde. the deep brown eyes instead of blue. and jack definitely wasn't perfect, so perfect rubbed you the wrong way, as much as you wished it didn't. jack wore a watch with a black leather strap. bradley's (your date's) was all silver. jack smelled like cedar and something dark, mysterious, and pleasant. bradley smelled like clean linen and citrus. regardless, you tried to smile in his face and act like you weren't comparing him to your ex boyfriend in every waking moment.

for your date, you wore a strapless dress and minimal silver jewelry, something bradley had bought you and gifted you before he'd even asked you out. you worked with him at your corporate desk job, the job you'd decided to take after leaving the horsemen behind (and attempting and failing to leave jack behind). he didn't know jack wilder existed beyond the magic shows he heard about that he never attended.

bradley didn't like magic. he preferred realism.

and here he was, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you prepared him a plate of what you'd cooked together. his citrus cologne hit you hard, and his skin was cool. to be honest, it felt wrong. but you tried to flourish.

"y'know, you'll make someone a really good wife someday." he murmured in your ear, a grin on his dimpled face.

you scoffed inwardly. forcing a smile, you gave him a side glance.

"i hope i'm more than that." you chuckled, handing him his plate.

bradley just laughed, a smooth, easy sound that should have been charming. "of course you are! i just mean.. this. you're so put-together. a great job, this amazing apartment, and you can cook? you're a total package." he said it like he was reading from a checklist of desirable traits, his blue eyes sparkling with approval that felt more like an assessment than adoration.

you led the way to your dining table, the candles that had been lit flickering and casting soft shadows. it was a scene from a movie, one you'd tried to direct a couple of times now. the elegant dinner, the handsome suitor, the promise of a normal, stable life. a life without heists, police sirens, or the heart-pounding thrill of watching jack wilder perfectly execute a trick that stole from thousands.

a life without him in general.

"so," bradley began, cutting neatly into his chicken. "the quarterly reports are finally done. thank god. i was starting to see spreadsheets in my sleep."

you nodded, taking a sip of wine. "tell me about it. my eyes are still crossed."

this was it, the conversation of the life you were supposed to want. it was safe, clean, predictable. and with every word about corporate synergy and weekend golf plans, a little piece of your soul chipped. you were completely and utterly bored. you missed chaotic, nonsensical arguments about the best way to palm a stolen keycard, whispered debates in the back of a van. but you didn't miss it when it was happening. so, you suffered. did you even really know what you wanted?

"you're quiet tonight," he noted, tilting his head. "everything okay?"

"just tired," you lied smoothly, another skill you'd honed before you'd ever met him. "it's been a long week."

he reached across the table, his hand covering yours. his skin was smooth, grip firm and certain. "well, i'm glad i'm here to help you unwind." his thumb stroked your knuckle. it was a gentle gesture, but it felt misplaced. like he was stamping his clean-linen-and-citrus reality onto you. the reality was suddenly incredibly heavy. but then again, you'd asked for this.

you forced another smile, your heart a trapped bird beating agains the cage of your ribs. "me too," you said, the words tasting like ash.

as bradley took another breath to speak some more corporate words, you heard a rattling. it chilled your spine, like ice cold water being thrown over you in a bucket. you knew this sound. it was the sound of a torsion wrench and a pick, moving with a practiced, impatient rhythm. the sound of jack wilder picking a lock. breaking in, like he had time and time before. Just never into your apartment before now.

what the fuck?

"uh--" bradley began, standing from his chair, his brow furrowed in confusion. "is that... your door?"

before you could form a lie, a denial, or a plan, the deadbolt clicked over with a final, deafening thunk. the knob turned, and the door swung open as if he owned the place.

and there he was.

jack wilder stood in your doorway, silhouetted by the hallway light. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a dark henley and a leather jacket, his hair a mess of dark curls, his expression a carefully constructed mask of casual arrogance that didn't quite reach his eyes. those deep brown eyes scanned the room in a split second -- the candlelit table, the two plates of food, Bradley standing there in his crisp button-down -- and a slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face.

you cursed over and over in your head. of course. of course he'd pick now to come barreling back into your life. right when you just started (poorly and miserably) figuring things out.

"hey, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low drawl aimed straight towards your chest. he completely ignored the other man in the room. "door was sticking. you should really get that looked at." he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. his presence instantly made the spacious apartment feel claustrophobic.

bradley puffed out his chest, the picture of affronted normality. "excuse me? who the hell are you? and how did you even get in here?"

jack finally deigned to look at him, gaze flicking from his blonde hair to his leather shoes with utter disinterest. "i'm jack," he said, as if that explained everything. a light smirk crossed over his face again. a smirk of mischief.

walking over to you, as if it was nothing, as if he hadn't just not seen you for six months, he lifted your hand by your wrist. he stroked a finger along the back of it, pointing out a fact to bradley. the heat of his touch burned. old memories, an ache in your chest blooming. you tried to loose your wrist from his grip, but he kept you there.

an intricate tattoo was what he intended to show the corporate man. a playing card -- a jack of hearts, the suit cleverly woven into the design of his signature flourish. your shared little secret, inked into your skin -- possessive, reverent. you hadn't paid to get it removed yet. you weren't even sure that you wanted to. you thought it might erase the memory of him.

a cocky air surrounded him, his lip curving even deeper into his signature smirk. "see? jack."

bradley stared, his face a comical mix of confusion and dawning outrage. "what is that supposed to mean?"

"it means," jack said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge and turning into something low and possessive, "that i was here long before you were," he hummed, his thumb brushing over the tattoo in a gesture that was far too intimate for the setting, "and now i'm back."

he finally released your wrist, but the ghost of his touch remained, a brand. he looked from the tattoo on your hand back to your face, his eyes searching yours, the smirk gone, replaced by a raw, unguarded intensity that stole the air from your lungs.

"you gonna introduce me to your friend?" he asked, the question a challenge, his gaze daring you to lie, to pretend he was nothing.

you glared at him, e/c eyes hot and fiery. you could've burned a hole straight through him if it were possible. the ache in your chest worsened the anger. the audacity of him just threw gasoline all over the flame.

"this," you gestured towards the confused, irritated man before the two of you, "is bradley. my date. which you are currently interrupting."

jack's eyes flicked back to bradley, giving him another once-over that was somehow more insulting than the first. "bradley," he repeated, letting the name sit in the air like it was a joke. "i'm jack. y/n's fiance." he said smoothly, extending a hand to the man. bradley, obviously, declined to shake.

"fiance?" bradley bit out, his gaze turning to you.

"ex fiance!" you hissed. you wanted to strangle jack, to wipe that smug, ignorant smirk right off his face. "we are not engaged."

"semantics, honey," jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the distinction between being engaged to someone and having been engaged to them was trivial. "we had a little disagreement over the wedding planning. she wanted a big church, i wanted to elope in macau after a high-stakes baccarat game. you know how it is. women."

bradley looked like his brain was short-circuiting. "macau? baccarat? what the hell are you talking about?!"

jack could've glowed. he was so far under bradley's skin that this couldn't possibly be working better. glancing at his watch, he looked back up at the man.

"look, bradley, it's getting late. don't you think you ought to be going? it was great to meet you though."

the last part was definitely a lie. on the inside, jack was seething.

bradley's face flushed a deep, mottled red. he looked from jack's infuriatingly calm face to your furious, conflicted one. the perfect, predictable script of his evening had been torn to shreds. "i'm not going anywhere. y/n, are you going to let him talk to me like this? to just barge in here? he literally broke and entered. that's against the law."

you opened your mouth, but no sound came out. this was the moment of truth. the moment to side with the safe, stable, normal life you'd been trying to build. the life jack didn't want. to finally shut the door on wilder, heists, and dirty money for good.

but jack saw your hesitation. he pounced on it like the predator he was.

he didn't say a word to bradley. instead, he turned to you, voice dropping, losing all its mocking edge and becoming low, intimate, and devastatingly honest.

"tell him to leave, y/n," he murmured, his eyes holding yours, refusing to let you part with them. "or tell me to stay. one of the two."

the challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy as candle smoke. it was the simplest, yet most impossible, choice you'd ever been faced with. or maybe not. the choice to leave jack in the first place rivaled it. bradley stood there, a monument to everything good you should've wanted. and jack was beautiful and destructive -- you were so, so tired of fighting the burn, taming his fire.

your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. you looked at bradley's hurt, confused expression, then back at jack's raw, waiting one.

the words left your lips before you could stop them, like vomit.

"bradley," you whispered, unable to look at him. "i think you should go."

bradley scoffed, sputtering.

"are you fucking kidding me?"

the words were a whip-crack in the tense silence. he stared at you, his face a canvas of disbelief and wounded pride. "after all this? the dinner, the jewelry, the.. this?" he gestured wildly at the set up, now rendered a pathetic farce. "you're choosing a criminal who just broke and entered your aparment, then harassed me?"

jack didn't even flinch. a slow, victorious smile spread across his face, his eyes never leaving yours. you wanted to slap it off him.

"i'll call you. just please leave."

"no she won't." jack intercepted, the infuriating smile still pasted to his face.

"unbelievable." he snapped harshly. he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the pictures on the wall rattled.

the sound of the door slamming seemed to hang in the air, a period at the end of your attempt at a normal sentence.

the second the latch clicked, the smile dropped from jack's face. the victory was gone, replaced by something darker. the raw need you'd seen flickered in his eyes, unchecked.

"you're not gonna call him. what were you even trying to accomplish?" the question was quiet, deadly.

"you don't get to ask me that," you fired back, the anger you'd been suppressing finally boiling over. "you don't get to barge in here, ruin my life, then act like you have any right--"

he crossed the space between you in two swift strides. "i have every right!" he snapped, his voice rough, his hands coming up to grip your arms, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from pulling away. "that tattoo on your hand gives me the right. every night we spent together, even after you left gives me the right. the fact that you just sent mr. perfect packing for me gives me the right."

"you're impossible," you seethed, but you didn't even try to pull away. his touch was like a brand, burning into your skin and awakening every nerve ending. "why are you back here, jack?! what did you come for, huh? after SIX fucking months!"

the question hung between you, a raw, bleeding thing. all the bravado, the smirk, the conman's cool -- it all shattered. his grip on your arms loosened, his hands sliding down until he finally let go of you, opting to run a hand through his messy hair.

"because i can't breathe without you!" the confession exploded out of him, raw and ragged, his voice cracking on the words. "is that what you want to hear? that i'm a fucking mess? that everything is empty, every win is bullshit, because you're not there to see it?" he belted out, eyes desperate and intense. "that i tried -- god, i fucking tried, to be what you wanted, to be normal, but i can't. i'm not. and you won't just ACCEPT ME!"

the silence that followed was louder than his shouting. his chest heaved, the admission hanging in the air like gunpowder smoke. this wasn't the smooth talking thief. it was the boy from the foster system, the boy who felt he didn't belong anywhere, the one who was so terrified of being ordinary that he became a talented legend, and was now terrified that the one person who mattered saw him as a monster.

your anger simmered, borderline dissolved, washed away by a tidal wave of painful understanding. the six months of silence wasn't him moving on. it was him trying and failing to become someone else, someone you'd approve of. and failing miserably.

"jack.." you started, your voice soft.

"don't," he cut you off, his voice a broken whisper. he wouldn't look at you now, staring at a spot on the floor as if it held all the answers. "just.. don't. tell me to leave. tell me to go fuck myself, i don't know. but don't pity me. i can't stand it."

you exhaled shakily, staring at his slumped figure, his head in his hands at your kitchen table where bradley had been sitting 15 minutes ago. "i don't pity you," you whispered, the words firm and clear. "i see you. i've always seen you. you're brilliant, you're wild, and you're so much more than that if someone looks deeper. but you can't change yourself. you can't try to be anything other than who you are."

he looked up, his eyes dark pools of pure, unadulterated torment. "so tell me, y/n. what do you want me to do? because i can't do another six months. i can't do six fucking days more of this. i don't want to sleep together and get back on a plane tomorrow morning because you think i'm a mistake." he huffed, eyes beginning to gloss over. your chest ached. you wouldn't be able to handle it if he cried. "so either you tell me to walk out that door and never come back, and i'll spend every day of my life trying to forget you, or.. or you let me stay."

he was laid bare before you, no tricks, no lies. just jack. the hungry, broken, impossibly brilliant boy he was, and always would be. your greatest addiction and the only place you'd confidently called home. a tear dripped from the gathering moisture in his eye, trailing down his cheek. it felt like a personal, isolated hit to your heart.

you crossed the space between you, the world narrowing to the sound of his ragged breathing and the sight of that single, devastating tear. you didn't speak. words had failed you both for far too long. instead, you knelt in front of him, your hands coming up to cradle his face.

your thumbs gently wiped the moisture from his cheeks. his eyes, wide and shocked, searched yours, his breath catching in his throat. you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, a seal of forgiveness and acceptance that you never thought you'd reach. the two of you were too stubborn.

then, you pressed another kiss to his damp cheek, a promise. finally, you brought your lips to his, not with the frantic heat of your past, but with a slow, deep certainty that felt more binding than any failed vow. when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

"stay," you breathed, a final surrender and a new beginning all at once. one you'd been begging for in other men, corporate jargon, leather shoes and new york department stores. "no more planes, unless we're both on them. no more goodbyes. just stay."

a shuddering sob escaped him, and he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping around your waist and face buried into your chest. he held onto you like a man clinging to a lifeline in a stormy sea.

"okay," he rasped, his voice muffled against your skin, grip tightening. "okay. thank god."

as you held him, surrounded by the ruins of what you thought you wanted but truly never did, you knew you'd chosen right. you weren't taming him. you were standing next to him, giving him the love and respect he'd never gotten before you, and receiving his endless, fiery love back.

two weeks later

the city air was a crisp, welcome change from the stuffy, recycled air of the various venues you and jack had been haunting. your hand was tucked securely in his, his thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles. more specifically, over the substantial, art-deco inspired diamond now sitting back on your ring finger. it felt less like a piece of jewelry and more like a reclaimed piece of your soul.

"told you that italian place was overrated," jack mused, a smirk in his voice. "the chef was palming pre-grated parmesan. amateur."

you laughed, shaking your head. "shut up, wilder."

"make me," he countered, pulling your hand up to press a quick kiss to the jack of hearts tattoo, his eyes glinting with possessive warmth.

and that's when you saw him. bradley. he was standing outside a coffee shop, phone to his ear, looking every bit the part of the life you’d almost condemned yourself to. jack's steps faltered for a fraction of a second, his entire posture shifting. the relaxed, post-lunch contentment evaporated, replaced by the coiled-spring energy of a predator spotting easy prey. a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"oh, look. its brad," he said, his voice dripping with cheer.

"jack, no," you groaned, but it was too late. he was already steering you directly into bradley's path with a fervor.

bradley looked up from his phone call, his eyes widening as they landed on you, then on the nightmare jack wilder was, and finally, inevitably, on the glittering rock on your left hand. his jaw went slack.

"well, hey there, bentley! long time no see," jack said, his tone impossibly bright. the misname made it even more insulting. he didn't stop walking, forcing bradley to take a step back or be bowled over. as he passed, jack's free hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake. it wasn't an aggressive shove, but a deft, practiced flick of the wrist.

bradley fumbled, his coffee cup popping out of its sleeve and splattering liquid all down the front of his pristine, light-gray pants.

"whoops! clumsy me," jack said without breaking stride, not even looking back. he leaned in close to your ear, his whisper a hot, triumphant caress. "looks like he's got a little excitement in his life now, after all."

you glanced over your shoulder briefly. bradley was staring down at the massive stain on his pants, phone forgotten about, a picture of utter, flustered humiliation. as you turned back to jack, you watched him open a sleek, black wallet in his hand. not his. bradley's license photo glared at you grumpily.

you stopped dead, your eyes widening. "jack. when did you--"

"about two seconds before the coffee decided to take a walk." he said with a wicked grin, flipping through the cash compartment. he made a show of pulling out the bills. "let's call it a dry-cleaning fee. a very, very small one." he then snapped the wallet shut and, without another pause in an incredibly quick motion, sent it sailing sideways into a nearby city trash can without even looking at it. the thunk was barely audible over the street noise.

he tucked the cash into his pocket and laced his fingers back through yours, the cool metal of your engagement ring pressing between them. "our dessert is on bradley tonight. and, you know.. his coffee is on him too."

he was the worst. he was a criminal. a menace.