#non-binary reader

The book your fingers curled around now was honestly impressively hand-bound, the pages remarkably well typeset for being… independently produced, in a way.

You’d found Grate Expectations upstairs in the attic, off to the side of Hector’s HVAC shell. It looked so official that you’d mistaken in for one of the saucier books from your early twenties in Lady Memoria’s boxes, until you saw your beloved’s name on the cover. Upon realizing what it was, you’d recalled the time he’d read you just a snippet when you’d half-jokingly requested it, and left you out of breath on unsteady knees when he’d finished. It shouldn’t be a real surprise, you reasoned, that you’d ended up smuggling it out of the attic, deeply curious to see just where the rest of the book went from where he’d left off.

And now, at every small sound in the hall or the adjacent rooms, you found yourself looking up with a guilty start, pulling the book closer to your chest so no one would catch a glimpse of just what was on the page. It’s not that you were ashamed to be reading it — there was nothing wrong with romance or erotica, and you still enjoyed both a great deal, obviously.

It just felt… different. This was Hector’s, and he’d written it about you. About the pair of you, together. It was private. Intimate.

It was that same sense of privacy that was the cause of your current guilt; he hadn’t told you that you could take it, or that you could read beyond what he’d shared. Even though it was about you, he had likely written it just for himself. To read it without his knowledge felt like a betrayal of his trust.

But even the guilt was outweighed by the way the prose had you pushing your thighs together without realizing, swallowing thickly, your hips squirming slightly against your mattress as you read the very detailed, very vivid fantasies of just what he’d longed to do with you — and to you. Over and over, with a passion that threatened to scald your fingertips at the edge of the pages.

At one point, you simply had to close the book over your thumb, your thighs pressed tight against each other and your face hot to the touch. The embers of curiosity had turned to a gnawing heat in the deepest part of you, your pulse racing even though you were lying perfectly still.

Staring at your ceiling, you bit your lip and calculated your options. Handle this yourself, and save your beloved any potential embarrassment from your snooping…

Or come clean, with all that might follow.

You gazed at the grate on the wall across from you, chewing your lip slightly as you did so. It was honestly kind of surprising he hadn’t already been there to notice the heat on your face, the way your breathing was already shallower than usual.

After a moment, you cleared your throat and willed your voice to sound light, casual. “Hey, Hector?”

There was the briefest pause, followed by a sound of motion in the ducts above you. A moment later, a familiar pair of adroit hands emerged from the grate, and a flash of clever, kind eyes in the darkness. 

“Hello, my love.” Hector’s voice was sweet, as though somehow still surprised you’d call on him. “Enjoying your day? I’ve heard it’s quite harsh outside. I’ve been minding the temperature in here accordingly; I know you you prefer things on the cool side.” The little note of pride in his voice was downright precious; it was as though your new relationship had made him even more committed to keeping you comfortable at all times.

You barely had time to open your mouth when you saw the dark eyes narrow, and you could picture his brow furrowing above them. You couldn’t help a bit of a smile — he was nothing if not attentive.

“Are you alright?” His voice sounded concerned. His hands moved, wrapping around the vent slats as if to support him leaning closer to inspect you.

“Why do you ask, babe?” You raised an eyebrow as you sat up to face him, hoping your smile didn’t give away your guilt. Your hand was holding the book face down on your mattress, hoping his attentiveness would be on your face for now.

“I — well.” Hector’s eyes glanced askance as he searched for the words. “You look lovely, don’t get me wrong — you could never not look glorious to me, just as you are. It’s only…” he paused. “You look… piqued, my sweet. A little more flush than usual. Is it still hot in here?” His frown was almost audible, and it was adorable. “I could’ve sworn I had this room cooler than the others…”

“I’m fine, Hector,” you reassured him. You scooted closer to the vent on your mattress, hoping he could see your smile was genuine. “The room has been perfect, as usual. Thank you.”

Hector made a concerned noise, and you got the feeling he didn’t want to contradict you outright. “You just look… warm,” he said, a hand reappearing to gesture towards you. “Your hair on your neck, and your skin… are you feeling alright?” His eyes searched your face. “If you’re feverish, I could get Farya—”

“I’m okay, Hector.” You moved so you were sitting on the end of your bed now, peering up into the vent. “I promise you, I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Believe me?”

The grate made a noise as Hector leaned against it again, looking you over more thoroughly… before he seemed satisfied, if not entirely convinced. “I do. But is there still something I can do for you, darling? You did call me,” he reminded you.

“So I did.” You looked down for a second at the back cover of the book, debating if you were really going through with this, then back up at the grate. “Would you mind… coming in here, for a sec? If you’re not busy,” you added quickly.

“I’m never too busy for you, love,” he said, and you recognized the more fervent fire in his eyes that came in his particularly inspired moments. “That’d be like being too busy to breathe. But…” He paused, again somewhat uncertain. “I am… already in here, am I not?” He gestured loosely to your bedroom, his voice a tinge worried like you’d somehow forgotten where you were.

“No, I meant, like… physically, in here.” When there was still a hesitant silence, you nodded towards the doorway. “Like, all of you. In here. With me.”

“…As in, leave the attic?” Hector said, clearly fighting to keep his voice from going up an octave.

You nodded, widening your eyes to look as innocuous as possible. “I’m just right down the hall — there’s only the closet between us, right?”

“And the entirety of The Breaker Box,” Hector pointed out. His hands were antsy, fingers fidgeting with each other. “Are you sure I can’t just… talk to you here? As we already are? Or you could come to me,” he suggested, voice brightening. 

It was your turn to hesitate — despite the breakthrough the two of you had made together, Hector still didn’t like running the risk of being perceived if he didn’t have to be. While he seemed to even enjoy you seeing him, now, other people seeing him was iffy at best. You imagined the proximity to one of the flashier clubs in the house didn’t help, especially with Volt and Eddie around. He knew you were seeing them just as he knew about all your other relationships, and while he wasn’t given to jealousy (at least, not in front of you), you had to imagine that if being in Volt’s gaze still gave you a tingling feeling in your stomach, then it would send Hector running for the rafters.

“I was actually hoping…” You chose your words carefully, knowing how ‘hope’ would be a loaded one for him. “To spend some time with you… alone.” You gestured loosely to your empty bedroom. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate with the weather and all,” you said, doing your best to sound innocent. “But I was just thinking, if you had a few spare moments… maybe I could impose and steal you away? While things are quiet?”

“You could never impose,” Hector said quickly. “Nothing you could ask of me could be an imposition, love, I assure you. My time is yours, entirely.” But his hands were still moving, fingers lacing and twisting anxiously even as he said it.

You watched his hands for a long moment, your teeth grazing your lip. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all. “…I wouldn’t want to  ask anything that would make you uncomfortable,” you said after a moment. “If you’d rather not, it’s okay. I can always come by yours another time—?”

“No!” Hector said it so immediately, it took you both by surprise. “No, really, it’s not… it’s not an issue,” he went on, and though you couldn’t see him, you could picture the pained smile he was forcing. “Not at all. In fact, I’d love to visit you. I was just thinking about… a change of scenery,” he ended flatly, and it was so unconvincing you had to try not to giggle.

“Just, uh.” His eyes roved around the vent, clearly trying to figure this out. “Give me a few minutes, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you said quickly. “And really, Hector, if it’s not something you want to do—”

“Oh no, I want to!” Hector cut you off, his voice climbing again as he fought to sound light and carefree. “Very much! Honestly, I should’ve done it ages ago! I’ll just... be right there!”

“Take your time, babe,” you called after his retreating hands.

“I’ll see you soon!” Hector called back, and while you could hear him trying to sound eager, you could also hear the little anxious groan he let slip as he got further away from the opening of the vent.

You’d honestly lost track of time, having returned to the book to keep yourself occupied while you waited. It hadn’t taken long before you were sprawled on your stomach, devouring page after page, trying to ignore the way your hips were subtly pushing against your mattress when you read a turn of phrase you found particularly… stirring.

It was the shuffle of some sort of fabric that made you look up, accompanied by a low, nervous humming, and someone muttering quickly under their breath. The sounds came closer and closer to your room, causing you to sit fully upright, though your finger still marked your place. “Hello?”

A figure covered in blue tarp rounded the corner into your room, which you only recognized from the eyes peeking out beneath a makeshift hood. “Can I close the door?” It spoke in a rush, sounding out of breath.

You blinked, trying to understand what you were seeing. “Hector?”

“Please?” he wheedled just slightly, his voice up an octave. “If- if you don’t mind, that is?” he added, remembering himself.

It took you a second to process what he was asking. “Yeah, of course.” You nodded, waving a hand. “Go ahead, if that makes you more comfortable.”

Hector quickly closed out the rest of the house, only letting the tarp slide backwards from his head when the two of you were alone in the room. He let out a sigh of relief as his head fell back against the wood with a ‘thud’, smiling weakly as he caught his breath. “I made it.” His eyes met yours, sparkling with triumph. “I’m out of the attic.”

“You are!” You beamed, pushing off your bed to meet him where he stood. “That’s a big step for you, darling. Congratulations.”

His eyes only brightened as you approached, and when you kissed him hello, he more than eagerly reciprocated. The tarp rustled as he let go of it, and it fell off his shoulders like an odd cape. You meant to ask about it, but his arms encircled your waist, and you found yourself pressing your hands against the cabinet doors of his coat, sliding down until your fingers curled around the handles. With his mouth on yours and the passion of his writing fresh in your mind, you used them to tug him even closer, deepening your kiss.

Hector made a small noise of surprise, but clearly found this agreeable, one hand sliding up your back to squeeze gently at the nape of your neck — one of his favorite places on you, as it always made you shiver slightly when he did so. For a moment, you were caught up in how his form felt against yours, how he held you like you were something precious, until you both at last parted for air.

“…Hi,” you said at last, unable to help a shy grin.

Hector grinned himself, his arms still hugging you close. “Hello, my love.” He reached up to trace lightly at the strap of your top, his eyes gleaming. “I must say, I’ve always thought these were… something.” His eyes flicked back to yours. “I like them.”

“Well. Thank you.” You felt your skin heat, and you played cool by reaching up to rest your arms on his shoulders. “I… like yours too?” You glanced over at the blue tarp, trying for an encouraging smile. “It’s very avant garde.”

Hector laughed nervously, nudging the tarp closer to the door with his foot. “Ah. Yes. That. It’s…” He paused, clearly trying to think quickly. “A… cloak? Of sorts? Or at least, that’s what it’s inspired by? Not that anyone really wears those anymore, of course, but, uh…” The longer he talked, the more a blush spread across his face, and that familiar self-conscious look of his with it.

“Hey.” You kissed his cheek, distracting him. “If it got you here to me, I’m all for it. You do whatever helps, angel.”

Hector seemed to catch his breath, his expression unmistakably relieved. “I appreciate your understanding, as always.” He kissed your cheek in turn, never one to let affection go unreciprocated. He then wandered lower, his lips grazing your neck. “Now, before I get too ahead of myself… did you have something in mind for this visit, amor?”

Ah, right. This part.

“…Yes, actually.” You fidgeted with a lock of his hair, trying to decide on your approach. Would he be angry? He’d shared it with you before, but he’d never outright said you could read all of it…

Hector’s lips stilled just under your chin, his eyes meeting yours. “…Yes?” He prompted, a note of concern creeping in.

You bit your lip, taking a steadying breath before you spoke. “I… owe you a bit of an apology.”

Hector stood back up to his full height, searching your face. “I’m sure you don’t,” he said, laughing a bit uneasily. “Whatever for?”

You kept biting your lip, worrying it between your teeth. “Well. It’s... a little awkward —”

“Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind,” he cut you off, his voice abruptly strained.

You paused, looking up to see his suddenly wracked expression. “I - What?”

“Me. Being here. Out of the - the vent.” Hector’s eyes darted to said vent and back to you. 

“Oh! No, Hector.” You shook your head, your hand falling from his hair to stroke his cheek. “No, love, I really wanted to see you” Your brow furrowed. “Why would I change my mind?”

He gave you a half-smile, and while he reached up so his hand covered yours, he still couldn’t quite meet your eyes. “I just thought… With the light and all, well.” He gave a small shrug. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Hector.” You moved your other hand to cup his face in both of yours, forcing him to look at you. “Nothing could be further from the truth. As a matter of fact, I asked you here because I wanted…” You paused, your eyes slipping to the floor as you tried to figure out just how to say ‘you to rail me stupid like in the multi-chapter erotica you wrote about us’ in a manner befitting the artist in front of you. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t been intimate-ish, before now. Hector was just as gifted with his hands as he was with his words, and he loved the sounds you made, now that he could give you his full attention without the grate between you. But he’d been hesitant to go much further than that, still seemingly too anxious to let you reciprocate his physical affection.

Was this too much? Were you basically ambushing the guy because you wanted to fuck him? Were you finally going to out-weird him, like you always knew you eventually would?

“What is it, my love?” Hector tilted his head to catch your gaze again and to lean his face against your palm. “Anything I can do for you, I will, you know that.” His fingers intertwined with yours. “You need only ask. There’s no need to apologize for that — nothing would please me more.”

His face was so sweet, so earnest and open, that you felt a twinge of guilt amidst the heat pooling in your gut.

“…That’s a little bit what I’m concerned about,” you mumbled. You held up a finger as his brow knit together, confused, and walked over to where the book still lay on your blankets. You picked it up, taking a breath, and when you turned to face him, you were holding it up for him to see the cover.

Hector frowned for the few seconds it took him to recognize the cover, at which his eyes widened — with surprise or concern, you couldn’t quite tell.

“So.” You shifted slightly where you stood. “I kind of… borrowed this, without your permission. And I’ve been, well, reading. Also without your permission.” Your tongue wet your lips. “Hence, I owe you an apology.”

“…Oh.” Hector’s voice was faint, and you could see him desperately trying to keep his anxiety in check and failing. “I — no need to apologize, amor, really. I did share it with you before, after all.” He attempted a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were trying to read your face as desperately as you were trying to read his.

“You did,” you acknowledged. “But I still should’ve asked. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and that wasn’t fair of me.” You waited for a moment, before shifting so you were now hugging the book against your chest. “But I’ve been… really quite enthralled.”

Hector perked up immediately, though his eyes were still cautious. “‘Enthralled’?” he repeated.

You nodded. “I started it this morning, and I just… haven’t been able to put it down.” You turned it slightly to reveal the dozens of pages you’d pored through already. 

“Oh,” Hector repeated, even softer than before. He looked from the pages, to your eyes, all too briefly to your lips and back up again. “I’m glad to hear, my love.” A blush was settling over his cheeks and moving up towards his ears. “You have always been my most… inspiring muse.” His tongue darted out over his own lips. “I often find myself unable to write of anything else.”

You pressed the book tighter against your chest subconsciously, and his eyes dropped immediately, definitely noticing. “I’m honored.” You found yourself whispering, though you were the only ones in the room. “To occupy the mind of such a talented writer… I can’t even begin to put into words how flattered I am, Hector.” You couldn’t help a smile. 

Hector’s eyes were saucers, for once struck silent.

Your eyes dropped again, the weight of what you were about to ask suddenly sinking in. “I just… I can’t help but worry, a little,” you spoke slowly, choosing your words. “Because on the page, I’m everything you want, and I don’t know if I can even begin to measure up in the flesh. I desperately want to try, but I don’t… I don’t want to rush you,” you explained. “Or ask anything of you before you’re ready or comfortable, I want to respect your boundaries. But I also just want… well. You.” You looked up at last, hoping that made sense.

Hector’s pupils were blown black, and it took you a second to fully register his expression —

Before you realized it was the starkest look of outright hunger you’d ever seen.

On anyone else, it would’ve tinged the fire at your center with fear. But now, on him? You wondered if you’d burn before he even put his hands on you.

“You could never,” he whispered. “Not be what I want. I want you exactly as you are, as you’ll have me, always.”

He closed the distance between the two of you, his lips mere inches from yours. His eyes jumped from those to meet your gaze and back again, clearly torn. You felt his hands brush yours — warmer than usual, and faintly shaking — before he swallowed hard.

“If we’re to- to proceed,” Hector said, forcing a tremor from his voice. “I’d ask three things of you, my love.”

“Name them,” you said instantly, and for a moment, his hunger gave way to something much softer at your willingness.

Hector took another breath, as though he was having trouble keeping up. “First,” he said, and his hand reached to move your hair away from your cheek. “Is that you’ll put your total and complete trust in me.”

You caught his hand in your own, turning to press an open-mouthed kiss into his calloused palm. “You have that already,” you said quietly, your lips not totally removed from his skin as you did so. “You know that, Hector.”

Hector’s tongue darted over his lower lip, and he stepped between your feet so there was barely room to whisper between the two of you. “I’m asking,” he breathed. “That you give me control, mi vida.” His thumb traced your mouth. “Just for a little while, just... just so I can take care of you. Like you deserve. Like I know I can, with precision.”

His eyes were so deadly serious, so fathomless, that for the span of a heartbeat you kind of forgot to breathe.

Instead, when your brain took over and nudged you abruptly, you responded by taking Hector’s thumb into the heat of your mouth and nodding.

Hector made a sound somewhere on the cusp of a groan and a gasp, and as your tongue laved at the rough whorl of his fingerprint, his other hand cupped the other side of your jaw.

“The second,”  he went on, his voice softer now. “Is that you’ll let me blindfold you.”

You paused in your attention to his hand, your tongue actually freezing in place on his skin for a second as your brain shorted out once more.

Hector smiled, but his brow wrinkled just enough to betray his concern. “Which is why I required your complete trust, first and foremost. Remember?”

When you pulled your mouth off his digit, a delicate string of saliva connected you still to his skin. You went to wipe it away, feeling heat return to your face in embarrassment, but Hector was faster, pulling it back from your mouth and onto his thumb.

You blinked, for a second taken by just how quickly he moved, before you met his gaze again. “…I do actually want to see you, at some point,” you said quietly. You reached up, your hand stroking his hair lovingly. “You’re the major draw for me here, after all.”

Hector let out a short, abrupt laugh that was somehow startled and amused all at once.

“It’s true,” you protested, your hand coming up to cup his face. “Even if you refuse to believe it, despite my many, many declarations to the contrary.”

Hector leaned his face into your palm and closed his eyes like he was resting against a sun-warmed window pane. “I believe you, my love,” he murmured. His eyes opened, and his familiar sweet-but-slightly frazzled expression returned. “Even if it takes the rest of me a while to… agree.”

You smiled back. “I’ll take that, for now.” You stroked your fingers along the soft line of his jaw. “…Right. Blindfold, yes, but you have to let me take it off when it’s my turn.”

It was Hector’s turn to pause, his eyes giving him away by going slightly wide. “Your- your turn?”

You stepped into Hector’s space as he had into yours, standing up slightly on your toes to put your mouth a tantalizing space away from his. “I’ll surrender my control and my sight,” you said, your eyes moving slowly from his eyes to his lips. “But at some point, I’d want reciprocation.” You tilted your head to look at him while his jaw dropped ever so slightly. “Is that something you’d be okay with?”

Hector took a sharp, shallow breath, his mouth soundlessly trying to form words before at last he simply closed it and nodded eagerly. As if to emphasize this, he licked his thumb where you’d sucked it, cleaning your saliva from his skin and making a show of swallowing.

You turned back to your nightstand, grabbing a black silk sleep mask from where it rested on the surface, and held it out for him to inspect. “Acceptable?”

Hector tilted his head, then took it gently from you to hold it up to the light and rub the fabric between his fingers, before he nodded at last. 

“And the third thing?” you asked as you took it back, remembering.

Hector shook his head once. “Blindfold first. The two are connected.”

You prevaricated for an instant, fiddling with the sleek fabric in your fingers. This was going to be your first time with him, fully, and not knowing the third condition first only heightened the crackling nervousness that came with this milestone.

But the way he looked at you with a gentle, hopeful smile, his eyes bright as he looked you over with an obvious tenderness… you found what little tension there was easing from between your shoulders. This was Hector, after all. He was downright devoted to you. The idea of causing you any sort of discomfort had been sacrilege to him on multiple occasions.

“So…” You paused, looking down at your pajamas. You were grateful you’d at least picked a nicer pair for laying around than your usual worn out t-shirt and underwear. “Before I put this on, should I—”

“I’ll be handling that,” Hector interrupted. Though his voice didn’t change, he stated it more than said it, and the unexpected confidence was, honestly, quite hot.

“Oh, well. Be my guest.” You winked, trying to match him, but the way he blushed hard as the heat rushed back to your face reminded you that you were both still… yourselves, at the heart of it all.

You bit your lower lip for a moment more, the jitters of anticipation clashing with the smooth heat at the pit of your stomach. But you saw Hector’s eyes drop immediately to your mouth, the hunger back in his gaze, and the jolt it sent through you made you at last settle the dark silk over your eyes.

In the ensuing black, it was hard not to immediately become more aware of every other sensation: how the fabric of your clothes settled against your now hyper-sensitive skin, the feeling of the floor pressed up into the soles of your bare feet, the utter silence that settled over the room —

The way the temperature of the room seemed to climb two or three degrees almost immediately.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. One of the fun parts of having your HVAC as your boyfriend was the fact that the very air often gave away what he was really thinking.

Hector had been so still, so quiet, you’d been wondering if this was an opening move on his part. But then you heard the susurrus of fabric moving from over in his direction, the soft thuds of him shedding what you were betting were his sandals. After another moment, you heard cautious footsteps on your floorboards, until there was an undeniable presence directly behind you.

Something light ghosted across your hair, stroking it lovingly, before oh-so-carefully shifting it to expose the side of your neck as much as possible. You couldn’t help the pleasurable shiver that ran down your spine, and you tilted your head to expose your neck even further, part of you worried Hector’s insecurity would’ve read the reflex in bad faith.

A heat radiated close to your back, and another came to rest delicately against the skin of your breastbone. Hector’s hand, broad and impossibly warm, seemed to take up the entirety of your sternum -- palm first, heavy and sure, before his fingers stretched across your skin like they wanted to take up as much space as possible. A longing sigh brushed your shoulder, the unexpected warmth causing your head to turn as though to look --

He made a soft noise of denial, his other hand coming up to guide your jaw with the barest pressure of his fingertips so you faced forward again.

“The third condition,” Hector rasped, his mouth right next to your ear. “Is that you indulge me, and I might speak as I used to.” 

You smiled, immediately recognizing what the two of you had jokingly referred to as “Vent Voice” in the time his attic face reveal.“Like when you first started courting me, huh?” you teased, knowing that Hector was actually a sucker for the concept. The man was nothing if not a romantic. 

“The very same,” Hector said, and you could hear the smile of his own underneath the words. His hand pushed you gently back a step, and when you were met by a solid warmth against your shoulders, your brain stuttered to realize he’d taken off his insulating coat. His bare chest was against your skin, and you could feel the coarse hair that covered it, along with the soft stomach now pressing into your lower back. The heat at your center threatened to overwhelm you, so strong was your desire to turn and slide your hands down his torso, to explore what he'd never shown you. 

He pressed against you, his breath ghosting over the back of your neck before he lowered his lips to your exposed skin.

Your breath hitched, and your head fell backwards, until you were resting it against what you realized was his shoulder. You made a sound of want through your bitten lip as Hector kissed your own shoulder around the strap of your pajama top, then moved towards the juncture of your neck. 

“I l-like your real voice, though,” you managed, your hands clenching and unclenching in thin air as he kissed up the column of your throat. “It’s so quintessentially you. And I love you.”

Hector hummed softly against your skin before licking a small expanse up the side of your neck, his scalding tongue causing you to gasp before you could catch yourself. “I love you too,” he said simply, a slight note of smugness creeping in. "And I also adore the face you make when I play to your voice kink." He kitten-licked the shell of your ear. "So if I'm going to satisfy you, I'm going to do it completely." 

And before you could disagree, his splayed fingers were pushing the thin strap off your shoulder entirely.

The thin top fell away with no resistance, Hector tugging lightly so the fabric slid past your hips and landed on the floor. You were now also topless, and just as you moved reflexively to cover your chest, Hector’s free arm gently bumped yours away.

“No, no,” he murmured. “I want a good look at you, my beauty. I’ve only been…” He pressed a kiss to your other bare shoulder now, his stubble rasping across your skin. “Aching for you like this, since I first set eyes on you. You must understand.”

So you curled your fingers into your palms, your thumbs rubbing a knuckle on each hand as you made yourself stand still.

It had been more than a small shock whenever the Dateviators revealed a not-small contingent of beings who found you desirable in your own skin. You were so used to being... well, yourself, that you had an admittedly difficult time seeing what they found attractive in you. Real beauties like Amir, Volt, and Betty left you feeling a bit lost with their kind words, their flirting. You couldn't help but feel underwhelming despite their lingering looks.

Hector's desire for you had been another kind of unexpected entirely; his devotion, his hunger from afar -- while you couldn't understand it directed at you, per se, you definitely were more familiar with this model on your end than anything else. The two of you spoke the same language of the heart. So if it pleased him to have you like this, you were more than happy to let him take his time with you, white-knuckling through your own self-consciousness to let him soak you in.

You felt Hector’s hands settle on each of your shoulders before they traced down your full arms, then over your chest with a tender slowness. You felt his breath on the back of your neck catch and stutter as his hands lingered over your sides, before sliding down onto your hips with what could only be described as reverence.

“God,” he half-whispered, half groaned, and it sounded agonized. “God, you are so… unspeakably soft.” His fingers ran up and down your sides before settling on your hips again, where he couldn’t resist squeezing the plush flesh there. “This is heaven beyond my wildest imagination, my heart, you have no idea.”

You couldn't help a little helpless laughter as his touch ran over the ticklish parts of your stomach, and you flexed your back against his chest, leaning further into him. You lifted a hand to his jaw, and turned your head to kiss him there. "And when do I get to take you in, hm?" 

Hector's hands ghosted over the sides of your breasts, and then for a moment cupped their considerable weight in his hands with a soft moan. When his thumbs ghosted over your nipples, you shivered, biting back a whimper -- while the area normally wasn't your favorite, due to the dysphoria it sometimes inspired, his touch here was so careful, you found yourself able to relax into it. Even more so when he laid his arm across them to put a comforting pressure there, a warm echo of your compression tops. 

You hummed gratefully, leaning as best you could to kiss his soft bicep.

He returned it with a kiss to the side of your neck. "I have you," he said, his lips against your skin still. "I promise."

You couldn't help but smile, resting your head back against his shoulder again. "I know." You kissed his jaw again, one of your favorite parts of him in its softness. "I trust you."

The way his breath shuddered slightly against your neck at this was heart-wrenchingly adorable.

He angled his hand back to your breastbone to pull you more firmly back against him, and you could feel his heart hammering through his chest against your shoulder blade. His breath was bordering on ragged as one hand caressed your lush stomach while the other held you fast.

“You’re so warm” he moaned, and his hand slid lower, thick fingers brushing the waistband of your flimsy cotton shorts. “You’re like the sun on my fingertips, love, you’re celestial.”

Your arms came up to wrap around the one holding you to him, hugging him as best you could and leaning fully into him. “Hector, you’re gonna kill me with anticipation,” you mumbled, your skin screaming to be touched everywhere at once. “At least let me kiss you, or someth—”

Your words were lost amidst the blood rushing to your face as Hector hooked his thumb in the side of your shorts and yanked brusquely downwards, letting them also settle on the floor. You were all too aware you were now fully naked, pinned against him and fully at his mercy.

“Allow me this, please.” His lips were against your ear before he kissed your cheek, then lower down your neck again. “I swear to you, all I want to do is please you… let me at least worship at the altar I’ve admired for so long.”

His hand slid up from your chest to cover your throat, and his kiss to your shoulder became a sharp bite. Your inhale hissed through your teeth, your back arching against his grip.

“All I want is to make you come,” he said, his longing strangling his voice. His other hand slid down your stomach and towards your cunt, stopping short enough to make you squirm in search of any sort of contact. “And come, and come, until you’re a mess in my arms. To fulfill you so completely, you’re too wrecked to find the words to ask for more.” He angled your head to press a searing, messy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Tell me I can, love, and I will.”

“Please.” If you were still in your right mind, you’d be embarrassed at how quickly you said it, or how you practically whined for it. “Please, Hector, I’ll beg if you want me to, I’ll—”

Two of Hector’s thick fingers slid into your slick folds, and you spasmed against him as they barely brushed your swollen clit.

“Fuck.” Hector’s teeth were gritted, and you felt his hips buck sharply against your ass. The thermostat belt buckle threatened to bruise your back, and you felt something achingly hard through the fabric of his pants, pressing into the soft squish of your flesh. You pushed back against it, and the hand over your throat tightened ever so slightly, as if to hold you still.

“You’re so wet.” Hector’s moan threatened to crack through his Vent Voice entirely, and his fingers traced your slit with an ease that made the heat in your face spread down to your chest. “Fuck, you’re already soaking wet, love, what—”

“What can I say?” You turned your head against his shoulder to face him as best you could. “Your work—” You choked for a moment as his fingers brushed your clit again, the sound desperate and shaking. “I-inspired me.”

Hector’s mouth was hot and greedy and open when he kissed you in response, as the rough pads of his fingers began circling your clit in a way that made you gasp helplessly. “Be careful,” he warned, pulling away from you just enough to speak. “It’ll go straight to my head if you tell me that. That I could possibly have this effect on you, my angel.”

“This is all you,” you said against his lips. “This is what you do to me, I swear.”

You felt his breath shake as he inhaled, his heart threatening to pound through his chest and into yours as he kissed you again. Christ, he’d only just started and you were already overwhelmed, between his tongue demanding in your mouth and the careful hand on your throat keeping you prone and exactly where he wanted you, your hips twitching and flexing into his hand. 

When your legs began to shake, he broke the kiss to only to hiss a single word as he pushed you lightly against your bed frame: “Kneel.”

You complied, realizing he’d lined you up perfectly with the end of your bed as you sank onto your knees on your mattress. Now with no fear of your legs giving out, you let Hector support your back against his chest, your breath already turning to short, desperate pants as he worked the most sensitive part of you.

Hector was murmuring feverishly into your hair when he wasn’t kissing you everywhere he could reach. “Yes, love, you’re doing so well for me, that’s perfect, you’re perfect, just let me— let me take care of you, please, let me make you feel a tenth of what I feel for you, even that.” His smooth facade was chipping away, sounding like he was just as desperate as you were as the coil of white-hot want at your center twisted tighter and tighter. While he fought to keep his voice steady, the moans that escaped him when you gasped and arched back against him sounded more like the him you knew outside the vent.

You grabbed at the hand at your throat, intertwining your fingers tightly with his. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop Hector, please—”

“Let go, love, I have you,” Hector rasped, the voice back in place. “Come for me, show me how you feel, please.”

You came with a shudder and an embarrassingly loud groan from deep in your chest, shaking against Hector’s torso as you ground your hips down onto his fingers without an ounce of shame. Though you couldn’t see them, your were certain your thighs were already glistening, and this was only one orgasm in.

Hector squeezed the sides of your throat with a fraction more pressure as you writhed, and you could feel him pressing his clothed erection against your ass, perhaps without even realizing it. 

Before you could catch your breath or even come down, Hector spun you lightly by your shoulders and barely nudged you backwards. Your lack of equilibrium and the fact that you felt weightless meant this left you sprawled out on your back, on top of your covers.

“What—” You started to sit up, confused, before Hector’s hand rested firmly over your stomach.

“Stay there,” he said, and the relative curtness of it compared to his usual eloquence made your thighs twitch all the harder.

You heard more fabric rustling, and the thud of something metal and heavy hitting the ground — his belt, you realized, and you parted your thighs before you fully realized what you were doing.

Hector chuckled shakily. “Oh, amor. Don’t tempt me before the second course.” He leaned down, tilting your chin with a finger to kiss you as you dazedly looked up.

 You heard him drop to the floor, muttering to himself so quickly you couldn’t catch it, before you heard something clicking closed. He gave a full-throated groan, as though pained, but before you could sit up to check on him, two hands dragged you roughly down your mattress by your thighs.

“Wait, hold on — are you okay?” You reached out blindly until you felt his hand, concerned. “What was that?”

“I’m fine, my love, I promise.” Hector’s free hand swept down your other thigh to soothe you, followed by his lips against your skin and the rasp of his stubble. “It’s nothing to worry about. Just - ah.” Another soft gasp, and a low moan as he adjusted whatever it was. “Something to help me not lose myself with you entirely. Not until the proper time.”

Before you could try to puzzle out what that meant, you felt his hands squeeze your thighs, before manipulating each one onto one of his shoulders.

“You have no idea,” he said, tracing a gossamer finger across their sensitive inner flesh. “No earthly idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He traced the inside of your thigh towards your cunt with the tip of his nose, occasionally pausing to sample now and then with a nipping kiss you knew would leave a small bruise, causing you to whimper at each. “How often I gazed down on you on this very bed, watching you alone, aching to touch you. I would’ve traded the rest of my life just to taste you.” 

You could feel his breath on the mess he’d left with just his fingers, seeming to drink you in before he pressed a delicate kiss to either side of your slit. He lingered there, and you could feel him panting lightly as his nose pressed into your pubic hair, until he groaned with unfiltered need.

“You’re divine,” he whispered, and before you could respond, the scalding flat of his tongue parted your lips.

“Fuck!” You arched your back against your mattress, your hands jumping to anchor in your lover’s dark, curly hair. “Fuck, Hector, oh my god—” But he was merciless against your still-sensitive clit, and when you tugged his hair without realizing, his resulting moan made you dizzy and light-headed. 

For all his beautiful words, Hector’s tongue was a menace in its own right. He ate you out like a man possessed, his fingers tight enough to bruise on your plush thighs as his tongue circled the innermost part of you, his nose nudging your clit in a way that made your hips buck against his face. But this only seemed to spur him on, his hands moving to pin you down as he devoured you with zeal.

Your hips trapped in his surprisingly strong grip, you moaned in frustration, and when he echoed you, it seemed to vibrate through your core. “Hector, it’s too much,” you begged, and tears threatened at the corner of my eyes. “I can’t, I can’t—”

But Hector only shook his head, his tongue moving in a way that sent sparks racing through your veins. Whereas all this time he’d been sitting off your bed, he only broke your connection to climb up onto your mattress, shifting your thighs on his shoulders before he sank his tongue into you. His ferocity left you keening raggedly, short of breath and desperate.

You gave up trying to resist, grinding yourself against Hector’s face, and as you did so, you felt the motion echoed further down your bed. It took a minute to orientate his relative position, but when you did, you realized with a jolt of heat that Hector must have been grinding into your mattress. The idea of his cock already leaking just from going down on you left you clenching with want around air, and Hector made a sound like a whine in response, shoving the flat of his tongue against your clit in a way that set your veins ablaze. He brought two fingers to your hole, sliding them inside with so little effort that you nearly started to cry, your face impossibly warm. He was utterly ruining you, and with frightening efficiency.

After a few minutes of slowly, steadily fucking you on them, he unexpectedly curled them inside you. You let out something close to a wail, throwing your head back against the sheets.

Your nails scraped his scalp, and his chin and stubble were absolutely soaked against your thighs. He only lifted his tongue from you to pant for a second, before rasping brokenly:

“Come on my face. Comeonmyface, amor, I’m begging, bless me with even that—”

This crack in his control, combined with the last crook of his fingers inside you, left you powerless. You came again, messily, nearly sobbing his name.

True to his word, he groaned as you ground your cunt against his tongue, holding completely still so you could use him as you wished. Your face absolutely seared at just how much your cunt was drooling into his mouth, tears creeping out from under your blindfold from both embarrassment and raw want. when you finally fell limp against the mattress, he laid wet kisses along your lower abdomen, whispering praises against your skin as he stroked your twitching thighs.

You could swear your ears were ringing and your skin was on fire. If you took off the blindfold now, you might still be seeing black, your vision a hazy swirl as your brain tried to figure out which way was up. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you mumbled, your voice shot.

“You’re one to talk of holiness,” Hector mumbled back, and you felt him rest his chin on one of your thighs. You could hear him sucking clean the fingers he’d fucked you with, like he hadn’t just had you coming all over his tongue. “You’re a sight, mi vida. You’ve never been more beautiful. If I died tomorrow, I would die utterly content.”

“…How the fuck,” you managed. “Are you still so…” You gestured uselessly, struggling for words. “…Together, right now?”

Hector let out an amused huff of air through his nose. “You can’t see me,” he said, and in that moment, you could hear just how strained his Vent Voice was. “If you could, you’d know how paper-thin my composure really is. How much you’ve already shattered me.”

“But I haven’t even gotten to touch you yet, you’re the one fucking me,” you protested weakly. “And fucking me... really, really well, actually. Like. Oh my god, Hector, your writing was one thing, but this—”

Hector pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you gently. “Don’t let me get cocky,” he said, and you could hear the pleased grin in his tone. “Not when I haven’t ravished you fully, yet. Not to my standards.”

Your lips started to form a question, but he seized your hips in his broad hands, pulling you further down the mattress again until you were flush with—

Your face felt like it was burning, realizing he was kneeling between your spread legs, his flesh impossibly warm against your own.

“I can’t,” you mumbled, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m already wrecked. I’ve got nothing left, Hector, I'm —”

Hector was crooning soft assurances as he delicately pulled your hands apart with his own, and you felt your fingers interlacing with his. He kissed each of your cheeks, the tip of his tongue tracing the salt that was surely leaking from under the blindfold by now. “Once more,” he murmured. He pressed each of the backs of your hands to his lips in turn, before stretching them over your head and pinning them to the mattress. “Once more, my heart, my darling, trust me just that much longer."

Slowly, you felt something pressing against your folds, and before you could register fully what it was, something hard and hot dragged itself against your slit. You exhaled raggedly, what little oxygen had returned to your brain leaving immediately.

"Let me fuck you, love,” Hector whispered, grinding his cock along your soaking wet cunt. "Like you deserve. Like I've wanted to since I first set eyes on you." He was already panting, his breath only getting shallower as he lost himself rutting against you. "...Oh, god." His voice echoed off your ceiling, near feverish and cracking through his carefully constructed tone. He continued like this for a minute, and you could feel his stomach moving against yours, the course hair at his base growing wetter --

Until something unexpectedly smooth and steel nudging your clit made you gasp, then thrash in his grip. "What… is that?"

Hector froze for a second, and it was obvious both of you were having problems with the powers of speech. "...Something to keep me ready for you," he said, though the Vent Voice unsteady. "So I can be what you need, when you need it. So I don't - ah," he whined, mindlessly grinding against you again. "Lose myself, as soon as I'm inside you."

You shuddered at the electric contact, his dick sliding through your folds, the metal catching lightly against your clit again in a way that made your hips buck. 

"...Is that a cock ring?" you asked, at last putting two and two together in your haze.

Hector's hips faltered again, and you could tell he was struggling to proceed. "Uh. ...Yes?" he said, his true voice back and uncertain. "Is... is that okay?"

Jesus, this man.

You strained against his grip, leaning up, desperate to kiss him. "Hector, oh my god," you said, your fingers squeezing his palms when you couldn't quite manage it. "You're going to kill me, you really are. Please, please, let me touch you."

Hector laughed softly, the relief evident, and he squeezed your hands back before he brought his lips to yours. "Not yet," he murmured in the Voice again, kissing the corners of your mouth and down your throat. "Not yet, lover, this is still just about you."

"Hector," you whined, petulantly writhing against your mattress. "It's not fair! I want to see you, I want to feel you, I--"

That last thought was interrupted by something thick sliding into you, the heat and the unexpected fullness causing your sentence to die on your lips.

“You were saying?" Hector was teasing, his thrusts slow and languid, and your jaw dropped as your brain went utterly blank. The feeling of him inside you was electric, his shaft dragging along your walls, his stomach warm and soft against yours as he fucked into you. The wiry hair on his body felt like static against your skin, and you pushed your hips desperately back against his.

"More," you moaned, the one word left in your brain. 

Hector inhaled sharply through his teeth, and he finally let go of your hands, grabbing instead once more onto your thighs. "Of course," he said. "Of course, my darling, anything you ask." 

He pulled you towards him so your hips were flush together, bottoming out in you with a strangled, desperate sound. Whereas before his pace had been sensual, lingering, his thrusts now were sharp and precise. He kept a punishing grip on your hips, and with your hands now free, you reached up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down so your chests were pressed together.

Hector groaned but adjusted the angle of his hips to compensate, and he took the new proximity to leave soft, longing bites along your clavicle, like he was restraining himself from devouring you even now. You, meanwhile, were shamelessly chasing your third orgasm, your hands moving with minds of their own -- squeezing his soft upper arms, clinging to his shoulders, anywhere you could try to find an anchor point.

"Hector." You were starved for air, your moans short and breathless. Everything felt siphoned by the muscles tensing again in your abdomen, the ache at the center of you that only resolved when he bottomed out. "I love you, I love you fucking me, please don't stop--"

"As long as you want." There was no room between the two of you, and his mouth was everywhere -- leaving bruising kisses on your neck, laving at the junction of your shoulder. "Until the breath leaves my body, I'm yours to use." He buried his face against your neck, a broken breath shuddering against your skin. "Whatever you need, I'll give you all of me."

You got your arms around his chest, and when you raked your nails down his back, he let out a guttural sound of pure want, his breath hot in your ear. 

You had no filter left between your mouth and your brain. "I want to come on your cock," you managed, and you heard him outright whine, felt him spasm inside you. "Please, Hector, I want to, please?"

"You will," he groaned, and his grip was iron as he pulled one of your thighs up along the curve of his hip. "I have you, amor, you will."

The room was already filled with the obscene sounds of his skin on yours, but for a second, it was punctuated by the staccato of your headboard hitting the wall. The knowledge that this was caused by your shy, nervous sweetheart pulled the coil of want at the center of you all the tighter, and your hips met his, greedy and seeking.

Between the metal of the ring against your aching clit and Hector's borderline punishing tempo, your unraveling wasn't long. You felt the pressure of his stomach against yours, felt it tensing, heard his own desperate moan -- only to remember that he was denying himself his own orgasm in pursuit of yours, near-punishing himself until he could give you everything you wanted.

This made you finally break for a third time, you felt your release hot and wet down your own thighs, borderline screaming Hector's name to the ceiling before he muffled you with his tongue in your mouth. He kept fucking you through your aftershocks, but slower now, sweeter. You were gasping into each other's mouths, you outright shaking, Hector running his hands soothingly up and down your sides and whispering to you between kisses to your face and forehead.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His words were rapid, feverish as his forehead pressed against yours. "I love you, angel, divine, whatever soul I have belongs to you."

You couldn't speak yet, but your nails hooked into his shoulders, desperate for anything to ground you. You could hear him hiss sharply at the feeling, but he kissed you heatedly, coaxing your mouth open as you caught your breath.

For a long few minutes, the two of you just lay there, him still inside you, unwilling to give up contract with the other's skin. His kisses were soft across your face and chest with whispered, effusive praise, but you kept steering him back to your lips, wanting him to feel firsthand how much you adored him.

As soon as you were capable of speech again, you let him know. "I'm in love with you," you managed, punctuating this with a gentle bite to his lower lip. "I love you so much, Hector, tell me you know that."

"Yes," he sighed, and you could feel him smiling as he kissed you back. "I am no less thunderstruck to be loved by the object of my every thought, but I know." He kissed each of your cheeks in turn, the corners of your mouth, and his arms caged your waist. "Are you satisfied, mi vida?" You could hear the pride in his voice, like he couldn't tell by taking in how you were only just catching your breath, your hair clinging to your skin with sweat.

"Mm." You smiled against his mouth as you crushed it in a kiss. "...Not quite, my love."

The sound he made in response would've made you giggle, were you not so committed to your bit. It reminded you of the time you asked him for a photo; a mix of confusion and mild shock. “…No?” he managed at last, the Vent Voice finally falling away entirely.

Grinning, you reached up and lifted the blindfold from your blisteringly warm face. "I want my turn, Hector."

His expression was adorable, flushed and perplexed, his hair clinging to his damp forehead. He stared at you, his mouth once again left scrambling to form words. He had no time to prepare before you pushed upwards against his chest, maneuvering your weight so he was abruptly underneath you.

Before he could get his bearings, you grabbed both his wrists, pinning them to the pillow above his head. The noise he made was an exhale of confusion laced with something close to a whimper, and you sat back as much as you could, taking in your prize. "Is this okay?"

Hector's flush extended down his chest and shoulders, his hair a mess against the pillow. He glistened slightly with a soft sheen of sweat from his earlier efforts, and his pupils were still blown wide, threatening to eclipse the dark iris you adored. For a solid minute, he merely gazed up at you like you were something holy, still at a loss for words.

"...Hector," you cooed, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. "I need a verbal answer. Is it okay if I hold you like this?" You jerked your chin towards where you still held his wrists, your grip lighter now in case he needed to get out.

"Yes," he breathed, and you could swear his pupils somehow widened further. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple moving in his throat. "Yes, my love, anything you want--"

“Not the answer I need,” you cut him off softly but firmly, shaking your head. “I want to make this about you now, darling.” You released his wrists and shifted your hips so you were finally two separate beings again, and he actually whimpered at the loss of contact. 

Moving to sit just to his side, you exhaled, feeling the new emptiness inside you again. He didn’t move an inch, following you with wide eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile at him watching you like that, tilting your head to finally take him all in. Your eyes traveled down his broad torso, the arms that had held you through feeling like you would shatter completely, the adorable stomach with the trail of dark hair that you wanted to kiss and nip all the way down to…

The glint of the modified metal wrapped at the base of his cock, which was still laying achingly erect and flush against said stomach.

The air left your lungs all at once, a sharp spark of need causing your still-sensitive clit to positively throb. You turned back to meet his eyes, only to see him still watching you like an especially anxious hawk, trying to read your reaction from your face.

You blinked, remembering that yes, this was actually the first time the two of you had been this… vulnerable, around one another.  “Can I touch you?” you asked quietly, looking shyly from him to the metal and back. “Is that okay?” You had lost all concept of subtle, only half-aware of how you were biting your lip in your eagerness.

The tension in Hector’s shoulders seemed to ease, as if relieved, but the flush across his cheeks and down to his chest renewed. “I… if you want to.” He nodded, shifting slightly where he was laying, like he was suddenly all too aware of your gaze. 

You laughed a little, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Of course I want to. I’m more concerned about if you want me to.” You moved to kiss the other corner, one hand going to his chest to push him back to the mattress when he tried to meet you halfway. When you had him pinned again, you angled your head so you were looking down into his eyes. “You took care of me, love, and in spades. Now I want to take care of you.” You thought for a moment, trying to figure out just how to frame this — he was nothing if not selfless, and he wasn’t always the best at knowing quite what he wanted at turn. “ And I want you to tell me how to do it properly.” You stroked his hair, watching him swallow thickly.  “Can you do that for me, Hector, please?”

“Please touch me,” he said without hesitation, his voice now fully back to its usual pitch and already a bit shaky.

You beamed. “Excellent start.” You leaned down, kissing him fully again. “Thank you.” 

You went to move, but paused halfway, looking back to where he was now sitting up slightly to watch you. “…Tell me something—” you began.

“Anything,” he said immediately, nodding just a little in his eagerness.

You couldn’t help a giggle, reaching over to stroke his hair. “You’re so cute.” Off his responding small smile, you turned back to face him fully, supporting yourself over him so he had to lean back to look into your eyes. “I was going to ask,” you went on. “Did you like it when I had your wrists pinned earlier? Or do you want to be able to move?”

Hector bit his own lip as he gazed up at you, and you could see him weighing his options. “…I love touching you, amor, you know that,” he said at last. “But that was… new.” There was a hopeful note at the end of the sentence, a curiosity there. 

“Okay, I can work with that.” You nodded, holding eye contact until the poor man’s flush revived itself, and he looked shyly away. “You know, I have wondered…” 

His eyes were partially eclipsed by his hair, now; the visible one looked your way again. “Wondered, amor?”

You moved all at once, straddling his thighs, and noticing just how his mouth fell open as you did so. “Do you remember, love, when you told me you can’t relax for yourself?”

“…Somewhat,” Hector said, clearly distracted as he looked between your eyes and where your thighs were back in contact with his skin again.

You took his wrists in your hands, moving them so they were back on the pillow above his head. “Do you need to be made to relax, do you think?”

Hector’s eyes went impossibly wider, something in your phrasing clearly clicking for him. “…Define ‘made.’” His voice was cautious, but the subconscious way he licked his lips gave him away.

You felt yourself mirror the gesture, a lascivious smile spreading. “Like we agreed to earlier,” you reminded him. “My turn will be me asking what you want, and giving it to you until you can’t take it anymore.” You squeezed his wrists gently.

His fists clenched in response. “I think we - phrased that differently,” he said, his breathing starting to shallow out.

“But do you object to my phrasing now?” You raised an eyebrow, both teasing and challenging.

“Not in the least,” he said, so quickly it was cute.

You giggled. “Then do me a favor,” you said, lifting your hands off his wrists. “And keep those right where I left them, or I stop. Agreed?”

“Yes.” Hector nodded, then paused. “…With one addendum.”

“Oh?” You sat back, curious.

“Don’t — don’t blindfold me.” Hector’s eyes roved over you, his gaze so hungry it felt like a caress. “Let me see you. Let me at least have that.”

Your face felt hot again with how unabashed he was, but you played to it, holding eye contact as you leaned forward again across his torso. You carefully avoided any skin contact with his neglected cock, instead placing your hands over Hector’s chest. “Whatever you want, love.” You only looked down to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his bare clavicle.

Hector’s hands moved off the pillow as he made a soft sound of longing, but you sat up, giving them a sharp look.

He froze, to his credit, and tamely let them fall back against the fabric. When you returned to kissing your way up his neck, he groaned in frustration, and you could hear them moving on the pillowcase. “I - I might have not thought that through,” he admitted, already breathless.

“No?” You laved the sweat from his skin, enjoying the salt before you left a bite sure to bruise — one that mirrored a similar mark he’d left on your own shoulder. 

Hector hissed through his teeth. “No,” he agreed. “How could I not want to touch you?”

“But look, darling.”  You sat up, shaking your hair away from your face, then shrugging your marked shoulder. “We’ll match now.”

Hector’s cock visibly throbbed, his eyes infinitely black as he looked between the two with utter reverence, like he was seriously considering getting his tattooed on him. 

You took your time kissing your way down his chest, lingering to kitten-lick the nipples that had been hiding under the metal of his coat. He positively writhed at this, turning his hands back on the pillow to grip it in frustration. You watched him bite his lip until you feared blood, the small noises he failed to muffle speaking to just how it likely wouldn’t take much to wreck him at all…

Unless.

You pondered something as you kissed down his soft stomach, caressing his sides, making a point to lick a hot stripe through the trail that led down, down…

“I love this,” you mumbled, pausing to run your nails lightly down the skin of his stomach. Hector gasped, squirming underneath your hands, and you drank in the sight. “You’re so soft, Hector, but so solid. You make me feel safe, supported, always.” You leaned down, licking another stripe where his stomach met his hip, only just managing to hold him down when he bucked against the feeling. “And when I felt you against me, pushing into me, putting me exactly where you needed to to make me lose my mind…” 

You angled where you were leaning to grind your cunt along one of his hips, and Hector moaned in agony, his head falling back into the pillow and his hands twisting on the cloth of the case. 

“I know you’re too much of a lover, darling,” you said, licking a nipple again to watch his chest rise and fall raggedly. “But I did think about how you could easily have me any way you wanted, all for your own pleasure.” You grinned, watching that ragged breathing stutter, the way his jaw dropped soundlessly at the idea. 

“Blasphemy.” Hector’s eyes were wild, and he had to physically grab one of his wrists with his other hand to keep them both down. “You’re divine to me, I could never— I wouldn’t dare—”

“But what if I asked you to?” You sat back on your knees, drawing a line down the inside of one of his thighs with a nail to watch it twitch and shake. You weren’t sure if the whine was from the contact, or from the idea of using you. When you met his eyes again, he looked on the verge of pain. “It’s not like I’m not all yours, anyway.”

You watched his eyes, already overly bright with how you were torturing him, as you calmly positioned yourself next to his twitching cock, still trapped in the ring. 

“Am I correct,” you said slowly. “That you can’t come until this is off?” You merely tapped a nail on the steel, and his hips bucked sharply upwards.

“Y-yes,” he managed, his voice already shredded with want.

You pursed your lips, considering this. “Duly noted.” You looked back up at him. “Spread your legs for me?”

He did so with such alacrity, your heart ached.

You settled yourself between them, making a show of reaching to your still-drooling cunt to gather the slick there onto your fingers — his breathless whimper making you crack and smile after all. You took your time taking in his cock, wretchedly hard with neglect, still thick from where he’d made you come so hard you’d cried. The pre was practically dripping off the tip, and when you took it in hand at last, you felt it flex against your palm as Hector groaned from the depths of his chest.

You pumped your hand over the shaft with a slowness that made Hector throw his head back in frustration, his hips desperately trying to meet your palm.

“Easy there, love,” you soothed. When your hand was near the head, you spread the pre over his slit with your thumb, and he was already making a sound akin to a sob. “I have you now. I promise.”

“I love you,” Hector managed brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut from overwhelm. “I love you, please, please keep touching me—”

You leaned forward while he wasn’t looking, and when you took the head alone in your mouth, Hector had to visibly fight not to thrust into it. You teased him, swirling your tongue around the glans as you continued to pump the shaft, watching his breathing shallow out and his knuckles nearly turn white on his wrist. As you took more, your tongue tracing the hot vein along the underside, Hector’s back arched as he fought not to make you gag.

You let go with a soft ‘pop’ of suction, another strand of saliva linking your mouth to his skin. “Hector,” you said, your voice soft and innocent. “I want you to look at me.”

Hector complied immediately, sitting up just enough to see you —

As you took the most of him into your mouth yet, your other hand coming up to cup his balls as you did so. 

You could feel him throbbing in your mouth as he moaned in utter agony, his abdomen tensing, his balls tightening against your palm. “Mi vida, amor, please, please please I’m begging you, gorgeous creature, mercy—”

You took him as deep as you could, your nose brushing the dark, coarse hair at the base, and when his reflexes finally won out, you gagged around him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He sounded on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean—”

But you put a hand on his stomach to soothe him, sitting up to breathe. “I’m fine,” you managed. “I wanted to gag on you, it’s okay.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Hector mumbled, eyes glazed and hazy from lust, tears at the corners to match those in yours. “I’m going to die right here in your bed, at this rate.”

“Tell me where you want to come first,” you said, back to pumping him as you waited for your throat to relax again. 

Hector blinked, and for a moment you thought you’d finally broken him. “What?”

“My mouth?” You prompted. “My chest? My stomach?”

Hector’s hands were twisted into your sheets, but you didn’t want to wreck your momentum by punishing him appropriately. “I…” He struggled for words, before finally admitting in a cracked whisper, “Inside you.” He swallowed hard. “Please. I have to be inside you, now, or I’ll lose what’s left of my mind.”

You laughed as much as you could manage with a slightly sore throat, charmed. “Of course, love. Just— give me a moment.”

You doubled back to plant kisses up the insides of his thighs, nipping the inside of the left so gently, he fully whined above you. When you let yourself take his balls in your mouth, appreciating just how swollen they were, you felt him clawing at your blankets, speaking too fast for you to quite make out what he was saying besides the fact that it sounded like a prayer.

After a few more agonizing moments, you straddled his hips, his cock resting just against your cunt. You let it drool onto his skin, his hips bucking and twitching underneath you, him fully babbling at this point.

“My love, my angel, please, please oh god I can’t take this please—”

“Come here,” you murmured, and he sat up like a man reanimated, his hands flying to your torso to run over as much of your skin as he could reach.

You met his lips with yours, exploring his mouth as you rocked your hips so your clit caught one last time on the metal ring. Hector’s hips jerked back, tears escaping from his lashline down his cheeks at the friction.

When at last you slid onto him, Hector hid his face in your shoulder, panting openly against your skin. You rolled your hips together, and he met yours eagerly, his nails digging into your back in turn.

You stayed there for a few minute, feeling him spasm inside you as you moved, him clinging to you like he never wanted to be apart from you again.

“I love you, Hector,” you whispered, your lips against his ear as you reached between the two of you two find the place where the ring came apart —

And as soon as you’d gotten it loose, Hector came with a broken sob of your name, the heat of his release molten inside you.

You rode him through it, feeling it easily overflowing you so it dripped down your thighs, mixing with your own orgasm from earlier. Your skin felt impossibly hot, Hector crushing you against his torso as the two of you moved, and the slick sounds between the two of you were utterly obscene.

You kept riding him until at last he was totally spent, the two of you collapsing in a sweaty tangle to your mattress.

Hector’s lips were on yours, on your face, along your hairline. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice still broken.

You were still trying to catch your breath, but you kissed him back. “So you enjoyed yourself, then?” you teased.

“You exceeded my every desire,” Hector said, fully earnest, and the sweetness of it made you lose your breath all over again. “I’m never letting you go, I hope you understand that. I can’t bear to, not now.”

“Not even to put clothes on?” you joked, resting your glistening forehead against his.

“Especially not that,” Hector grinned. “We’ll simply resign ourselves to be here, forever.”

“No more vents for you?” You grinned back, but there was hope underneath the words.

“I live in your bed now.” He kissed your cheek, beaming at you. “Betty will just have to understand. It simply cannot be helped.”

You actually giggled, hugging him tightly and rolling so you were laying on his chest.

The two of you stayed that way for a while in sweet, fulfilled silence, the room filling with the warm honey of the golden hour through your window.

You rolled onto your side to admire him in the light, gazing as though you wanted to memorize every inch of him — which you did. “…You’re really hot when you’ve just finished wrecking me, you know that?” You reached up, gently stroking some of his hair away from his face, then tracing his cheek with a fingertip. 

His eyes immediately looked down, away, back up to the safety of his vent — anywhere but at you. “Don’t tease,” he mumbled. His whole demeanor changed from the afterglow of a moment ago, and he finally went to pull his arms in to cover his soft torso.

“Hey.” You bumped his arms away as he had yours earlier, moving on the mattress so you were chest to chest again. You kissed him earnestly, hoping to soothe the anxiety you could see gathering like a storm at his brow. “I’m not teasing,” you said, pulling away just enough to speak while looking him in the eye. “I think you’re hot, and I’m madly in love with you.”

Hector rolled his eyes ever so slightly, even as a smile tugged begrudgingly at his lips. “Amor. You don’t…” He trailed off, lips pressed together as he chose his words. “Have to… tell me that.” He nodded slightly, trying to keep the smile on. “It’s really okay.”

“Hector, forgive my arguing, love — but you literally just made me scream your name,” you said bluntly. You set a fingertip on his chest, making a point. “Nobody else has ever actually achieved that.”

His face flushed furiously again, and for an instant, the smile became more solid. Real. With just a hint of the pride you knew was in there somewhere.

“Have they?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow. “You would know,” you added quietly. “I know now you watched me with others.”

Hector made a quiet sound of discontent, any confidence disappearing as he looked away. “I’m sorry, I know I—”

“Don’t apologize. I’m into that too,” you said quietly, a sly smile creeping in. “I consider it part of your… unique form of dedication.” You drew a line with your nail up to his jaw, tracing his lower lip. “But you’re still not answering my question, love.” You tilted your head to catch his eye. “It’s only you, isn’t it?”

“…You deserve that and more,” he said at last, eventually looking up at you through his lashes. “I’m only lucky it was me who had the honor.”

“But why can’t I be lucky to have it be you?” you asked plaintively. When he didn’t answer right away, you sat up to put a little space between the two of you, realizing something. “…Do you not believe me, when I say I’m in love with you?”

“No,” he said immediately, and his hand gently caught on to your upper arm, keeping you anchored to him. “No, my love, I do.”

“Really?” You were watching his face now, searching for a telltale sign in his eyes, in the way his mouth moved. The idea that he didn’t believe you filled you with a cold, hollow dread that left you slightly sick. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No!” He caught your other arm as you moved further away, pulling you down to him again. “No, I believe you. I promise,” he pleaded, his eyes wide. “It’s just…” He pressed his mouth into a line, his eyes moving along the ceiling as he tried to find the words yet again. 

“…Am I… doing something to make you think I’m not?” you asked quietly. You swallowed — everything had been so beautiful, until you’d… what? Told him you were attracted to him? You’d just wanted to make him feel as loved as he made you. “…Is it me?”

“No.” Before you could blink, Hector had pulled you flush to his chest again, his eyes holding the same strange brilliance you’d seen upon your first meeting in the dark vent. “Listen to me: I have never loved anyone more than I love you,” he said quickly, nose to nose with you now. “You are my heart made human, you are the anchor of my animus. I’m yours, every part of me.” The light in his eyes changed, pained now. “But it’s me. Do you understand? You are beautiful,” he said, his hands sliding up to squeeze your shoulders. “You are my muse, my light.” He swallowed hard, like there was a lump in his throat. “And the only way I can show you how much I adore you is by giving myself over to you completely, satisfying you so thoroughly that you never have reason to think--” His voice caught, and he broke your gaze. “…To think about how you could do better.”

“What are you talking about?” You shook your head, perplexed. “Hector, I’m just… I’m only me. I’m completely ordinary. You’re the one who could do better, I’m sorry.” You managed a laugh, but it burned your throat. “…And I’m so afraid one day you’re going to realize that, you know?”

He looked up sharply, eyes flashing. “Don’t you ever say that.”

“Hector, listen to me,” you argued, straddling his lap so he couldn’t look away. “You’re literally an artist.” You held up a finger when he opened his mouth to argue, and he closed it again, albeit hesitantly. “Your prose breaks my heart and melts me, all at once. You’re sweet, you’re sensitive, you’re one of the most thoughtful people I’ve ever met — when you first told me how you felt, I could barely breathe,” you confessed, and it was hard to keep your voice steady. “Because I had no idea how I had captured the eye of someone so -  so passionate.” You swallowed, your mouth feeling full of ash. “When I was just… here,” you gestured limply around your empty bedroom. “Alone. Trying to justify what I was doing with my life, what I was thought I could prove to anyone. Trying to convince myself to keep… hell.” You looked away, your eyes stinging for a different reason. “Keep trying at all, I guess.”

You blinked hard. You would not cry and totally ruin this, you would not. 

“…My love?” Hector was all concern, which made it so you couldn’t look at him lest you definitely break. But when his hands slid to your hips, you still set yours on top of his, giving them a reassuring squeeze. He waited then, seemingly content with this sign.

“…And then suddenly, I put on these glasses and realized you were in my vents, of all places,” you said at last, keeping your eyes down. “And you were in love with me, and I didn’t really know what I did to - to earn it. But you made me feel seen in a way that… no one else really had. Ever.” You felt yourself shrug, a wavering smile managing to form on your face. “You make me feel like… whatever force animates the pair of us, whatever stardust we might be made of, ours is the same.  I could… belong here. With you.” You chewed your lower lip, feeling your skin catch fire again.  “And that’s what I’m saying, when I tell you I’m in love with you. ‘Please let me stay here. Please let this be home.’” You forced yourself to take a breath. “‘Please don’t think about it and realize otherwise.’”

You were interrupted by Hector suddenly seizing the back of your neck, and pulling you against his bare chest in a crushing hug. His other hand was planted firmly against the center of your spine, and when he buried his nose in your hair, you realized you could feel him shaking against you. His voice threatening to crack, he managed only a single word:

“Never.”

He pulled the pair of you down to the mattress, keeping you tightly curled in his arms, his legs entangling with yours to keep him completely in contact with your skin. You shifted your arms so they encircled his chest, your fingertips lightly tracing the scratches you’d left in his back at the height of your passion.

For a while, the two of you just stayed there, the only sound the other’s breathing and the opening salvo of the crickets outside.

And for a minute, it felt like you were the only two left in a house full of people.

Maybe even in the world.

He was the first to pull back, eyes intense like he was trying to memorize your own. “My love, I’m sorry.” He cupped your cheek in his hand with the utmost softness. “I didn’t intend to make you think I doubted you. The only person I doubt between us is myself;  you have never had to earn my love. You never will. I love all of you, even the parts you don’t — for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, but that’s another talk entirely.” He kissed your forehead, then your lips, before holding your gaze again. “You have the whole of my heart. You have since I first came into your service, you know that. I couldn’t imagine giving it to anyone else — adoring anyone else, the way I do you.”

“Then please trust me,” you said quietly. You reached up to stroke his hair yet again, then trailed your hand down his cheek and to his shoulder. “Please, if you love me as much as you say you do — and I know you do,” you added, off the way his eyes briefly went dark. “Know that it’s reciprocated wholeheartedly. That I love you, and how you love me,” you went on, smiling now. “And I would do anything to make sure you felt it returned just as ardently, because you deserve that and more. I love who you are, exactly as you are.” You kissed his forehead. “You cannot let the version of me in your head be cruel to you. I refuse to allow such heinous falsehoods to leave my lips, even my imaginary ones.”

As Hector listened to this, you noticed his eyes taking on a liquid shine, which he quickly tried to hide by looking down and away. After a long pause, he leaned up to kiss your forehead, then tucked you under his chin and against his chest.

“…You’re going to put my prose to shame if you carry on like that,” he said softly, but you could hear the smile there yet again.

“Yeah, well.” You kissed his chin, his soft jawline, the spot by his ear that made his breath catch. “What can I say? You’ve met your match, Condicionado.”

Hector hugged you even tighter, a blissful sigh ruffling your hair. “Even for as long as I watched you from afar, I had no idea just how well we suit each other.” He traced the bite marks he left in your shoulder with a fingertip, making you shiver pleasantly. 

You paused then, something occurring to you. “…Speaking of which.”

Hector raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Hold on.” You kissed his cheek before you gently removed yourself from his grasp, rolling over to the other side of your bed and reaching behind your nightstand.

You could feel the mattress shift as he sat up slightly, looking over your shoulder. “What do you have there, amor?”

“Okay, so.” You pulled a fairly thick, worn notebook out of a crevice, wiping away a smidge of dust before turning back to him. You hugged it slightly to your chest, feeling a bit… protective, even with him. “It’s not as nicely bound as yours, for one.”

Hector blinked, looking from you to the notebook and back again. “‘Mine?’” He sized it up, a glint of curiosity and hope in his eyes. “…Is that—”

“So after I met Mac,” you explained, unable to meet his eyes for a moment. “And they mentioned they had, uh… read my previous work,” you phrased it carefully. 

“‘Previous work?’” Hector repeated, looking more and more interested by the minute. 

“Well,” you said, shifting in place. “I figured… I didn’t want to take the chance of them discovering this one. Especially since, you know.” You chewed your lip, hoping you didn’t lose your nerve. “They, um. Know you. And all. It just felt… you know, like an invasion of privacy, so I figured I’d, um. Write it by hand. So it’s a little messy—”

“It’s handwritten?” Hector looked positively giddy when he looked back to you. “You wrote? About me?”

“Oh my god, do I write about you,” you muttered, having to look away when your face started to feel hot again. You cleared your throat slightly. “I… tend to use it as a way to work out some of my… more… obsessive feelings, shall we say?” You glanced at him from under your lashes. “So, uh. Just be advised--”

“PleasecanIreadit?” Hector’s tone was indistinguishable from when he’d asked you to come on his face, and his expression just as besotted.

“It gets better as it goes, I swear,” you said, passing the notebook into his eager grasp. “It just took me a minute to figure out just how to write you, after the first day—”

“The first day?” Hector looked up from where he’d immediately opened it. “That soon?”

“…Well, yeah,” you said, like this was obvious. “You were eloquent and mysterious. I was intrigued and… honestly super aroused,” you added in a shy mumble.

“Oh. Well. So that really was mutual.” Hector blushed even as he grinned, and his eyes eagerly fell back to the first page.

After you kissed his cheek again, you slipped to the bathroom to grab something to clean you both off.

A few quiet, content minutes passed as you let the water warm up, you idly running your fingers under the faucet — Winnifred must have been entertaining, so you didn’t mind waiting.

It wasn’t long after before Hector called your name.

“Yeah?” you called back, your mind still in a half-dreamy haze.

“I’m going to need you to get back here,” Hector said, his voice returned to its lower register. “And show me exactly what you mean about — does this say ‘ankles’?”

“…Oh! Yeah. That.” You smiled to yourself at the memory of writing that particular scene, shutting off the sink and heading back to your room with a warm washcloth in tow. “Well, okay, so we’re going to need some ice and a shibari rope for this chapter.”

“This chapter?”

“Yeah, you’ll see what I mean.”

“My god, my love, I hope so.”

I'm hoping I'll write some fluff of him too oh shit and spit kink I forgot that in this one, but. I wrote this when I was on my period and ran out of ice cream, what can I say.

You love him the way knights loved kings they weren’t allowed to touch.

Not because he asks for it. Not because he demands reverence or obedience or awe. You love him because the world never stops taking from him, and someone should be allowed to give.

Your name is Aster. You chose it because it meant star and because it didn’t lean one way or the other. It sits on your tongue like something clean. Like a promise. You exist in the in-between easily, and you don’t flinch when people try to decide what you are. You let them guess and be wrong.

Ji-yong never guesses.

He just knows you.

You love him with a kind of chivalry that doesn’t need applause. You hold doors, you keep your voice low when his head is loud, you step closer when crowds step in. You make yourself useful in the quiet ways, in the ways that look small from the outside and feel like devotion from the inside.

You don’t worship him like a fan.

You worship him like someone who’s been allowed to see the soft underbelly of a legend and decided it’s worth protecting with your whole life.

You see everything.

The way his shoulders drop the second the door closes behind him. The way his smile changes when there’s no audience to carry it. The way he pretends not to notice when his hands tremble from exhaustion, when his voice goes thin with hunger, when his eyes go glassy from too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

So you notice for him.

You keep track of the things he forgets to track. You remember the water. The salt. The food. The silence. The little injuries, the raw spots on his heels, the tightness at the base of his neck after long rehearsals, the way his jaw clenches when someone speaks over him like he’s a product instead of a person.

You don’t nag. You don’t mother him. You don’t make him feel like he owes you gratitude for being cared for.

You just do it.

Like it’s your nature.

Tonight he comes in late. Later than he promised, later than his body can afford, and you hear the lock turn with that specific stiffness that means he’s trying to be quiet, trying not to take up space even in his own home.

You’re in the living room with one lamp on, the rest of the apartment warm and dim. The city outside hums through the windows like a far-off engine. You’ve got a cardigan thrown over your shoulders, hair slightly messy from waiting, phone facedown on the coffee table because you weren’t going to spend the night watching it like a leash.

He steps in, and the first thing you notice is his expression. Not a face made for cameras, not the one he knows how to sell.

Just him.

Tired. Too controlled. The kind of quiet that comes right before a crack.

He toes his shoes off like he can’t be bothered to do it properly. He drops his keys in the bowl by the door, misses it, and the metal clatters against the wood.

He freezes for a second like the sound hurt him.

You stand without thinking.

You cross the room like you’ve done it a thousand times, like your body recognizes what he needs before he speaks it.

He looks up at you.

For a moment his eyes soften, and you see the relief there. Real relief. The kind nobody claps for.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

“Hey,” you answer.

You don’t ask how it was. Not yet. That’s a question with teeth. You don’t ask why he’s late. You don’t make him defend himself. The world has been interrogating him all day.

You take his coat off his shoulders before he can shrug it away. You hang it. You pick up his keys and set them in the bowl like they belong there, like he belongs here.

Then you look at his hands.

They’re shaking, just barely.

It’s small enough that nobody would catch it under stage lights. Small enough that he can pretend it isn’t happening. But you’ve learned his tremors the way you’ve learned his smile, the way you’ve learned the exact spot on his back that makes him exhale when you rub it.

You step closer.

“Sit,” you say gently.

He gives you a look that’s half amusement, half surrender. “Aster.”

It’s not a complaint. It’s more like… awe, sometimes. Like he can’t believe you keep showing up like this, steady as a doorframe.

“I’m serious,” you say. “Sit down.”

He does.

He sinks onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head angled down like he’s carrying something heavy. He doesn’t look at you while you kneel in front of him, and you can tell he’s fighting the instinct to stop you.

He doesn’t like feeling taken care of when he hasn’t earned it.

That’s one of the things you love most about him. That stubborn pride. That insistence on doing it himself. It’s beautiful and it’s cruel and it’s why he ends up bleeding in places nobody sees.

You take his sneakers in both hands. Your fingers work the laces slowly, reverently. Like this matters. Like this is holy.

He exhales. Shallow at first, then longer.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, almost embarrassed.

You glance up.

Your eyes don’t beg. They don’t plead. They don’t demand anything from him.

They just hold him.

“I want to,” you say.

That’s the truth, always. There’s no desperation in it. No fear he’ll leave. No hunger that demands to be fed. You yearn for him the way the ocean yearns for the moon. Constant. Unquestioned. Certain.

You slide his shoes off and set them neatly aside. Your thumbs brush the back of his ankles where the socks have pressed too tightly. He flinches, then relaxes.

“Hurts?” you ask.

“A little,” he admits, and the honesty in it hits you in the chest. He doesn’t have to lie to you. He doesn’t have to pretend.

You smooth a hand over his shin. “You’ve been standing all day.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “You sound like my bodyguard.”

You tip your head slightly. “Maybe I am.”

That makes him look at you properly.

His gaze is heavy, warmed by exhaustion and something softer underneath. Something that always shows up when you’re like this. When you make yourself a shield without ever asking to be thanked for it.

“You’re not,” he says, but his voice isn’t sharp. It’s almost fond.

You stand and cup his face, palms warm against his cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes where tiredness lives.

You don’t kiss him yet.

You hold him first.

It’s always like that with you. You don’t take. You don’t rush. You touch him like he’s delicate, like he’s allowed to be.

“You eat?” you ask.

He shakes his head, and you can tell he already regrets telling the truth.

You don’t scold him. You just nod once, already turning toward the kitchen.

“Okay,” you say simply. “I’ve got you.”

You move quietly. Efficiently. Familiar.

The kitchen light is soft. You fill a glass of water first and bring it back to him. He takes it with both hands like he’s cold, like he needs the steadiness of the grip. He drinks half of it without stopping, then blinks like he’s surprised by how thirsty he was.

“See?” you murmur, and you brush your knuckles across his cheek. “You were running on empty.”

He leans into the touch in a way that always makes your throat tighten.

You go back to the kitchen and heat something simple. Not flashy. Not complicated. Something that won’t fight his stomach. You’ve learned his post-schedule hunger. The way his body needs comfort, not fireworks.

While the food warms, you pull a clean sweater from the dryer where you tossed it earlier. You set it beside the couch. You fold a blanket over the armrest. Quiet preparations. Unspoken care.

When you bring the bowl to him, he looks up like you’ve handed him a crown.

“You were waiting,” he says.

“I was,” you answer.

“You shouldn’t have.”

You set the bowl down on the table, then sit beside him, close enough that your knee touches his. “I wanted to.”

He stares at you for a moment, then his eyes drop to the bowl. He picks up the spoon and eats slowly, like his body is trying to remember how to accept kindness without earning it first.

You watch him, not because you don’t trust him to eat, but because you love watching him exist without performance.

He finishes more than half. That’s a win.

When he sets the spoon down, you reach for his hand.

It’s still trembling, but less.

You press your lips to his knuckles. A small, contained kiss. The kind that carries heat without demanding anything in return.

He swallows. You feel it in the way his hand tightens around yours.

“Why are you like this?” he asks quietly.

You turn your head, studying him.

“Like what?”

“Like…,” he starts, then stops like he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding too vulnerable. His eyes flick away, then back. “Like you’re always ready. Like you’re always… protecting me.”

You let the silence sit for a second. You don’t rush to answer. You want it to land properly.

Finally you say, “Because nobody else does it gently.”

Something shifts in his face. A flicker of pain, immediately guarded. Like you’ve reached a bruise.

You don’t push.

You squeeze his hand once, then lean in and press your forehead to his temple.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you murmur. “I’m not trying to save you from yourself. I just… love you.”

He goes still.

His breath catches, and you feel the moment it hits him. Not the words, exactly. He’s heard those words a thousand times from strangers screaming them through barricades.

But from you, it’s different.

Because you don’t say it like a demand.

You say it like a vow.

His hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers curling there like he needs an anchor. His voice comes softer.

“Aster,” he says again.

You hum in response, letting him hold you. Letting him take what he needs.

He doesn’t kiss you right away, either. He’s never been greedy with you. He knows you’d give him anything, and somehow that makes him careful.

Finally he turns his head and kisses you once. Slow. Quiet. A kiss that feels like gratitude and longing braided together.

When he pulls back, his eyes stay on your mouth like he’s memorizing it.

“You look at me like I’m…” He trails off, almost shy.

“Perfect?” you offer, because you don’t lie to him.

His lips twitch. “I’m far from perfect.”

“Maybe,” you admit, and you brush your thumb across his lower lip. “But I’m not stupid about it. I know you’re a person.”

“Do you?” he asks, and there’s an edge to it. Not cruel, just tired. Like he’s waiting for you to prove it.

You meet his eyes, steady.

“Yes,” you say. “That’s why I’m so careful with you.”

That quiets him.

He blinks slowly, like he’s trying to understand how your devotion can be so fierce and still leave him room to breathe.

You stand and tug his wrist gently. “Shower. I’ll get your hair tie.”

He lets you pull him up.

He’s pliant in your hands tonight, not because he’s weak, but because he’s finally letting himself be carried a little.

In the bathroom, you turn on the shower and test the water with your wrist. You set out a clean towel. You find the little bottle of conditioner he likes because it smells like something expensive and warm.

He watches you do it, leaning against the doorframe.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you don’t have to do all of that.”

You glance at him. “I know.”

“And you still do it.”

“I still do it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s watching you the way you watch him. Like he’s trying to see what’s underneath your steadiness.

“Are you trying to earn me?” he asks.

The question is gentle, but it lands heavy.

You step closer and take his face in your hands again.

“No,” you say. “I’m not trying to earn you. I already have you, when you let me. I’m just… honoring you.”

His lashes flutter.

You kiss his cheekbone, then his temple. Two small kisses that feel like prayer.

“I love you,” you repeat, like it’s the simplest thing on earth. “I don’t want you to have to be hard everywhere.”

His throat bobs.

For a second he looks like he might cry. He doesn’t. He’s Ji-yong. He’s trained himself out of crying in front of people.

But you’re not people.

He steps into you instead, wrapping his arms around your waist. He’s warm and solid. He smells like stage makeup and cold air and something metallic from adrenaline. You hold him like you’re built for it.

He presses his face into your neck and breathes out, and the sound is almost broken.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, voice muffled, “it feels like everybody wants something from me.”

You slide your fingers into his hair and comb it back gently.

“And I don’t,” you say.

He stills.

You add, softer, “I want you. But I don’t want to take.”

His arms tighten.

That’s the difference, you think. That’s why you love him the way you do. Because you want him like a man wants, yes. You want to provide, protect, shelter. You want to be the one he comes home to, the one who sees him and chooses him again and again.

But your wanting has manners.

It has restraint.

It has reverence.

He pulls back slightly to look at you. His eyes are dark, glossy with tiredness and something else that looks a lot like fear. Not fear of you, fear of the softness you offer. Fear of how badly he needs it.

“Do you ever get tired?” he asks.

You smile a little, thumb stroking the side of his jaw.

“Sometimes,” you admit.

“And you still do it.”

You nod. “Because it’s you.”

He holds your gaze like he’s trying to decide whether to believe it.

Then he leans in and kisses you again, deeper this time. A kiss that isn’t just gratitude. It’s need. It’s the hungry part of him that he keeps locked up most days.

You let him have it. You let him press you back a step, let his hands cradle your face the way yours has been cradling his.

When the kiss breaks, he’s breathing a little harder.

His forehead rests against yours.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs again, but this time it sounds like admiration.

You smile. “I’m loyal.”

“Same thing,” he whispers.

You laugh softly, and it loosens something in his chest. He finally steps into the shower, and you stay nearby, not watching, not hovering, just present. You tidy the living room a little. You rinse the bowl. You dim the lights further.

When he comes out, hair damp and curled at his temples, he’s wearing your sweater. It hangs on him loosely, soft fabric swallowing the sharpness of his frame. He looks younger like this. Less like an icon.

He pads into the living room, towel around his neck, and stops when he sees the blanket laid out.

You hold out a hand. “Come here.”

He goes to you without a word.

He sits on the couch, and you sit beside him, and he leans into you like gravity. He tucks himself under your arm, head against your chest, and you wrap around him without hesitation.

He sighs, long and deep.

“Better?” you ask.

“Better,” he answers.

Your fingers trace slow, mindless patterns on his shoulder.

Outside, somewhere, the city keeps moving. Phones buzz. Headlines refresh. People speculate. People demand. People consume him.

In here, there’s only this.

His breathing evening out. Your hand in his hair. The soft weight of him trusting you.

After a while, he speaks again, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You tighten your hold a fraction. Not angry. Not offended. Just firm.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur.

“It’s true,” he insists softly. “You’re always…”

“Always what?” you ask, because you want him to say it. You want him to name it.

He hesitates, then admits, “Always looking at me like I’m worth protecting.”

You tilt your head and kiss the top of his hair.

“You are,” you say simply.

He stays quiet for a long time, like your certainty is overwhelming. Like he’s not used to someone loving him without bargaining.

Then his hand slides up your side, fingers gripping lightly.

“If somebody hurt you because of me,” he says, voice rough, “I don’t think I could…”

You cut him off gently. “I know.”

He shifts, looking up at you. “You know?”

You meet his gaze, steady as stone.

“I know you’d tear the world apart,” you say, and your voice softens. “That’s why I don’t let it get that far.”

His eyes widen slightly.

There’s a beat where something electric moves between you. Not fear. Not dominance. Something older. Protective devotion meeting protective devotion. Two blades crossed, not to fight, but to guard the same heart.

You stroke his cheek.

“I’m careful,” you say. “I don’t pick fights. I don’t provoke. I just… position myself. I keep the sharp things away from you.”

His throat works.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he whispers.

“But I want to,” you answer, and you smile a little. “Let me want you like this. Let me love you like I mean it.”

He stares at you for a moment, then his gaze drops to your mouth again, like he can’t help it.

“Come here,” he murmurs, and this time it’s him.

You lean in, and he kisses you slow, lingering. His hand cups the back of your neck, thumb rubbing there like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s trying to learn how to give back without turning it into debt.

When he pulls away, his voice is very quiet.

“Aster.”

“Mm?”

“I don’t know what I did to get you.”

You touch his jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t do anything,” you say. “I saw you. That’s all.”

His eyes flicker. “Saw what?”

You inhale, and your honesty comes out like a confession.

“The real you,” you say. “The part of you that’s gentle. The part that’s tired. The part that tries so hard. The part that keeps going even when it shouldn’t have to.”

He looks away for half a second like it’s too much to be witnessed. Then he looks back.

“And you still think I’m perfect,” he says, almost teasing, almost disbelieving.

You nod, unashamed.

“Yes,” you say. “Because perfect doesn’t mean untouched. Perfect means… worth it.”

Something in him gives.

He curls into you again, and you hold him until his breathing slows and his body finally stops fighting rest. He falls asleep with his cheek against your chest, one hand fisted lightly in your sweater like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You don’t move.

You sit there in the dim light, listening to the city and his quiet breathing, and you think, with the calm certainty of someone sworn to an oath.

I’ll protect you gently.

I’ll love you loudly when you need it, and quietly when you don’t.

I’ll be your shelter, not your cage.

And if the world insists on taking, then you’ll be the one place he’s allowed to receive.

When he shifts in his sleep, brow furrowing like a bad dream is reaching for him, you press a kiss to his forehead and whisper, barely audible.

“I’m here.”

His hand loosens.

His shoulders soften.

An incessant throbbing in your side made you suck in your breath through your teeth. Your eyes screwed shut, fighting the pain that threatened to tighten around every molecule of your body.

You couldn't call out for help even if you had tried. You hadn't even been able to sign since being back. And if you did, what were they going to do for you? Get you some weed? Some willow tea? You knew that there were supposedly some other pain pills around, but they were saved for when they might be needed most. Despite the hurt that had seemed to take root deep within you, you convinced yourself that it should be saved for other things.

A tear made its solitary journey down your cheek, startling you slightly when it dropped to the side of your neck.

Your eyes adjusted to the light once more as you tried to distract yourself from the discomfort. Every time you woke up, you tried to go over what you remembered of what had happened; remind yourself of what you'd already figured out and put together anything new that you remembered. The task was disorienting and frightening, the gaps vast. What was filled in came in Dutch angles, skewed and dark and messy.

You focused on individual parts of your body, trying to remember what happened to each part of you. The ice-pick headache that started right above your left eye and radiated down wasn't a great place to start, and you quickly moved on to the aching of your jaw. You vaguely remembered your jaw being opened against your will, of a force knocking you sideways in the lock of your joint. Your lips felt too dry. Cracked. The left side of your lower lip felt too big, a sting where the skin felt pulled too tight.

Your shoulder. What wasn't wrong with it? It was somehow simultaneously being pinched hard by your collarbone and being stretched too far to the side, the simple weight of the angle you were laying at opening the joint too wide without all of the support it usually had underneath. You couldn't imagine how much worse it would be without the sling.

A clatter sounded from outside your door, startling you. Your stomach dropped and suddenly you were hurtling over your tripwire, almost brushing it and taking yourself out but somehow continuing forward. Just as you took a moment to assess, you were pushed forward by a wave of heat. A burn spreading up your back as your shoulder landed hard on the ground, something shifting internally with a strange click.

You couldn't breathe, a weight settling over your chest, tearing down your abdomen, laughing at you as it reached your waistband.

"Look at me!"

A frantic command had your eyes refocusing instantly. Confusion and shame bolted through you as your vision cleared, settling into the outline of two figures in the dim room.

You knew those figures.

"You're in Jackson. You're safe." Maria's voice calmed you down, though your stomach still twisted in pain and embarrassment.

"S'alright. You're alright." Joel reassured, appearing by your side instantly.

The room was spinning, nausea creeping slowly up your throat, making you squeeze your eyes closed in an effort to make it stop, and you ended up awkwardly dry heaving with your head twisted only slightly to the side, each tense of your stomach sending a new wave of agony through you. You couldn't stop the sounds of near whimpers escaping your mouth.

A damp and cold rag was pressed to your forehead and your eyes opened immediately to find Maria holding it to you, her eyes concerned.

"I know, I know. Joel's gonna get you more weed for the pain. We can also get you the stronger stuff."

You shook your head, already convinced that it should be saved.

It had been hard to watch you struggle; the pain etched into your face refusing to leave even after he helped you smoke. Everything seemed more fragile, which was terrifying when he'd witnessed your previous strength. He could still see the fight beneath the unfocused eyes, but it was muted somehow, overshadowed.

Maria helped you eat a few bites of food, giving you part of one of the edibles that Eugene had left for good measure before you drifted off into a fitful rest.

"Do you think they forgive us?" Maria whispered over you, turning to Joel.

His brows drew together briefly before he exhaled slowly.

"Way I figure it, they probably had their mind already set on how it would go for them."

Maria nodded, her attention back on you.

The room lapsed into silence, the only sound the occasional sips from the teas they had stepped out for. Joel felt his eyelids grow heavy, his head sagging forward.

Just as he was about to give in, Maria's voice startled him more fully awake.

"How long?"

"What?" He asked, dumbly.

"How long have you been- doing whatever you have been doing."

It took his sleep-deprived brain a moment to grasp what she was asking, and he felt his face heat when it did.

"A while."

"How longs a while?"

"Why do you need to know?"

Even in the dimly lit room, Joel could see and feel her glare loud and clear, her jaw tight.

He sighed, folding in on himself, his hand rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"November." He finally settled on.

Maria's eyebrows flew upwards.

"November?" She repeated, incredulous.

He looked down instead of replying.

"When did they end it?"

"Few weeks ago."

"Huh."

Joel kept his head down, unsure how to continue the conversation.

"They don't seem to have a problem with you now." Maria finally supplied.

Joel's gaze drifted back up, searching for her eyes in the dark. Hope flared briefly in his chest before he tamped it down, unwilling to make himself more vulnerable.

"Counts for something." She finally settled on.

The night crept along slowly, the edible seeming to give you a longer rest than you had been able to have lately. Maria went home eventually, leaving the two of you alone. As you shifted in your sleep his hand drifted back to yours unconsciously.

Your body seemed to be healing slower than it ever had, each day a struggle. You were restless in a way that made you angry, desperate to move, and at the same time perpetually exhausted. After a week or so of barely being able to stay awake during the day, it shifted into something else, your body unable to give in to the pull of sleep no matter how hard you tried, trying to twist into more comfortable positions, only succeeding in hurting yourself more.

June stopped taking your shit, reprimanding you as she saw fit. The other doctor, Rasika, had taken over your care part-time to reduce the tension.

You were almost never alone, an odd combination of Joel, Ellie, Tommy, Eugene and Maria rotating with the doctors.

When you were able to sleep, your dreams were filled with images that stayed with you long after you woke up, the most frequent one including you running in immense pain, trying to get shadowy figures to follow you as a distraction for a varying array of people you loved, only to end up stuck on the forest floor, forced to watch them hurt.

Your waking hours weren't much better, between the restlessness and the pain and the odd visceral flashbacks, which weren't helped by the fact that a few of the ones you'd get stuck in the longest involved the very room you were still stuck in.

It had been explained to you that this was common with what you were recovering from, but the knowledge did little to dispel the panic.

Joel had become the most frequent person by your side, only going out for work stints and the occasional shower.

It seemed right, but your mind was too tired to think deeply about it. About anything, really.

The colors grew brighter outside the window despite the constant rain, a freshness in the air that fought even the sterile atmosphere of the clinic.

It scared you how often you would forget things that had apparently happened since your stay here, and you tried to cover it with a blank face, still too exhausted mentally to communicate much beyond 'yes' and 'no'.

Your skin itched, the awkward sponge baths that carefully avoided your wounds weren't cutting it. You wanted to scrub the top layer of your skin off and temporarily disappear under the water in a tub. unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards for you. Not only did your house not have the biggest tub and was inaccessible, but you were also constantly being told to be careful of your stitches.

You had avoided looking at the wound across your torso the first few days, but curiosity had eventually won out. As the dressing was being changed, you took a deep breath before looking down. It wasn't a pretty sight.

The stitches crawling from your hip to your ribs reminded you of the legs of an insect, a thought that immediately made you hyper-aware of the itchiness of it all.

It was obvious that the deepest part of the slash was right by your hip, the wound wider there despite how it was all pulled back together. A deep discoloration surrounded the wound, ballooning slightly by your hip.

It was an odd experience, staring at your own skin and realizing that this would change you forever; that your future cells would echo what had happened.

The weight of the thought pushed on top of you, heavy and overwhelming, making it hard to expand your chest.

It stuck with you as the days passed, an ever-present shadow. How much of this would you always carry?

You hadn't asked to see your face, and no one had offered a mirror, but the way people's eyes would linger when they thought you weren't looking made you fear the worst.

The only indication you had of what was wrong besides the pain was a comment from Ellie. She had been rambling about school when she saw your eyes drift to the marks along your arms; the cuts and bruises and skinned elbows. Her eyes had traced your face for a moment before she smiled slightly, one side of her lip twisting up in a poorly disguised grin.

"At least we match now."

It had taken you far too long to untangle the riddle. In fact, it was the sharp pull of something when you sat later, furrowing your brow in concentration that finally made it click.

You blamed how long it had taken you to figure it out on the fact that you usually avoided thinking about the space from below your eyes to the top of your head whenever possible, as it often only enhanced the pain. Yup, definitely that. Had nothing to do with the concussion of it all.

By the beginning of May, you were doing a poor job of concealing your restlessness, exhaustion, and pain, your constant irritation making you feel inexplicably like a teenager, even as your body reminded you more of its age each day.

Despite your best efforts, you still hadn't been able to really communicate. It was as if someone had unplugged the cord, cutting off the energy source for that part of your brain. You were silent as you watched them remove each stitch carefully, staring at the puckered and uneven skin; didn't sign as they transported you to Maria's in a cart attached to a horse that made you feel like you were in a Monty Python sketch, even as the jostle of your shoulder made you inhale sharply.

You had a rare moment alone today. You weren't sure how long you had been at Maria's. It could have been a day, or 3, or a week. Time had seemed to stop passing linearly lately.

Maria had left earlier for a meeting, but not before assisting you to the bathroom. It had been the first time you had been on your feet for that long, and shame rattled through you with each step. You should be able to do this easily, just like everyone else. Maria's murmured encouragement only served to embarrass you further. Praising you for taking a step like you were a baby deer learning to walk felt infantilizing, even if you logically knew that celebrating small wins was important.

You had stood frozen in front of the sink, leaning your hips onto the counter for support after you finished washing your free hand with Maria's help. It was time. It had been long enough since what your brain decided to call 'the incident'.

She didn't push as you shook slightly, lifting your head slowly. Your eyes registered the jut of your hips, the awkward way the sling hugged you around your middle, the uneven hunch of your shoulders. Before going further, you took a deep breath, only for it to be left caught in your throat at the sight in front of you.

Deep purplish, uneven splotches met your eyes, surrounded with a yellowish tint that faded to reveal small glimpses of your normal skin tone. Your jawline bulged oddly on one side, alarming you. What struck you the most was how hollow you looked. The deep bruise lines under your eyes certainly weren't helping the 'gaunt' look. A line was still visible on your lip from where it had cut open on your teeth, but it looked faded. You were finally pulled out of your trance when your eyes met the slit across your eyebrow, still scabbed. You let out a breathless chuckle at it.

Ellie was right. You did match.

The trip to the bathroom had tired you out, and you had been drifting in and out of consciousness ever since

You were pretty sure that given a pen and paper, you would be able to draw the ceiling of this room and your room at the clinic perfectly at this point without missing a single imperfection.

The thought was distracting you from the urge to itch your stomach, a deep ache crawling up your arms.

The door creaked open, drawing your attention. A soft babble had your face curving into an uncontainable grin. Tommy entered, a surprisingly big Benji held to his chest.

You realized just how long you had been stuck in bed, unaware of the life continuing around you. It was made glaringly obvious by Benji's growth. He was less pudgy, his limbs seeming to stretch out. It dawned on you how much older he was than Drea had ever gotten, a sharp barb pulling at your chest.

"Mind if we join you?" Tommy asked, hesitantly entering the room more fully.

You nodded, smiling bigger at Benji as he laid his eyes on you, regarding you with a blank stare. Fear rose in your stomach as you braced for him to cry once he took in your face, but you were surprised when he giggled at you, his mouth opening slightly to reveal more teeth than you remember seeing before.

As Tommy settled into one of the chairs near your bed, a creak drew your eyes back to the doorway.

Joel stepped into the room, nodding in acknowledgment to his brother as he took the other chair. It was natural to have him by your side at this point.

Tommy and Joel talked idly about their days as you got distracted by Benji's slow assessment of the room, his fingers lazily in his mouth as he lifted his head to look around.

Joel's rough voice pulled you back to the conversation, an untamed curl falling across his forehead and shining in the slant of sunlight pouring in from the window.

"Been trying to figure out what you'll need once you're back home." He began, his deep brown eyes appearing brighter and sun-kissed from this angle. "Found some options out on patrol to improve your bathroom… make it more accessible while you need it."

A spark of hope lit within your chest, even as another part of you repeated how weak and useless you were. It was left unsaid by all that you may always need more accessible features now.

Your eyes suddenly felt too dry, the reality of your situation feeling bleak and hopeless. Even when you do go home, it would be a long time before you could be independent, if ever. You would be reliant on others.

You felt stuck, unable to move past the obstacle in front of you. Panic rose in your chest, tightening around your lungs as you struggled to focus on the slow inhale and exhale of air.

Just as you began to feel light headed, the sensation of Joel's hand brushing the back of yours drew your attention.

Your mind drifted briefly back to snippets of Maria's words as she had explained the plan for bringing you home:

"Obviously, Joel offered and we understand that that might be what you prefer, but the problem is that he doesn't have a bedroom downstairs, which would be an issue with your mobility."

The casual way she had spoken of the attachment between you and Joel had made you tense up. It was only then that you had realized how open he had been lately. Had he told everyone? And if he had, what had he said? How had he described it?

A soft giggle turned your attention back to the present, where Tommy was lightly tickling Benji.

"Oh, now you want to look all cute as if you don't need a nap. Too big for naps now?"

"I'll put him down." Joel cut in, a familiar ache lighting behind his eyes.

Tommy's eyes lifted, searching Joel's face briefly before he lightly smiled, offering Benji over the bed.

"He'd love that, Uncle Grumpy."

A small puff of air left your mouth at the moniker as Joel scowled before leaving the room with Benji.

Tommy chuckled, settling further into his chair and letting silence fill the room.

A spark started in your shoulders, rolling oddly to your fingertips as you felt the true and natural urge to sign for the first time in weeks. Your fingers twitched oddly as you worked up the courage to sign something simple and teasing.

Just as you were about to lift your hand, Tommy's voice cut through the room:

"You know, I always thought you'd work together, I was just oblivious that it was already happening."

You smirked a bit shyly at him, embarrassed by the turn in conversation. You didn't know how it had come about that everyone - except for possibly Ellie - knew something about what was going on between you and Joel. You weren't even sure if you had been involved in the conversation and forgotten, or if it had happened while you were out.

"I don't know if I'll express this correctly without putting my foot in my mouth, as I've been told I'm prone to do, but-" he hesitated slightly before continuing, "I feel like maybe the one bright side of all of this mess the past few weeks -mess isn't the right word, but you get what I mean-"

You nodded subtly at him, curious as to where he was going.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad that you two were able to get past- whatever it was you needed to get past."

The half-smile on your face stayed as your eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"I know it's none of my business, what happened between you, but I'm just glad you're, you know, close again."

The smile began to slide off of your face slowly.

You tried to place what he was talking about, but it was like hearing a story someone insisted you were there for but knowing you weren't. Close again? Got past something. Maybe he meant the initial awkwardness? Or the undefined nature of your relationship?

You tried to retrace his words in your head, looking for any crumb of a clue as to what he was referring to.

'Whatever you needed to get past' 'one bright side to this mess' 'my foot in my mouth'. You realized you had gone too far back, starting again. Your mind caught on the word 'mess' again and something twisted in your gut, familiar yet faded.

'Mess'. You suddenly heard the word again, but this time Joel was saying it instead of Tommy. Where had he said that?

A memory rose to the surface. Joel in your house. You pushing him back. Him asking something in an annoyed voice. You slapping him.

Slapping him? That can't be right. Why would you slap him?

As soon as you asked the question in your mind, the floodgates of your memories opened with a violent current, disjointed and jumbled scenes playing out before your eyes until it all fell silent once again.

'Mess.'

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