#shannygoat

Chapter 1 - Miscommunication

JK’s POV

Tonight – 19:30 Embassy Suites – Times Square, Room 624

The door will be unlocked. The only thing I’ll be wearing is a blindfold.

Kookie

P.S. Anything you want, baby.

The note should’ve been enough.

It was clear. Direct. Impossible to misunderstand.

So why does the silence feel so loud?

Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe it slipped too far into his pocket, buried under everything else the way he buries all the things he doesn’t want to deal with.

It was supposed to be a surprise—something small, something good. A way to pull him out of whatever has been weighing on him all day.

He’d been off. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but enough that it doesn’t sit right under my skin.

No—he saw it. He had to.

“Fine,” he sighed.

It wasn’t.

Tae’s body always gave him away—the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds himself just a little too tight.

Stepping in close felt automatic, arms wrapped around his waist from behind before I even thought about it. My chin rested against his shoulder; hands pressed lightly into his sides. “Beach.”

A pause. Then the smallest shift—his body eased, just enough. “Cabin,” he murmured, leaning back into me.

Better.

My thumb traced slow circles against his stomach, just enough to make him squirm. A quiet laugh caught low in his throat. He had always been weak there. Always given in.

“Times Square hotel room?” The question slipped out as the note disappeared into his pocket. A risk—but one I didn’t hesitate to take.

“Mmm…” His head tilted slightly, voice dipping low. “Times Square hotel room.”

For a second, everything felt easy again.

But, now there’s nothing but waiting.

The blindfold presses softly against my eyes. Pointless to close them, but they fall shut anyway. It sharpens everything—the quiet hum of the room, the faint rustle of fabric when I shift against the sheets, the slow, steady rhythm of my own breathing.

Time stretches too long.

The room changes before anything else. A quiet click. Stillness settles in behind it.

He’s here.

Not loud. Not heavy. Just… present.

He’s different tonight. It’s subtle, but I can tell that he’s not taking up as much space as he normally does.

My breath catches before I can place why.

The session must’ve gone worse than I thought. It didn’t matter.

We’ll make it better.

“There are only two rules tonight,” I smile. “Rule one—no talking.” Turning my head toward the sound of his presence, raking the lip ring between my teeth. I stretch my hand out to him, “Rule two—the blindfold only comes off when you take it off me.”

I wait for a moment anticipating his first gentle kiss.

He always –

It doesn’t come. A second passes. Then another.

This is different. There’s never been a time when Tae hasn’t initiated anything without his lips pressing against mine.

The thought flickers and disappears just as quickly.

The first touch comes instead.

Light.

Careful.

Almost hesitant.

That’s not— The thought slips before it can settle.

His scent comes next—faint, familiar. It’s enough to settle whatever doubt tries to form.

It’s him. It’s my Gomi.

His hands find my wrists, guiding them above my head with a slow, deliberate control that makes something in my chest tighten. There’s no rush in the way he moves, no urgency—just a quiet focus that feels almost unfamiliar.

Like he’s taking his time.

The blindfold stays in place. Longer than I would have expected.

Tae normally doesn’t— or maybe he just wants, no needs this right now

The urge to touch him builds quickly.

Instinctive.

Immediate.

The need to pull him closer, to anchor into something solid. S00omething known. But my wrists stay where he left them. Above my head. Held there by nothing but my damn rules—and my willingness to follow them.

His mouth moves lower, tracing a slow path down my neck, across my chest, lingering in places he already knows too well. Except tonight, it feels like he slow. Measured. Like he’s learning me, anew.

My body reacts deliciously. It always does.

Cold touches my skin without warning.

Soft. Spreading slowly. Not ice - something smoother.

Whipped cream.

A quiet breath slips out before I can stop it, gooseflesh prickles my skin as my thoughts try to catch up.

My legs part easily under his hands, anticipation tightening low in my stomach as he follows with his mouth—warm, deliberate, devastating. All thought disappears after that. There’s no room for it anymore. There is only room for sensation.

Only him.

Time fractures, breaking into moments that don’t connect.

His hands.

His mouth.

The heat builds under my skin. The slow, deliberate pressure that makes it impossible to focus on anything else.

Control slips easily.

Too easily.

His finger follows—one, then another—slow and measured, like his hesitation in my movements are to gauge my reactions. Every shift in my body.

Our normal bed play offers a different paradigm. However, at this moment there is no ask too great to grant him.

I want this.

I want him.

I’m ready.

My initial protest is brief. Quickly, my body responds, arching into him, giving in with no further resistance.

A hand moves on instinct, reaching for him, needing something to hold onto. But, it never lands.

Caught.

He guides it back. Firm and final. A soft sound follows, “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Disapproval, with a hint of playfulness. But not.

Everything builds – body, breath, thought – gone. I trust him enough to quiet whatever lingering apprehensions that still remain.

The rhythm that follows is slow and controlled.

This is unfamiliar…but tonight I am willing to follow wherever he leads. Every movement feels intentional, measured, never rushed. There’s something grounding in it, something that settles deep beneath everything else.

Is this what it feels like when he gives himself to me? I didn’t think it was possible to feel closer to Tae when we make love. My body has never felt such sensations befo0re.

A sound tears free before I can stop it—loud, unfiltered, real. It echoes throughout the space of the room. Nothing exists outside of this moment.

His teeth graze my shoulder, something comforting settling into place at the back of mind, anchoring me there.

Finally.

I love when he sucks and bites my flesh when it’s this tender.

The tension builds quickly after that, too fast to control, pulling tight until there’s nothing left to hold onto.

And then it breaks.

The release hits hard, sharp and overwhelming, dragging everything with it. His coming close behind.

Sleep comes quickly. Pulling me under before I can think too much about it.

A touch wakes me. Soft and familiar. Unmistakably his.

The blindfold lifts, light spilling in as his face comes into view above mine.

Warm.

Real.

Right.

My smile comes easily, “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

His mouth finds mine. And everything settles back into place.

Jimin’s POV

Did he write this to me?

It’s the only question racing in my head. So clear and immediate, it’s like an alarm going off.

My name isn’t on it.

But it has to be for me. It in my jacket. Tae had it this morning when he went to get coffee. He had it most of the day. So Kookie left it for him.

But he knows he put it in my pocket.

Kookie wouldn’t do that to Tae. He loves him.

Except— he wrote, ‘Anything you want, baby.’ Did he mean…

No. It’s for Tae. It has to be…unless it isn’t.

Unless he knows. Unless all those jokes weren’t just jokes. Did he see through my endless flirting to get a rise out of Tae for what it was? A thinly vailed attempt to reveal the truth about how I feel about him?

The thought settles in too easily. Like it’s been waiting for the right moment to present itself. For me to finally bear my soul.

Then the memory of that night comes back before I can stop it. I was doing a bed check. The wrong moment. Or maybe it was the only moment that ever mattered.

Kookie leaned back in the chair, completely undone in a way I had never seen before—relaxed, open, beautiful. The lazy smile dancing on his lips. The way his heavy-lidded eyes watched Tae’s.

Tae between his legs. Like he belonged there. Like that space and everything that occupied it was his. The gentle pleading he made with each blink as he met Jungkook’s stare.

It was beautiful. It was sickening.

It should’ve ended there. It was an accident. Something to forget. But I didn’t. Because once I’d seen… I couldn’t unsee how beautiful he was.

Kookie’s phone stays silent. There’s no answer. No reply. Nothing.

Maybe there’s still time to fix this. If I call him again...tell him the truth.

There is no need for me to hand the note back to him. But I just want to see. I can always walk away before anything changes.

Before anything breaks.

The hotel door isn’t fully closed. It opens with barely any pressure. There is soft music and low light. Rose petals are scattered across the floor like something out of a dream I was never meant to step into.

And there he is.

Waiting.

Blindfolded.

“I—” The word barely forms in my throat.

“Rule one—no talking,” It lands like a command. Final.

This is wrong. This is all wrong. I should take one step back ...just one word and it ends. Make one choice—

But his hand reaches out without hesitation or doubt. Like he already knows who’s standing in front of him. Like he’s waiting.

For me.

“Rule two – the blindfold only comes off when you remove it,” his whisper intoxicates me and I lose all my senses.

That’s when something shifts. It’s not loud nor sudden. It’s just gone. Every reason I had to leave, or stop…every line I swore I wouldn’t cross completely leaves at that moment.

My belt hits the floor before I can think it through. The rest follows too easily. Too quickly. Like the decision was made long before I got here.

It’s too late now.  There’s no going back.

His skin is warm. Softer than I expected. Closer than it should ever be. And he’s so open. Trusting. Unaware. That’s what makes this so dangerous.

Every instinct in me says stop. That I need to leave; to fix this. But none of them matter.

The urge to taste his skin is overwhelming. But not his lips. The hollow of his throat is safer.

It works. Too well. His body reacts like I’d hoped it would. He trusts me.

His movement shifts—just enough for something to catch my eye. Dark ink, that like that on his arm. Instead this is low, his hip. A bear.

My breath stutters. I look away quickly.

My hands stay controlled despite my growing anxiety. Carefully touching him with deliberate strokes. Every movement is measured and every touch is intentional. There is no room for mistakes. I just can’t let him think.

I know there are differences between Tae and I. There must be. Our weight, the way we touch, the way we kiss. Differences that he would definitely notice. But if I concentrate on keeping him on the brink of ecstasy then he won’t be able to discern them.

The room fades around us.

Music, light—everything dissolves into something distant and unimportant. There’s only him. And that’s the problem. Because this was never supposed to happen. Not like this. Not here.

His body arches beneath me. The motion breaks that thought clean in half.

Focus snaps back momentarily.

Sharp.

Immediate.

There’s no room for hesitation anymore. Only movement. Only reaction. Only – need. It builds fast. Faster than I expected and harder than I thought possible. Everything narrows. Pulls tight and centers on one thing.

Us.

Nothing else exists. Not Tae. Not the consequences. Not tomorrow. Just right here and now.

His loss of control is audible. It’s not dramatic or sudden. As it dissipates I am left with the taste of him on my lips.

Every boundary erases without resistance. Every line crosses without a fight. And the worst part – it feels right. His reaction. His breath. The way he explodes in my mouth -. It all fits.

Too well.

Being inside him causes something to shift inside me then. The feeling is heavier. More perilous. It allows possession to settle where guilt should be. This feeling is uncomfortable, unwanted and unavoidable. The feeling lingers longer than it should. Much longer than is allowed.

Mine.

The thought comes anyway. I hate it.

Everything tightens. Builds. Spirals.

Until it culminates.

My release pulls everything in me with it – all control, thought, restraint. All gone momentarily.

Silence rushes in after. Thick. Heavy. Impossible to ignore.

Reality comes back too quickly.

I need to leave.

Looking at back the bed, he’s still there, waiting, totally unaware of what just happened.

That’s what makes this so wrong.

The hallway feels colder. Maybe because my phone is already nervously in my hand. Tae’s name lights up on my screen. For a second—I consider not sending anything. Maybe, I should just let them fall apart on their own.

But my thumb moves anyway.

He’s waiting for you. Times Square. I stare at the message. I hate myself for this. 22:00.

The numbers sit heavier than they should. But, I send it anyway.

It’s too late now.

Tae’s POV

If Suga asked for one more take, I was going to lose it.

The song already sat too close to something I didn’t want to touch. Too many memories wrapped up in it—ones Kookie and I had barely managed to move past. Singing it over and over again felt like reopening something that never fully healed.

And for what? So it could be repackaged, cleaned up, made palatable for everyone else.

I was done.

Jimin’s text sat heavy in my mind as I pulled the headset off.

Meet Kookie at the hotel. Times Square. Something about his jacket and a note. It didn’t make much sense, but it didn’t need to.

Kookie was there.

That was enough.

But, why didn’t he text me himself? The thought lingered, but not long enough to matter. I was already late—too late—and if there was one thing I knew about him, it was that he hated waiting.

“Guys… I’m done.” The headset slipped from my hand, falling somewhere behind me as I stepped out of the booth. My voice sounded distant, even to myself. “It’s not happening tonight.”

Suga started to protest, but I didn’t stay long enough to hear it.

Namjoon’s voice cut in instead, calm and steady, smoothing things over like he always did. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

That was all I needed.

By the time I reach the hotel, it is past midnight. The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

The door opens easily.

Inside, the room glows softly—candles flicker, rose petals across the floor like something out of a dream.

“Tokki…” His name leaves me on a breath, softer than I intend.

I move through the room slowly, taking it in.

The champagne has gone warm. Whipped cream is melted into something unrecognizable. Everything feels… paused.

Like it has been waiting. And so has he.

He is asleep. Flat on his back, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting lightly against his chest. His head tilts slightly to the side, breath slow and even.

It looks normal, save for the blindfold. Not a sleep mask or a bandana slipped down to his eyes. But a deliberate blindfold hiding them.

My chest tightens. How long did he wait for me? “Sorry…” The word barely makes it past my lips.

A quick shower to wash the day off, but not the weight of it.

By the time I step back into the room, the quiet has settled deeper.

He hasn’t moved.

Sliding into the bed beside him feels natural.

Easy.

Like coming home.

I prop myself up on one elbow, watching him for a moment before leaning in. A soft kiss brushes against his lips.

Familiar.

Grounding.

“You’re full of surprises tonight.” His voice is still thick with sleep, but his body reacts instantly, without hesitation. His hand finds the back of my head, pulling me closer as the kiss deepens.

There he is. My hand moves instinctively, finding him, drawing a slow reaction from him as his breathing quickens. His hands follow, tracing along my shoulders, my back, pulling me fully on top of him.

He’s so warm.

Real.

Mine.

The blindfold must go. I need to look into his soul. I crave that connection—the way his eyes always soften, and everything diminishes when he looks at me. That is ours. It always has been.

I push it over his head letting it fall away.

His eyes blink open, adjusting slowly, and then—that smile. “Like this,” I murmur, brushing my lips against his jaw. “Always like this.” I manage before capturing his lips again.

The rest comes easily. Naturally. Just like always.

Our skin touching is my safe haven.

We move together without thought, falling into a rhythm we know too well to question. His body atop mine, trailing slowly down. His movements at a snail’s pace at first, measured—until they’re not. Until they can’t be.

I always giggle when his tongue brushes the bunny tattoo hidden on my hip and this time is no different.

The nervous energy starts to settle as I anticipate what’s next to come.

His mouth moves over me, hot and insistent, pulling everything out of me piece by piece. Every touch, every breath, every sound—it all builds to something I can’t hold back.

I don’t try to. I never do.

“Please…” The word slips out before I could stop it, deep and desperate.

He only smiles that same sly smile, like he already knows.

As soon as he’s sheathed within me, my mouth finds the tender area of his neck just above his collarbone. Then his pace shifts.

Faster.

Deeper.

The tension builds, pulling us both toward the same edge.

“Fuck…” I try to steady my voice but to no avail. One hand deep within his hair and the other on the small of his back. My body moves with his, creating a rhythmic dance that only we hear the music.

Our pace slows. “Look at me.” My quiet command locks his eyes to mine instantly. This is it. This is everything. “I love you.” The words come easily. Like they always do. They are arrive on breath and something deeper I hope he never has to question.

“I love you, too.” He licks his lips before dipping his head to kiss me again.

And then— everything breaks.

The release hits hard, pulling us both under, leaving nothing behind but breathless silence and the steady rhythm of our hearts trying to catch up.

He collapses against me, limbs tangled. His sweat slick skin against mine.

Chapter 2 - Avoidance

Jimin’s POV

“Jimin?”

I blink looking up, eyes squinting from the sun. “Hm?”

Hobi’s looking down at me like he’s been talking for a while. Which, he probably has. “Where’ve you been lately?”

There’s a pause. Too long. I clear my throat, reaching for my drink even though I’m not thirsty. “Busy.” It comes out too quick - automatic.

Hobi doesn’t move. Just watches me. “You’ve been ‘busy’ a lot.”

I shrug, eyes dropping to the table, tracing the edge of my plate with my finger. “Schedules.”

Another beat.

“You okay?” He asks, taking a seat.

I nod immediately.

Too fast.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” The silence stretches just enough to feel it. I pick up my chopsticks and put them down again, forcing a smile that’s too wide. “I’m good.”

Hobi’s still looking at me. Not convinced. “You’re doing a lot right now.” He circles his index finger sizing me up.

I let out a small breath, forcing a more relaxed grin, “I said I’m fine.”

“Right,” He doesn’t push, just lifts one brow. Which somehow makes it worse.

A chair scrapes beside me. I don’t have to look.

“Hyung.”

My stomach tightens anyway, eyes dropping, “Hey.”

A flash of that night runs through my head.

The way he looked.

The way he sounded. Heat creeps up my neck before I can stop it.

God. It was amazing.

Jungkookie drops into the seat, but he doesn’t look at me. Of course not. His eyes are somewhere else. I follow them without meaning to. Taehyung.

Laughing. Talking.

Like nothing’s wrong. Like the two of them are just fine. Like he has no idea what that night meant.

“Have you noticed anything off about him?”

I blink, “What?” Too sharp. I feel it immediately.

“About Tae,” JK says. “Lately.”

I lean back slightly, forcing a shrug. “What are you talking about?”

A beat…too long.

Hobi shifts across from us. Watching.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says quietly. “Something’s just… off.”

My chest tightens, “He hasn’t said anything?”

“No,” He lowers his sad, round eyes. “He won’t.” He rubs his hands across his denim covered thighs. “I just feel like he’s somewhere else lately, ya know?”

That lands heavier than it should.

I huff out a small breath. “He’s probably just tired.”

“Jimin.” I look up. Jung-Kook is watching me now. Really watching me. His head shakes in confusion, “He’s not just tired.”

“Hey…I’m sure it’s nothing.” My hand brushes his quickly before I realize what I’m doing. My gaze holds his but drops away first. “Did you guys have fun in New York?” Hoping he doesn’t notice my vailed attempt at deflection.

“Yeah.” He answers absently. Then, “You haven’t been around much either.”

I blink. “What?”

“Games. Hanging out. You’ve been kind of… MIA.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “You good?”

My grip tightens against the table. He noticed. Heat creeps up the back of my neck.

Does he…No.

Or—

I force out a weak laugh, “Busy.”

Weak. Even for me.

“I gotta head back.” he says, pushing his chair back, looking at his watch. “Suga’s schedule.” Then softer – “Do me a favor? If you talk to him… see if he seems okay to you?”

I nod, “Sure.”

He turns. Walks.

I don’t mean to, but I follow him with my eyes. Straight toward Tae. They pass each other like it’s nothing. Like it’s instinct. Tae’s hand brushes his arm. JK’s palm presses briefly against his chest.

Light.

Quick.

Gone.

Like it didn’t happen. Like it always happens. Like they cannot be near each other without touching.

My stomach drops. Because that – that wasn’t nothing.

I look down too fast.

Stop. Don’t.

But it’s already there. That sinking feeling. Because whatever this is between us – whatever I thought it was – they still have something. It’ssomething I can’t touch. Something I was never part of. And never will be.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when it was just…us.

Hobi. Tae. JK. Me. The Four Musketeers.

The four of us were inseparable. The way it was supposed to be.

Me, Tae and JK were the youngest. Those two were always orbiting Hobi and I in our own way. RM trusted us to keep them in line. I made sure they went to bed on time. Hobi got them up in the morning.

We weren’t authority. We were just…there.

Easy.

Safe.

That’s why when I walked in on them that night… I left. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask questions. I just – left.

I don’t know who was more embarrassed.

Tae ran after me anyway. Cheeks flushed. Head down, like he’d done something wrong. And I…just held him. I told him it was okay. That nothing changed. Even though something in my chest had already started to shift. Because I knew before he even said it.

Before either of them did it. I already knew.

But, I stayed quiet.

Instead, I smiled. Helped them hide it. Covered for them. Because that’s what a hyung is supposed to do. Because that’s what he needed. It’s what they needed.

And maybe – I needed too.

Because it was easier to pretend it wasn’t anything. That it would pass. That I’d find someone else.

That I wasn’t…I exhale slowly, jaw tightening. But, I was and couldn’t say it. I never said it. Not once. To anyone. Not even to myself

“Hey.”

I look up.

Tae’s standing there now. Like nothing just happened. Like everything’s normal. He drops into the seat, easy. Too easy.

I force a smile. Because whatever just shifted inside me—I can’t let it show.

“Did he seem okay?”

I blink, “What?”

“Kookie,” Tae says. “When he was over here.”

“He’s fine,” I measure my response.

Tae doesn’t look convinced. “Do I seem like I’m pushing him away?”

The question lands heavy.

Hobi leans forward. “What do you mean?”

“You know how I get.” Tae knits his brows, “When I’m in my head.”

My chest tightens at the pain in his eyes.

“I just… don’t want to mess things up again. I feel like we’re finally getting back to us. I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

“Talk to him,” Hobi says.

Simple. Right.

I swallow the dry lump in my throat to push down the bile that is starting to rise. “That might not be the best idea.”

Both of them look at me confused.

They can probably hear my heart beating from this distance. “You know how he can get,” I shrug. “Sensitive.”

It sounds reasonable. Even to me. But something in Hobi’s expression shifts. Just slightly. Like he’s paying attention now.

Tae watches me, then reluctantly agrees. “Yeah…maybe.”

Hobi leans back, eyes moving between us. Me. Then Tae. Then back again. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. Then, looking right at me— “You’re fine.”

Tae frowns slightly. “What does that mean?” The question is light, almost joking. But not entirely.

Hobi shrugs, “Just saying.”

I lean forward before Hobi continues. “Yeah, you’ve been in your head lately,” I say, glancing at Tae.

“Yeah,” he mutters.

My shoulder nudges his, “And we all know where your head goes when that happens.”

He snorts.

I grin. “Up your own ass.”

Hobi laughs.

Tae nudges me. “Shut up.”

But he’s smiling. And just like that, everything feels normal again. Easy. Like it always does.

I lean back, letting the moment settle. Letting the noise fill the space where everything else was.

Because it’s easier like this. Safer.

If I don’t think about it—

If I don’t look too closely—then nothing has to change. But the thought doesn’t go away.

It waits just below the surface.

Quiet.

Patient.

I glance up without meaning to. My eyes land on Tae – at the way he laughs. The way he leans into Hobi like nothing in the world is wrong. And something in my chest flutters again.

Because I know him. Better than most. And that look…the one just behind his eyes isn’t as solid as he’s trying to make it seem.

My gaze drops back to the table. Because I don’t want to see it too clearly. Don’t want to— but it’s already there. That feeling. That question. That possibility.

I would never hurt him. Not Tae. Not like that.

I never have.  Even when…I swallow hard.

Even with what I’ve.

No. It’s going to work itself out. It’s going to be fine.

My fingers curl slightly. Because if things were really fine, if everything was exactly the way it’s supposed to be, none of it would feel like this. Neither of them would.

And maybe—the thought comes slower this time.

Quieter.

But it doesn’t go away.

Maybe I’m allowed— just once— to want something too.

Tae’s POV

Sleep continues to elude me. Falling asleep has gotten easier since my days in the military. But staying asleep has bothered me since I was young. Countless doctors and sleep studies have never been able to fix it. I have been diagnosed with everything from Fractured Sleep Syndrome to Attachment Disorder. Whatever the case, no amount of setting bedtimes or medications help.

The only thing that has ever been able to help me sleep is Kookie.

I roll over without thinking, reaching for warmth. But there’s nothing. Just a cool pillow. Soft and still. My hand rubs the spot, pressing down like it might change.

It doesn’t.

A quiet breath leaves me as I pull the pillow to my chest, wrapping arms around it out of habit. It’s not the same. Not even close. The house feels too quiet without his rhythmic breathing beside me.

But then —music. Soft and familiar.

My head lifts slowly.

Kookie.

I push myself up, the world tilting slightly as my feet hit the floor. Everything feels slow; heavy. I follow the sound without thinking.

I always do.

The karaoke room glows softly when I reach it. He’s there. Sitting on the couch, singing.

I don’t say anything – just move to him and drop down beside him silently. My brain is still running on autopilot as my head settles into his lap like it belongs there and my arm wraps around his waist.

Finally. Warmth.

“Nae Gomi,” his voice is soft, fingers already threading through my hair. “Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head, eyes still closed. “Come to bed,” I murmur, mouth turning into a pout on its own. “It’s late.”

He shifts.

I roll with him, blinking slowly as the movement pulls me out of the haze. The nearly empty bottle catches my eye.

Soju.

He pours another shot. “Sing with me.”

I still for a second. Something pulling low in my stomach. It starts so small it’s almost imperceptible. But it doesn’t stay there. It twists and pulls. Then spreads, with a sickening tingling that moves downward to my legs.

I shift slightly against him, trying to settle it. Hoping it’ll pass if I don’t think about it too much. It doesn’t. Because it happens when I glance up at him again.

And there it is.  That look. The one that’s not on me. Not really. It’s just past me. It’s that all too familiar look he does when he’s deflecting.

My chest tightens to match his gaze.

It never used to be like this. I used to be able to tell what he was feeling and thinking by the way he walked in a room. Reading him used to be so easy.

I was fifteen the first time we met. I don’t remember who said what to whom, only that he was a skinny eighth grader with a lopsided grin and the roundest eyes I had ever seen on a boy who wasn’t foreign. I knew from that instant that I wanted to be friends with him.

Even though he was shy it was going to happen. He would wait until we all went to bed to shower and eat, it didn’t stop me. I’d wait with him quietly sitting next to him for weeks until he finally talked to me. And then suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Almost like we already knew without knowing. We were more than best friends. We were kindred spirits. There was never a version of me without him in it.

Fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Laughing too loud. Slap boxing at the most inappropriate times. Talking over each other. Finishing sentences that didn’t need finishing. Side by side. Always.

Then one night it all changed. I still don’t remember everything clearly. Just pieces of it. We’d had too much to drink and we were too close. Then there was stillness. The kind that doesn’t feel normal because your heartbeat is loud in your ears you think the other person can see it through your chest.

I remember his eyes though. They were on me. Really on me. No looking past me or at me, but damn near through me. Like he could see my soul. I was afraid to speak or even think because I thought he could see every thought and feeling running through me all bubbling up at the surface. It scared me to death.

He placed my hand on his chest to feel his heart racing, it calmed me. He was scared too. I wasn’t alone in this.

Everything else faded, then.

I don’t remember who moved first.

Just that moment—when everything we’d been pretending wasn’t there suddenly was. Everything was perfect.

Until I ruined it. I still don’t know why.

Or maybe I do.

It didn’t happen all at once.

Just—one day, it hit me. How much I loved him. Not the way I always had. Not just—him. But…

Us.

It was something deeper. Something much heavier. He was part of my DNA and that made him dangerous. Because he now held the power to end me. Not just hurt me. Obliterate me. Complete and total annihilation.

The same way he could make everything feel right with one smile—he could take it all away just as easily.

And I wouldn’t survive that. I knew I wouldn’t. How would I?

My chest tightens, breath catching in my throat as the thought presses back in.

I had to stop it. Before it got worse. Before I fell any deeper. Before I wouldn’t be able to breathe within him.

I told myself it was the right thing. That I was protecting him. Because if he felt even a fraction of what I did—I couldn’t be the one to break him. I would never forgive myself for that..

I take a slow breath and let myself fall back with him as he leans into the couch. My forehead presses into his stomach.

Closer.

We’re good now. My arms tighten around him without thinking. “Kookie…” It comes out softer than I mean it to.

I have worked so hard to show him I’m all in. Fear be damned. He’s all that matters – all I want. But over the last few weeks he’s felt just out of my grasp.

The sound of the Karaoke machine selection sorter shifts before the announcer names the song. The title is read and my hear flutters.

Impossible…Christina Aguilera

My grip tightens around him. Not now.

“Just one song,” he says. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It always does.

I push myself up, eyelids still heavy, and look at him.  “This is too high for me.” My tone is flat and I just want his eyes to meet mine.

But, he doesn’t look back. “I love this song,” he smirks staring at the screen.

Of course he does.

The first lines come out of his mouth – soft, controlled, perfect – and something in my stomach drops.

            It’s impossible, it’s impossible to love you

            If you don’t let me know what you’re feeling

            It’s impossible for me to give you what you need

            If you’re always hiding from me

            I don’t know what hurts you.

            I just want to make it right

            ‘Cause boy, I’m sick and tired of trying to read your mind

                        It’s impossible

                        Oh, baby, it’s impossible

                        For me to love you if you’re making it this way

I watch looking for any shift in his expression and every breath between the lines. Like if I look long enough— I’ll understand what’s wrong.

We used to tell each other everything. Why is it so hard now? I don’t want to ask a bunch of questions and create an issue that’s not there. We can’t go back to that place. I won’t let us.

He leans into me without thinking, head settling against my shoulder.

Instinct.

My arm comes up just as easily, pulling him closer, hand sliding to the back of his neck.

My thumb moves without thought, slow, steady—feeling the vibration of his voice under my skin.

He’s always been like this.

Warm.

Easy.

Mine.

Because I would do anything for him.

Anything. And that’s the problem.

There’s a space that never existed before.

And if I don’t find out why —it’s going to turn into something I can’t reach across.

JungKook’s POV

The burn settles slowly this time. I barely feel it. The glass stays in my hand as my fingers move through his hair without thinking—slow, steady.

He leans into it. Of course he does.

And for a second, it almost feels normal. Almost.

I stare at the screen, not really seeing it. I should say something. I’ve been telling myself that for days now. Just bring it up somehow.

I hate this.

My jaw tightens slightly as I take another sip.

I thought we were in a better place now. That we were finally putting all that shit from before behind us. That’s what that night was supposed to be about. It was my way of showing him that I trust him again. That I am completely open to him.

That’s the only reason I…

He knows I have never done that. He knows all my firsts have been with him.

There’s only ever been him.

We didn’t just end up here. It wasn’t random. We took our time. It took us years of figuring everything out without even realizing we were. What felt right. What didn’t. Nothing was ever rushed. Nothing was ever accidental.

And when things finally shifted between us it wasn’t messy. There was no confusion. It was a choice.

We talked. Actually talked.

We set the lines. Crossed them on purpose. Together.

He had one experience before but was by no means an expert. We wanted to learn together. wanted to show me things willing to show me what he knew and we would find out the rest together. I trusted him. I trusted that if we went there, it meant something. That it wasn’t just, something that happened.

That it was us.

He looked at me like he knew exactly what he was asking. Like he understood what it meant. And I said yes. Because it was him. Because if it was with anyone it had to be him. Because I love him.

My fingers pause for half a second in his hair before I force them to keep moving.

Don’t. Don’t be like that naïve kid anymore. I don’t get to—

My grip tightens just slightly before I catch it.

Breathe.

He’s here. Right here. Pressed into me like he always is. So why does it feel like I’m the only one still stuck on it?

He’s the one that made it matter. He told me what it meant. Did he forget what that meant?

I fumble with the controller. There are so many words I want to say but I can’t find one right now.

“Sing with me,” I manage. I love his voice. His smooth baritone notes always set the internal jitters to rights.

I feel his arm encircle my waist tighter and I swear I almost stop breathing. It’s amazing how one touch from him still makes my body forget how to function.

“I love this song.” I don’t know why I’m doing this. If there is one thing I learned from Tae, it’s how to stand up for myself. So, I hate that I still do this with him.

The loss of warmth in my lap when he moves jars me but, I continue singing to him. I want to know why he hasn’t mentioned it once.

Are we not in the same place? Are things not where I thought they were?

The song ends. I don’t move. Just sit there. My head still on his shoulder, microphone on my lap. I look at the screen for what feels like an eternity. “Nae Gomi?”

He’s not asleep. I can still feel his thumb tracing small circles on the base of my neck. My head lifts and I turn his face toward mine. “Gomi jagi? Where are you?”

“One song.” He gives me a tired smile and kisses me on the tip of my nose. Reaching across me he grabs the controller. Then we go to bed.”

My eyes track the movement without thinking.

He scrolls.

Stops.

I lean back slightly, trying to look casual—like I’m not paying that much attention. But I am. I always am.

The first notes start slow. Soft. And my eyes sting immediately.

Oceans – Pearl Jam

He doesn’t look at me. Of course he doesn’t.

I huff out a quiet breath, filling another shot. I lift the glass again, letting it burn on the way down just to have something else to focus on.

But it doesn’t help. Because his voice - it hits different.

Lower.

Smoother.

His voice is familiar in a way that sinks too deep, too fast.

            Hold on to the thread

            The currents will shift, glide me toward

            You know something’s left

            And we’re all allowed to dream of the next

            Uh-oh the next time we touch;

My fingers tighten slightly around the glass.

He’s not looking at me. Not directly. But it still feels like he is. Like every word is—

I swallow, shifting slightly, elbow braced against the back of the couch.

Don’t. Don’t read into it. But I do anyway. Because this…this feels like something. It’s not just random. It’s not just a song. My jaw tightens.

My gaze drifts back to him, slower this time.

And that’s when it hits. The way his voice softens on certain words. The way his breath catches just slightly between lines. He’s not just singing. He’s…

            You don’t have to stray the oceans away

            Waves roll in my thoughts

            Hold tight the ring

            The sea will rise

            Please stand by the shore

            Oh, oh, oh, I will be

            I will be there once more

My chest tightens before I can stop it. I look away. Quick.

Too late.

Because now my eyes are brimming. I blink once. Twice. Force my focus back to the screen. It’s stupid. It’s just a song. But my throat feels tight anyway. I drag in a slow breath, steadying myself, lifting the glass again even though I don’t need it.

I don’t want him to see that it’s getting to me.

Because if I let it, I don’t know what I’ll say.

And I’m not sure I’m ready to hear what he’ll say back.

When would they see each other? Would she want to make a long-distance relationship work? Would she be willing to come to Norway? If he went to the States, would Ubbe make one of his brothers travel with him?

This was going to be a fucking disaster! 

He was deep in his musing when he felt Cash’s lips on his neck. His head turned toward hers. “Hey, where are you?”

Lowering his eyes to her mouth, he smiled at the slight pout on her lips. He was going to miss her kisses the most. Her lips were always so soft and warm. Whatever the lip stuff she was wearing had the faintest taste of vanilla and gave her lips a smooth, balmy feel.

He found himself rubbing his lips together after they kissed and smiled, “I like that flavor.”

“You like the flavor of everything I wear,” she said, snuggling up to him.

Nodding in agreement, he held his hand up to the back of hers and interlaced their fingers. “You smell and taste better than me.”

Pulling her arm over to his mouth, he gently held her wrist and licked her hand, smiling at her giggle. As his tongue ran up the center of her hand to the length of her middle finger, he felt a familiar tingle in his groin. Slowly, he took her finger in his mouth and gently sucked it before repeating the action on the rest of her digits. 

By the time he was done, Cash was no longer giggling.

“See...absolutely delicious,” he smiled softly before turning over and closing his mouth over hers.

Cash tried her best to keep her fingers laced with Ivar’s, but it was hard. She took slow deep breaths, looked at the ceiling, and tried to concentrate on everything else but the velvety softness of his tongue and those piercing blue eyes staring up at her.

Every time she looked down at him all she wanted was to run her fingers through those gorgeous chocolate locks. But, whenever she tried, he’d stop his exploration. “Ivar,” she panted breathlessly, determined she was going to smother him with her thighs if he stopped again.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, enjoying the look of frustration on her face. Releasing her right hand, he pulled his hair over his left shoulder, “Do you trust me?” When she nodded, he nibbled her thigh before placing a gentle kiss there. 

Ivar had always hated his hands. All of his brothers had such long slender fingers, but he was plagued with thick, meaty paws. It didn’t make sense. Yes, he was the shortest of his brothers, but he was still easily six feet when standing. Yet, his hands and feet were short and fat. His fingers looked like they belonged to someone short and stumpy, not someone as tall, slender, and muscular as him. 

However, this was the first time ever that Ivar didn’t hate his hands or the fingers that were attached to them. 

“Jesus Christ,” Cash squeezed his left hand tighter as her hip raised off the bed. Where in the hell had he been hiding that little trick? Were his fingers always that long and thick?

Shit.

How many was he using? Everything about him was amazing. It was like he listened to each noise she made, and he adjusted his ministrations accordingly.

He was mesmerized by the way her body moved. Though, she didn’t seem to know what to do with her right hand. One minute it was on her belly, then she would grip the sheets – that is, when she wasn’t grasping at the air in an attempt to reach his shoulder. Then there was the vice grip she had on her own hair. He was sure she going to pull it out at the root.

He wanted to watch her. He wanted to listen to her. He wanted to kiss her. Ivar wanted to stop his musings to concentrate solely on everything she was doing, but there was a curiosity in him that wanted to know if he could take her farther.

He had to know if he could. It was plausible. At the frenzied state she was in, he could take her there, couldn’t he? Should he dare to even try?

Cash now understood what sensory overload meant. When his lips touched hers and moved and the same incredibly slow pace of his hands, she forgot her name. She wanted to say something, but it was a little fucking hard to talk. Besides, she doubted she could hear her own voice over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. All she knew that there was a tickle in her nether regions that felt like she had to pee. But she would be damned if she asked him to stop so she could run to the bathroom.

No sooner did the thought leave her mind, did her entire body start to grow hot and taut. 

The grip on Ivar’s hair was tight, but the way her nails scratched his scalp and the sound of his name on her breath made his crotch ache. As she held his head, she released a strangled cry and her body shook, back arching off the bed.

When her limp body fell back to the mattress, he kissed his way up to her face, placing his forearms on both sides of her head. With tears in her eyes, Cash pushed his long hair behind his ears and leaned up to kiss him.

“You just...I just...oh fuck,” she couldn’t finish talking. Her brains hadn’t yet returned to working order. All she wanted to concentrate on was how soft his lips felt. They smelled like her. They tasted like her. Would he think she was weird if she told him how turned-on she was by that?

Ivar was smiling so hard his face hurt. “Did you?” He watched her nod her head vigorously. “Good,” he kissed her before sitting up and reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand.

“You are amazing,” he took several big gulps, before handing her the bottle, “and beautiful.” 

Handing the bottle back to Ivar, Cash bit her lip. She ran her fingers through his hair as she placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. He ignored her eyes on him, as she placed another kiss on his neck. As her kisses continued on his jawline, her hand made its way over the expanse of his chest and down until she felt his stomach flinch as her fingers brushed over his navel. By the time her hand made it under the covers, she had captured him in a searing kiss.  

He closed his eyes at the sensation of Cash’s delicate fingers as they swept over his thigh with a feather-light grace. If the situation were different, it would tickle, but right now, it was anything but funny. And when the warmth of her hand traveled toward his groin he felt a thin layer of sweat form on his upper lip. He didn’t know how she did it, but her slender fingers provided a grip that wasn’t necessarily tight, but firm enough to elicit the most exquisite tingle that he swore he could feel in his normally numb toes. 

Cash hoped that Ivar couldn’t tell what she was debating. She had only done this to one other person before - her ex...the one that after 5 years together, decided to break it off and up and married some other chick.

It was one of two sexual acts that she put a lot of meaning behind. To Cash, it meant trust and commitment - that this wasn’t just some random encounter. If she was going to do it, then she had to do it right.

But fuck, she wasn’t an expert. What if she wasn’t any good at it? And she didn’t have any experience with an uncircumcised one before. It looked different, what if there were different rules for one?

Where the hell was Glenn when she needed him? Having a gay best friend should pay off in situations such as these, no? 

Ivar sucked in a breath, “Ingen...stopp,” he had temporarily forgotten how to speak English. 

Her index finger gently pressed against his lips before he inhaled and laid his head back on the headboard.

He couldn’t look at her, could he?

No. He shouldn’t.

You weren’t supposed to, right?

Shit. What did Ubbe say about that?

Fuck, he couldn’t remember. He knew that Hvitserk would have told him to watch. He would have said something stupid like that’s what you have eyes for, or they love being watched, or you should record it.

That’s why he didn’t talk to Hvitserk - because he was a fucking idiot. 

Wait...why was he think Hvitserk right now?

She didn’t know what Ivar liked or even if it felt remotely pleasurable to him. He didn’t make the same types of noises that she did. And when she happened to glance up at him, he had this weird look on his face that seemed more uncomfortable than anything.

Was she hurting him?

She knew she should have watched more porn. 

He was completely powerless, but he had to touch her. His hands gently found their way into her hair and he unconsciously massaged her scalp.  She had no idea what she was doing to him, and she was leaving him in just a few short hours. It wasn’t fair.

Cash nuzzled into the feeling of his palm on the side of her face, gently guiding her movements. She found herself making silent promises to him each time she bobbed her head.

She wanted them to last. She was going to do everything in her power to make this work. This was her pledge to him. 

When their eyes met, he guided her up and settled her onto his lap. Thus far, it hadn’t been difficult for them to find a rhythm that suited them. With his back propped against the headboard and his hands on her hips to guide her, it was easy to help fall into step with him.

However, even moving in tandem, this time they both needed something more.

Their lips on each other weren’t enough.

It was as if they needed to be closer - if that were humanly possible.

Ivar wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself on his side facing her, moving with her.

They hadn’t tried this position before. He couldn’t quite figure out where to place his one leg, but it worked - he could feel her. All of her. He could hold her close, caress her and kiss her as much as he needed to. And when he felt like he needed more of her, he pulled her leg higher over his hip. 

She couldn’t understand the words he was saying, but it sounded beautiful. When she got home, she was going to make it a point to download Bable and study Norwegian. 

He rolled them once more until he completely covered her.

Normally, he hated being on top. It reminded him too much of being with his ex.

That bitch was always so happy to just have him there rutting away until she got what needed = then she would push him off of her, always leaving him feeling completely unsatisfied.

That was one of the great things about Cash. She seemed to enjoy being on top. Not only did he not have to do anything but watch her, but even though he didn’t finish he still enjoyed himself immensely.

Being with Cash was nothing like what he thought about sex. In fact, being with Cash didn’t feel like sex at all.

It was making love. 

She could see on his face that he was searching for something, only he didn’t know how to find it. What was he thinking about?

“Do you trust me?” she whispered holding his face in her hands, feeling him nod against her palms, “then let go.”

He lowered his head to her shoulder and tried to concentrate. God, he wanted to let go so bad, but he didn’t know how. He felt like he never had control over anything in his life - he had to rely on people to take him places. He couldn’t do anything without permission or help.

Hell, he didn’t even have control over his body. His stupid legs didn’t work and wouldn’t do what he told them to do. Now, he couldn’t even control this. 

It was so fucking frustrating. 

“I can’t,” he looked at her with embarrassment and shame in his eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that his movements had stopped when she repositioned herself to plant her feet on the bed and tilt her pelvis forward. “I want to do for you what you did for me.” She wrapped her arms around his back and held him close to her. Pushing her waist against his, she moved slowly.

“Just look at me,” she whispered in between kisses to his chin, “stay here - with me.”

How could he resist her anything? She could have asked him to walk to the moon and he would have.

His big cerulean eyes locked on her brown orbs and didn’t move. Every time he found his mind drifting off onto some other place, he would lose himself in her eyes again. 

“Cachet,” this was the first time she’d ever heard him say her name. It sounded weird coming from him, but she liked it. 

The room erupted a fit of giggles, “I am sorry,” he apologized by kissing the space on her shoulder that he had bitten down on when he lost all bodily control, “did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t know you were into that kinky biting shit,” she said as his head rested on her chest and he held onto her tight. “I kinda like it.”

“How did you know to do that?” When she didn’t answer, he looked down at her, “Hello?”

She stopped the lazy path she was tracing up and down his arm and looked at him, “Hm?”

“How did you know to do that?”

She gave a quick shrug and a half-hearted smile. “You know how they say mother’s can pick up a car to save their babies? I guess I didn’t know my own strength.”

He nodded absently, paying too much attention to the distance forming behind her eyes. “Hey. We promised. Remember?”

She nodded quickly and tried to turn her head before he saw the tears starting to pool just below her lashes.

“We will enjoy today. And worry about tomorrow, later.” He kissed her quickly.

She sighed, “But what about everything that happens after tomorrow?” Why couldn’t she turn her brain off? Why did she have to think about everything and always have a plan? This couldn’t be the last night she would spend with him. They just found each other, really found each other and in a few short hours it was going to be over? How the fuck was she supposed to act like everything was going to be just fine now? Especially not after what they just shared.

Ivar rested his head on her shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of her fingers on his scalp. He wasn’t going to tell her that he was worried about it, too. He wouldn’t upset her more. Especially not when she looked like she was going to cry a second ago.

The only thing he did know was this couldn’t be the end of them. Not yet. They were on the verge of something really good. But how did he get there? Short of her giving up her life and moving in with him, he didn’t see a way.

“I don’t know.”

Tags:

Knowing where he’d be and finding out where he lived were a different story. Torren had done her due diligence when it came to locating the town in which Little Kattegat was located. It only took about two days and a few Google image searches of the background of a few of the photos and she had it narrowed down to a general area in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

From what she could tell, the closest town to where he lived was pretty small, and there were only a few large estates hidden in the woods. How hard could it be to find? She was willing to drive to every single house and knock on the door to find him if she had to. But it would just be easier if there was loud music and a bunch of cars in the driveway. That way she could tag along inside with the rest of the guests to get to her man. 

Her shirt landed in the pile of dirty clothes in the center of the bed, as she reached around to unhook her bra. “I really need to tell Baby Boo to stop putting all of his business out in these streets,” her brows furrowed as she shook her head, “What if some crazy, psycho bitch started stalking him, or some shit? Then I’d have to kill a bitch.” Torren’s head whipped around and she narrowed her eyes at his picture, still stuck on her wall, “Is that what you want? Huh? You want me to cut a bitch to prove to you how much I love you? I will, Bae! You know I would do anything for you. I’m your Ride or Die...” 

And being his Ride or Die meant that she needed to keep better tabs on him if she was going to protect him from someone crazier than her, God forbid.  She was only able to do so much on this prepaid phone, and going to the library to get online was becoming a pain in the ass. 

She’d considered stealing a laptop or iPad from the library but was still on the fence about the idea. Of course, the alternative meant going to stupid ass libraries and threatening little kids to get off the fucking computers, and that completely sucked ass. 

She always felt rushed when she logged onto her Bae’s Only Fans page from the public library. Without fail one of those little bastard kids would get the library Nazis to kick her off the computer, or bar her from the library altogether for watching porn. 

Ivar’s page wasn’t porn! It was art. It was sexy. It was love...his love for her. Stupid bitches. 

She had encountered far worse things than getting kicked out of the library, but some of these small towns usually only had one or two within their county limits. If she got banned, how was she supposed to check up on Ivar? In the time it took to log in until she got kicked out, she'd be lucky if she could check 2 of his accounts. What if he had some important information on another platform that she hadn’t checked yet? What was she supposed to do then?

Her relationship with Ivar was hanging in the balance, and she'd be damned if some snot-nosed kid or fucking uptight librarian would fuck that up. She needed a computer. But, on the flip side, when she finally got her man back, she wouldn't need one anymore. She could ask him directly what their plans were.

There was a lot to consider and that took time; time that she didn't have right now.

The thick layer of Nair shaving cream she had applied to her already hairless crotch, was just starting to tingle, signaling she had about 5 minutes left before the sweat-inducing, burning sensation would kick in alerting her to wash the cream off. Until then, she had time to consider an outfit for the night.

She knew Ivar well enough to know that he would want her to be sexy for him, but not so much to distract him from work. She could have gone for something slutty, like those skanky bitches he partied with. She could have gone for more demur, but then she would remind him too much of his bitch ex-wife and completely turn him off. The last thing she wanted on their first night back together was for him to be thinking about that bitch. She could have gone for a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but Torren never did simple. 

No, Ivar would want her to be herself. That's what he loved about her. That's what attracted him to her in the first place. She would be sexy without being skanky; she would be demure without being a prude.

Fuck! It was already 7:33 p.m. How in the hell did she miss the beginning of his Live? Now she was running late.

She was supposed to be dressed and ready by the time his Live came on that way she could be out the door as soon as he finished. If she was going to make it to be on his Only Fans live stream tonight, she needed to get to his house before he got too distracted. Now, she’d have to watch his Live, while her cooch burst into flames before she had a chance to take a shower and finish picking out her outfit.

If there was one thing Torren was, it was punctual. It was bad enough that she was about 40 minutes outside of his town, but it could take her up to 2 or more hours to find his house. She only hoped that he didn’t plan on starting any real freaky shit on his Only Fans page until around midnight, cause it looked like she wouldn’t be getting there before then, anyway.  

With the smile still plastered on her face, Torren turned on the hot water for a shower, forgetting that the water didn’t get hot. She didn't mind, much, especially since the cold water gave her a break from the heat in her room. 

Phone in hand, she watched him, as she planted herself on the dirty bathtub floor, cross-legged, and started to get herself ready. Starting with her toes, she shaved each one, just below the knuckle, followed by her fingers, arms, pits, and each leg, from groin to ankle, three times. When the burning from her nether regions was so intense that she couldn’t tell her tears from the shower water dripping on her face, she quickly washed off the cream. 

All she could do was hope that she hadn’t broken the skin this time. The last time she had let that damn Nair stay on, just past burning, the skin broke and she bled. She was not having a bloody hoo-ha tonight. 

With that taken care of, she gently used the razor to remove any other pubes closer to the inside that needed to be removed. Then shaved her backside. When she had more time, she was going to get the internal hairs bleached, but she needed to find out what Ivar preferred. 

Shaving ate up so much of her time that she only had a few seconds to rub some body-wash that she had stolen from a drug store over her body and hoped it got rid of the smell of the summer heat. Her hair? Fuck it...she’d wash it another day, for now, this cold water would have to be enough. She’d spritz some perfume and hair spray in it and it would smell fine. 

Torren finished her shower, and walked out of the bathroom dripping wet, only using a towel to wrap around her hair. She was glad it was so hot in her room that her hair would air-dry quickly. She finger-combed her damp tresses to complete that ‘just got out of bed, but it's styled’ appearance. She knew how much he loved when her hair looked like that. It would remind him of freshly fucked hair. 

She spent extra time applying her makeup, even using an extra dark, thick application of eyeliner. She usually went for more subtle warm colors. They matched her tan skin tone better. But, tonight, she had bold, dark makeup, complete with varying shades of purple and blue eye shadows, and dark purple lipstick.

Torren was glad that she decided to match Ivar’s clothes this evening. The swim trunks and smoking jacket he wore would compliment her beautifully. She wanted everyone to know that they dressed alike, the way real couples do. If he was going for less is more, so would she.

She settled on black leather chaps that tied up on the sides, and tight blue boy shorts that left the bottom half of her ass cheeks exposed. The blue shorts brought out the blue swirls in his trunks; she knew he'd appreciate that touch. Her top was a blue bandanna that she wore as a halter with a short black leather jacket with tassels on the sleeves. 

They screamed “couple” in her eyes.

Completely satisfied with how she looked, Torren locked the door to her motel room and started down the hall. She deliberately stopped by the window and peered through the partially opened blinds of the people staying next door to her. She knocked on the window to get the attention of the young couple inside. Judging from their appearance, they were too strung out to know who she was, or that it was her music that they constantly banged on the wall about. She didn’t care. She still flipped them off before making her way to the stairs. 

Reaching her hand through the busted window of the blue Ford Taurus to unlock the door from the inside. Torren slid into the driver's seat and leaned over to find the two cords that she had pulled out from under the steering column when she stole the car. Flicking the cords together, she listened as the engine reluctantly turned over.

She put the car in reverse, looked in the rear-view mirror at her makeup, then pulled out of the spot. As she turned onto the road leading to the highway, she listened to the knocks, bumps, and hisses that her car made. There wasn't time to do much about it now; not when she was on her way to get her man. But, she made a mental note to do something about it later in the week. The only thing she could do was turn the music up louder to drown out the car noise.

Truthfully, she should have stolen a better car than the piece of shit Taurus that she found in the parking lot of the Quickie Mart while driving through Tulsa, Oklahoma. There were plenty of better cars there to choose from but no one would have wanted to take this one. It was so sad looking that she took pity on it. She had been doing the owner of this crap car a favor, by taking it off of their hands. 

The car was truly fucked. The oil light stayed on, and it drank gas like her mother drank liquor. The car had protested every inch of the ride across the three states that she traveled through in one day. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before that piece of shit breathed its last breath.

She needed to get gas again, but fuck that car. She had already refueled four times since she stole it. Gas wasn't cheap and she wasn't putting another dime in that gas guzzler. Speaking of money, she made a mental note to steal another credit card. It would only be a matter of time before the owner of the one that was tucked snugly between her left breast and strapless bra, would eventually realize that it had been lifted from the table in the diner, and canceled.

Laptop, butt bleaching, car, credit card, and more eyeliner from Walgreen's…her To-Do list was growing. She really needed to take some time off and take care of the necessities. Not tonight, though. She had other things to do. She couldn't do anything else, right now, but get to her man. Besides, once Lothbrok was by her side, he would help her remember all the things she needed to do.

As she came off of the highway exit smoke started billowing out from the engine. It backed up through the exhaust system, and came through the vents, inside the cabin. It was ironic – the air-conditioning vents in the car didn't work, but they seemed to work well enough to clog the inside of the car up with thick white smoke. She drove a few more miles before the smoke was so thick that she could no longer see. As she pulled the car over to the graveled shoulder of the road, the car knocked and shook, before it finally cut off.

Just her fucking luck.

She reached under the dash to flick the cords against each other again, trying to force the ignition to catch again, but it wouldn't. The engine had nothing left to give her. "Fuck Murphy and fuck his fucking law," she said calmly as she pulled the hood release.

She opened the car door, taking care to place both black, platform boots on the ground before lifting her backside from the seat. Placing her sunglasses on her eyes, she walked with one foot in front of the other to the front of the Taurus and placed her hand on the hood. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn't feel under the front of the lever.

As she lifted the heavy metal hood and placed the rod in the slot to hold it in place, Torren let the smoke from the engine engulf her. It was quite a head rush breathing in the thick engine smoke through her nose, and exhaling it from her mouth. She patiently waited for the smoke to thin out before she bent, at the waist, over the engine. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew that someone would see her looking over the engine and stop to help her.

Now, if only someone would actually come down this dark stretch of road, she could be back on her way to Ivar.

It didn't take long before a pair of headlights rounded the bend of the road, just off to her right. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she accentuated the leather, chaps against her hips, and lifted her ass higher in the air, to catch the driver's attention. She couldn't help but smirk when she heard the tires of a large vehicle turn onto the graveled pavement in front of where she broke down. She didn't turn to face the car or the driver. She didn't care who they were or what they looked like. She had an appointment to keep and this pit stop was fucking up her timetable.

"You need some help?" A deep voice asked as its owner approached her.

Torren took a moment to peer around the hood, noticing that there were no other cars around. "Broke down," she answered, continuing to bear her weight from one hip to the other. She placed her hands on the metal frame of the car, arched her back, and looked at the man over her shoulder. "You know something about cars?"

"Yeah," he replied, moving around to her side, looking at her, and not the smoky engine.

She gave him half a smile, as she noticed him notice her. "You a mechanic or something?" She asked standing up. She rubbed her hands together to remove some of the visible engine soot while considering the guy in front of her. He was about 6 feet tall with a moderate build. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and Timberland boots. He didn't look like he was more than 25 years old. Judging from the way he was looking at her and from the ring on his left hand, he wasn't too worried about her car, or his wife, for that matter.

"Nah, not a mechanic, but I work on my own car... in my spare time." He smiled when she did. She was gorgeous, in that slutty kind of way. She wouldn't be dressed like that and leaning over the hood of a car if she wasn't looking to have some fun. "Lemme take a look at it."

Did he work on his car? Hopefully, that meant that his ran better than hers did.

Torren moved over to the side and let him take the position under the hood. "I'll be right back," he explained before walking over to the bed of his F150.

Grabbing a flashlight from the trunk, he took a second to admire the view of her, from behind. If he could get her car moving again, she would hopefully follow him to this cheap motel he knew that was just up the highway.

He leaned in close, taking a whiff of her hair, "You overheated…want to check the coolant level."

She had heard him say something else but she had stopped listening; she was too busy watching the street. "You want me to try to start it?" she asked, removing her sunglasses before making her way to the driver's door. She wasn't sure if he answered or not. She had no intention of driving the Taurus again, even if he could get it started. She just needed to get something out of the car.

She slid into the seat and reached down on the floor. She found the hard metal object on the floor of the passenger's side and gripped it tightly. As she walked back around to the front of the car, she heard him talking, presumably about the car, or maybe he was asking her out. Who the fuck knows? She was on a tight schedule and all of his chatting was holding her up. She stood by the side of the hood, looking at the angle he was leaning over the hood. Quickly, she lifted her arm, and with one powerful blow, she struck him in the head with the crowbar that she used to procure her now-defunct car.

Torren stood over his body, looking at him intensely. God, it felt good. The rush of knowing that one minute this dude was towering over her, and the next he was on the ground. She had dropped his ass. She was the one with the power.

 "Thanks," she said, digging her hand in his pocket to retrieve his cash, credit card, and the keys to his truck. She wiped the blood on the crowbar on his shirt before walking to her new mode of transportation.

Torren sat in the truck's driver's seat and turned on the engine. She had managed to cross two things off of her To-Do list without even planning to.

Thank God the truck had air conditioning. All this heat and humidity was bound to make her hair frizzy. She cranked the AC up as high as it would go and sat still for a moment enjoying the cool air. After a minute, she adjusted the seat and tilted the rearview mirror to look at herself. She was starting to sweat and her eyeliner was starting to run just a bit at the corners of her eyes. She dabbed at the black liner to even out the lines, and then pushed the mirror back to where she could see. Giving the area another once-over, she made sure that no one else had seen her interaction with that guy on the ground, before pulling out from the gravel and onto the paved street.

"Ugh!" Torren yelled. Chester Bradley, the printed name on the credit card, had shitty taste in music. She pushed the stereo button on the steering wheel to do a scan of the radio. Anything was better than country music. Once she found some trap music on the XM radio, she turned up the volume and pulled back onto the highway.

Part iii/

Thirteen seconds…Nia Howard could do a lot in 13 seconds.  For almost 10 minutes, she had been timing herself to see exactly what types of tasks she could perform in that amount of time.  

In 13 seconds Nia could lace her brand new blue and white checked Chuck Taylor Converse tennis shoe.  She was careful to lace the shoe so the strings were only threaded on the outside of the eye-loops, creating one thick solid line across the bridge, hiding the string feeding into the next eye-loop inside the shoe, just like she liked them. This was a trick she learned in Mrs. Hamilton’s 7th grade Math class, and she had been lacing her shoes that way ever since. 

13 seconds was all it took for her to guzzle 10 ounces of the Dasani water bottle sitting on her desk. She probably could have slammed more of the water down her throat, but she wasn’t that thirsty to begin with. Had she been parched, or had it been something that she wanted to drink, she was sure she could have gotten more than 10 ounces down in that amount of time. 

Nia also discovered that she could refill the liquid nicotine and change the filter in her vape, as long as everything was laid out in front of her, in 13 seconds. She was also able to screw the tank back together, but not put the tank back on the battery base before the timer went off.  That part still took her an additional 3 seconds.  Hmm. 

In 13 seconds, she was able to remove the back of the picture frame, take out the photo, and run her thumb over the glossy paper.  It took less than that amount of time for all of the emotions of the day to come flooding back to her as she stared at their first family photo. 

It had snowed at least a foot that day.  But there they were, outside sitting in all of that powder, freezing. Nia, her boyfriend, Alex, and their then 8-week-old Siberian husky, Vlad.  He thought it would be artistic.  She thought it would be cold.  Vlad thought it was fun, running around in snow deeper than he was tall.  But they were still smiling; they were happy.  They were in love.  

Alex was wearing his favorite navy blue The North Face snowsuit, that he had zipped up to his chin. You could only see the side of his pale face, with his cold red cheek, plump pink lips, and those dark lashes covering his incredible blue eyes.  The rest of him was so bundled up, he looked like the abominable snowman.  He loved the cold and the snow.  Growing up here, these snowy days in Denmark were nothing to him.  Nia, however, wasn’t quite as used to it.  It snowed on the East Coast of the US, but not like it did in Denmark.  Her pink and white snowsuit was more for fashion than warmth.  Sitting in the snow in between Alex’s legs, she was freezing and couldn’t wait for them to finish taking pictures.  

However, his arms were warm around her, and though his lips were cold against the side of her face, she could feel his warm breath tickle her ear as he laughed and told her how much he loved her.  She had leaned against his chest and noted how well her pink and white outfit matched his blue one.  Only her dark brown skin made a contrast against the snow and Alex’s complexion, but she still looked as if she belonged.  

She sat with her feet flat on the ground, knees drawn toward her chest bringing their brown and white puppy, the perfect mix between their two tones, closer to the two of them.  While her head leaned into Alex’s kiss, her eyes concentrated on little Vlad in her lap. She had him turned so the camera could capture his one blue eye and one brown eye, while she gently caressed their fur baby, drawing him in for a kiss on his soft, furry head.  

Could they be any cuter?  They were the perfect family.  They were a good looking couple with a good looking dog.  

Thinking about the day that photo was taken quickly made her mind drift back to the first time Alex told her he loved her. She could vividly remember how he grabbed her face and leaned in for that kiss.  The way he pressed his lips to hers, and how it set off every nerve in her body.  She remembered the way her heart fluttered and how she thought she was going to float right out of her skin. But when he pulled away and looked at her with those blue eyes, he grounded her and brought her right back to the spot where he was. When his eyes shifted between hers, desperately searching for some hint that she felt the same, she knew from that moment that he was the one for her.  That entire encounter, the weightlessness, grounding, feeling his eyes look through her and hearing his heart speak her name, couldn’t have taken more than 13 seconds. She was sure it happened all at the same time.

With everything she timed, 13 seconds seemed like it passed in the blink of an eye.  It was manageable if she had a task to complete, but by no means was it a significant amount of time.  So why did it feel like an eternity, each time she watched that damn video clip?  The more she watched it, the longer it became.  That damn 13-second video clip brought out of her a new set of emotions each time she viewed it.

At first, it was shocking.  She couldn’t register anything she saw because she was too surprised at what she saw. The only thing she could process was the feeling of, Huh? 

So, she watched it again, and this time she did so with a goofy smirk on her face. The smirk was the smirk of embarrassment. Embarrassment for her, for him, for them... for not knowing how to feel.  

She had to sit with it for a few minutes before she could watch it a third time. Instead of just jumping right into again, she decided to go back to the original email and reread the message.  She had been so put off by the video that she forgot what it was that she was being asked to do about it.

When she clicked back on the email from her office and skimmed the contents she could only shake her head. Did they actually expect her to handle this?   Really?  She was a publicist.  His publicist, but come on.  This was asking a bit much, no?  There were 14 other people in that damn firm that could have handled this, even if Alex was her client.  He was still a client of the fucking firm. What was she supposed to do?

Without thinking, she put her thumb to her mouth and started biting the cuticle around her new French manicure.  She had been doing so well with that, too. She only bit or picked at the cuticles on her nails when she was nervous or angry – that’s why she made sure to keep her nail appointments every two weeks. She didn’t want to have ugly cuticles on freshly designed nails.  Now she just wasted 264 DKK.

By the third time she watched the video, she went numb.  She couldn’t tell what she felt, all she knew was her mind wouldn’t let her feel anything.  A million different thoughts and emotions swirled around her, but none of them actually hit her, yet. The best way she could explain it was akin to having an out of body experience.  It felt like the glass desk she sitting at was getting further away from her while her laptop screen continued to get smaller.  She started to see the room she sat in as a person watching this scenario from somewhere else, and as long as she wasn’t directly connected to it, she could continue to disassociate with it. Instead, she could only sit there, with her mouth open, staring blankly at this distant laptop screen, unable to process what the fuck she just saw.  

There were no words. No thoughts.  There was nothing.  Only the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins and the sound of her heart breaking in a million pieces, as 13 seconds altered the course of her world.  

Ten minutes had to have passed before Nia clicked the replay button on the YouTube video to watch the clip for the fourth time.  She was in a better place now.  She had gotten up, got a drink of water. Practiced a bunch of things she could do in 13 seconds.  She had refocused.  She could watch it now and deal with it with a clear head. She wasn’t sure how many times she had watched it before – it hadn’t registered. She was still in shock from that initial viewing. But, she needed to watch it again because she had to dissect it.  

Placing her chin in her hand, she didn’t give a fuck if she was transferring her Mahogany Shape Tape foundation and Cocoa Bean Black Radiance pressed powder on her palm.  Fuck the papers that were going to be stained from the makeup transfer.  That was a gripe for another day - black women that wore makeup always had issues with the transfer.  It was the plight of the beauty revolution.  She’d fight that battle another day.  Right now, there more important things to deal with. 

Where the hell were her earphones?  She needed to have the audio go directly into her ears.  There was no time to have the sound filter throughout the loft’s office and possibly get distorted. She needed every word to go directly from the computer, in her ear, and into her brain for immediate translation. Maybe she missed something. Maybe she misinterpreted it. Yea…that was it.  This was on her. It had to be, right?

Plugging in her Beats headphones, she placed them on her ears and turned up the volume on her laptop.  She took in a deep shaky breath and hit the replay button for the fourth time. 

Nope, she hadn’t imagined it.  It was still the same.  He was still having fun, hanging out with those same stupid fucking people.  He was still talking in that same drunken tone.  He still thought everything was so fucking funny and laughed at every fucking thing.  

Why did he do that laugh?  It was laugh he used when he was really tickled.  The one that he accompanied by clapping his hands because he was genuinely amused. It was that laugh that she loved the most.  It was that laugh that made her laugh too, usually.  It was that laugh that brought tears to her eyes.  

What the fuck was he thinking? When was he going to learn? There were so many of these kinds of questions she wanted to ask, but did it matter? Did he ever really have to answer them?  It was always going to be different for him for so many reasons. The question was, did she want to stick it out and deal with it?  

This wasn’t the first time he had done something so irresponsible, so insensitive. She knew it wouldn’t be his last.  The problem was, he never seemed to understand why it was a problem.  Quite frankly, she tired of trying to be his teacher.

Just as she sat the headphones back on the desk, she heard the key in the front door lock.  She didn’t want to deal with him right now. She needed more time to digest everything before she talked to him, otherwise, this wasn’t going to be a productive conversation. 

Nia was not the type of person that liked to argue, let alone, have a conversation when she was angry.  Her words were always carefully weighed, and she very rarely said anything out of anger. Hurting someone’s feelings, being misunderstood, and saying something that she would later regret were things that she tried to avoid.  It wasn’t that she was non-confrontational, she was just reserved, that way.  She didn’t grow up in a house where people yelled or used words to hurt each other.  She didn’t believe in doing that, and she wasn’t going to bring that into her relationship, no matter how passionate Alex could get about a situation.  But the way she was feeling right now, all bets were off.  

“Hallo, Vlad.  Have you been a good boy?” She heard his voice from the hallway rise an entire octave as he addressed their 10-month-old Siberian husky.  She could tell by the way Vlad whined and his paws scratched against the hardwood floors that he was jumping on up Alex.  All of that money they were spending on dog training and Alex was still letting Vlad jump on him. Nia shook her head in irritation.  “I missed you, too, boy.  Where’s Mama, huh?” 

Nia remained frozen to the spot.  She did manage to reach for her vape, on her desk, and noticed how the muscles in her neck and shoulders shook with tension.  Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to unclench her jaw.  She just needed a few more minutes to herself.  If he could just go upstairs, or in another room and leave her alone, she would be able to talk to him about this later. But, knowing him, that wouldn’t happen. 

He would keep pushing and pushing until he found out what was wrong with her and before she knew it they would be in a fight.  A fight that she would be actively participating in.  

“Babe?” He called out, making his way across their loft.  His voice getting closer to her office door. “Hey, babe,” he awkwardly raised his hand in greeting, to accompany his words, followed by his thousand-watt smile. “I got us cheesecake from a new bakery.  Casper speaks highly of them.”

Nia looked at her boyfriend and she could feel the hot sting of tears forming at the back of her eyes. Immediately, she dropped her gaze, not wanting to address him or the situation at the moment.  She managed to nod slowly as she continued to work her now jagged cuticle.

To the rest of the world, Alex Høgh Andersen was the model, actor, and photographer that walked on water, ate bullets, and shit ice cream.  He was the sexy heartthrob that had over a million Instagram followers.  The guy that couldn’t post a picture of taking out the trash without it being sent over 5 continents and 35 countries in a matter of minutes.  He had over 2,000 fan sites, and countless fan fictions written about him…fans adored him the world over and he was only 25. He was fucking perfect.  

To Nia, he was just her Alex.  Her clumsy, silly boyfriend, who never put his clothes in the hamper and always left the toilet seat up.  He was the guy that loved to cook but never cleaned the dishes.  He was the one that was always singing or beat-boxing or banging on something trying to make music.  He was always tried to make people laugh.  He was loud, goofy, and drank too much. He smelled awful after a workout and had the messiest bed head when he let his hair grow.  He sometimes smacked when he chewed and always talked with his mouth full.  He was a clown, but he meant well.  He was sweet, and thoughtful and always treated her like she was the most important woman in the world.  

Nia never had one reason not to trust him...until now.

“Baby,” he took in the expression on her face and rounded the glass desk to where she was sitting.  Kneeling in front of her seat, he turned her swivel chair to face him and took her hands in his, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She raised her eyes wide and looked at a place on the bookshelf, right over his left ear. Refusing to look into those beautiful blue eyes of his and lose her train of thought.  She felt the sweat start at her top lip, something that always happened right before she was about to cry, but she fought the urge.  

“Alex,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but she was pumped full of adrenaline and emotion so it shook involuntarily, “what the fuck?” She pulled her hand from him and turned her laptop toward him.  Hitting the play button on the YouTube video again, she played the 13-second clip for him.  

Alex watched himself, drunk as hell, outside of a night club in Ireland with friends.  He asked his friend to do part of a skit from one of his favorite comedians.  He knew exactly what was on this clip.  He’d seen it, and still thought it was funny. “What’s wrong?”

Nia didn’t say anything, she just let the clip play.  Alex’s friend, Danny, this clout chasing, promoter fuck stood in the shot with him.  Out of Alex’s mouth came the line from Kevin Hart’s Seriously Funny Comedy routine, “Go night, night, nigga?”

He had said it low as if he was talking to Danny, asking him to perform the line from the stand-up.  So what does the little hanger on do?  Danny, who is black, does a really bad, really loud Kevin Hart impression for Alex and the camera, “Go night, night, Nigga!”  

Alex then comes back in the scene and repeats it and they all laugh because it’s so damn funny.  Alex disappears from the screen because he’s laughing so hard, but Danny is still there, shit-talking about having a big dick.  When Alex returns, the two of them end the video with a rousing chorus of “Alright, alright, alright…”  

She didn’t say anything to him, she just looked.  She searched his face for some sort of understanding, some kind of recognition. Something.  But when he turned back to face her and all she saw was confusion she felt her shoulders drop and the first fat tear roll down her face. “Wow.”

“Honey,” he lifted a brow, not quite sure what his crime was.  He knew she didn’t like Danny, but he hadn’t even seen him since he was in Ireland last.  It had to have been a few months. “This was months ago,” he reassured her, with his Danish accent punctuating his English words, “I know you think I drink too much and you don’t like to see me drunk.  It’s no good when it goes viral.  But, we were just fooling around.  It’s nothing to cry about.”  He cupped her cheek in his hand, hand brushed away her tear with his thumb.  His blue eyes moved swiftly between her brown orbs.  “Where did you even find this?”

“Your fucking manager sent it to me, Alex.  They want me to fix this shit.  I’m supposed to make all of this go away.  Me...your fucking black girlfriend - I have to make this racist bullshit you pulled go away.”  She should smack him.  She should.  It would be justified, right? “How in the fuck am I supposed to do that when you think being drunk was the fucking problem with this video?”    

“I’m not a racist,” he said with genuine shock, “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. You never do.” She got up from her chair, suddenly needing to distance herself from him.  “Why do I always have to be the one to educate you?  You are a grown man.  I shouldn’t have to explain this shit!  You DON’T get to say that word, Alex.  EVER.” She pointed a well-manicured finger in his direction, “It’s hurtful.  It’s hateful.  It’s ignorant.  And coming from YOU, it’s fucking devastating.” 

He was confused. What was she so upset about?  What exactly had he done wrong?  Turning around in his place, he slowly stood up and leaned against the desk.  Legs outstretched, arms folded across his chest in a defensive position he could tell that his girlfriend of three years was upset. Not just the regular run of the mill upset, either.  Something he had done had really bothered her.  

“Nia,” he breathed her name with a smirk on his face, “I think you’re making way bigger a deal of this than it is.  Danny was there, he didn’t care.  If I had said something bad, he would have told me.”  He pleaded with his face for her to trust him on this, it was all a misunderstanding.  “We were just joking. Besides, I didn’t say the bad word – the one with the other ending.  I changed it. We were just doing the part from the Kevin Hart comedy.” 

“Alex,” she straightened her posture and spoke very clearly so that he could understand her.  There was something in the way that he was dismissing what she had said to him that was really rubbing her the wrong fucking way, “You are not Kevin Hart.”  She did not crack a smile when he did.  She kept her face stoic and refused to drop his gaze.  “You are not black.  YOU don’t get to use that word, or any variation, thereof.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex relaxed his posture and lifted his face toward the ceiling. Is this what he came home for?  He could have still been hanging out with his friends for all this.  At least they wanted to have fun tonight.  It was a Friday for crying out loud, was this how they were going to start their weekend?  It was the first one in months that neither of them had to work.  They had been planning this weekend for forever, it seemed. They were supposed to be Netflix & chilling, drinking wine, having breakfast in bed…nowhere in their itinerary were they supposed to be fighting over a stupid joke.  

Alex’s hand covered most of his face, as he rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to argue.  He wanted to change out of his hoodie and jeans, and get into some comfortable sweats.  He wanted to feed Vlad and cook dinner with her.  He wanted to eat in front of the TV while they caught up on this season of How to Get Away with Murder, which they promised each other not to watch until they were together.  “Jesus, Nia, why do you always blow things out of proportion?”

“Why do I.. I’m sorry?  Do I always blow things out of proportion?  Really?” She looked around the room as if he were talking to someone else, “Are you fucking shitting me, right now? Blowing shit out of proportion?  Why do you always have to be such an insensitive prick?”  She watched as he threw up his hands and walked out of the room mumbling under his breath.  “Yeah, say that shit in English, Alex, since you have such a grasp of the fucking language.” 

God, she was doing it.  She was doing everything that she never wanted to do when she argued.  She was speaking out of anger.  She losing the point.  She didn’t have one anymore, she was just mad. “Really…I don’t know who the fuck you think you playing with, but I am not the one.”  

Taking off his jacket and throwing it on the couch, Alex turned around to face his girlfriend.  He paid particular attention to the way her chest rose and fell when she was heated like this. He had always thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, but now her anger didn’t match her beauty. “I don’t know what your problem is, Nia, or what you think I did, but I told you, it was a joke.  All of this, it’s not fair to take it out on me.  You owe me an apology for starting on me for no reason when I just walked in the house.”  

He flopped down on the couch and leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose.  He could feel a headache beginning right between his eyes and he knew it was from tension. 

“What part of this don’t you understand?  You offended me. You offended black and brown people all over the fucking world, thanks to YouTube.  I don’t have to apologize for shit.  You and your little fucking troll friend need to be apologizing!” She started walking around in a circle, she felt just that crazy at the moment. 

Nia looked over at the corner to Vlad.  His blue eye and brown eye lowered to the floor in sadness, as his parent argued. Her heart broke for their baby, but it couldn’t be helped. “Obviously your manager thinks this is a big fucking deal if they sent this shit to be fixed.  Alex, you can’t go around offending people.  You are in the public eye, whether you want to be or not. You have fans that are from every walk of life - do you know how many of them you just insulted? You need to be more responsible for your actions and the shit that comes out of your mouth.”  

“Nia, I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.  I hear that word a hundred times a day. It’s not a problem.  It’s in every song. It’s on American TV…Danny and your brother-in-law call me that all the time.  I’m not a racist.  I’m in love with a black woman.”  He found himself raising his voice because no matter what he was saying, she didn’t seem like she was understanding, “One time,” he held his finger up to emphasize his point, “I do a part from a comedy that I like, with my black friend, and you lose your damn mind.”  

“What the fuck, yo?” Was she going crazy? She tried to inhale clean air, and exhale the poison before she spoke, however, it wasn’t helping.  All she could do was rub her temples. “Danish, American...it doesn’t fucking matter does it?”

“What doesn’t?”   

“Your privilege?” She rubbed her temples slowly and tried to crack her neck. “I’m gonna say this real slow so you can translate it into whatever the fuck language you need to understand it.  I don’t care how much trap music you listen to. You don’t get to say that word. I don’t care if you know the words to every Kendrick Lamar song.  You don’t get to say that word.  I don’t care how many black friends you have. You don’t say that word.  I don’t care what my brother-in-law calls you, or me, or the man in the moon.  You don’t say that word.”  

She got closer to the couch and bend down so that he could hear her.  Barely opening her teeth to speak, she made her point crystal clear, “And I certainly don’t care if you are fucking me or a 100 other black girls, it doesn’t make you black.  You still don’t get to say that word!”

“Oh my God, Nia! It’s a fucking word.”

Was she talking to herself?  Was he that clueless?  Where there no words in Danish that meant anything like it?  They had racism all over the world, surely there was a word in his language that used to oppress another culture to the effect that that word had been used to tear down black people, but black Americans especially.  Nia didn’t know what it meant to other black people, she could only tell him what it meant to her.  

“Do you know what’s like to have no identity, Alex?  Do you know what it’s like to still be referred to as the term they used when they listed you in catalogs to be bought and sold like an animal?  It was no different than saying the word ‘cow’ – it was a word to describe cattle. That’s what an entire country thought of people that look like me.  For no other reason than the color of my skin.”  She couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.  She was so beyond mad that her voice was eerily quiet.  “Those people didn’t do anything to deserve it.  They were just born next to the equator.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat.

“That word stripped men of their role in the family and made some impotent and others were turned into bucks that were only good for breeding…it broke them. It made women broodmares, whose job was to have babies to keep plantations going.  Families were sold apart no different than how Vlad was taken from his mother because he’s a dog.” She pointed to their puppy hoping that he would understand, “They thought it was okay to do that to my ancestors because of that word. Alex, I don’t care how much you hear that word. When you say it, that’s what it feels like to me. That I don’t exist.  That Nia doesn’t exist. That I’m no different than Vlad. But, here’s the rub - in all the time we’ve had him I have never once heard you refer to him as a dog.  But now you used the word nigga, and you think it’s funny.  So, I have to wonder now, how do you describe me?”

He was dumbstruck. 

He didn’t mean any of that when he said it.  It was a joke.  It was an homage to Kevin Hart.  It was fucking funny.  He understood that she was hurt, but he didn’t quite get why she was hurting. “I see that this hurt you. I’m sorry about that.  It was not my intention.”  He reached out to touch her and retrieved his hand when she pulled away, “If it was wrong, why didn’t Danny correct me?”

“That little fucker?” God, she hated him.  “Because he set your ass up and you’re too fucking stupid to know it.”  She didn’t mean that.  She didn’t want to hurt him just because he had hurt her.  But she was tired of telling him the same thing over and over again. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that little bastard is not your friend?  Do you remember how we met?  The drunken video he posted of you doing the Haka dance that ended up all over the internet? Do you remember how I had to spin that shit to save your career?”  She rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch. “Whenever you pop a bottle, that little clout chaser is always right there with a fucking camera.”  

“He’s not like that, he’s my friend.”

“He set your ass up! It’s a game, Alex!  Black guys play it all the time.  See if you can make your white friend say the word. Only, I’m surprised he didn’t punch you in the mouth afterward.  Cause that’s what they’d’ve done in the States.  But maybe things worked differently in Ireland.”  

“Whatever,” Letting out a frustrated sigh, Alex resigned.  

“Right. Whatever.” Walking back into her office, she slammed the lid closed on her laptop before throwing it and a few files into her work bag. “Un-fuckin-believable.”  She left out of the office and sat her bag on the floor by the door before she walked across the hardwood floors towards the stairs. “Move, Vlad,” she said lovingly rubbing her big four-legged baby on the head.  

Vlad made no intention of moving as if he was purposely trying to stop her from ascending the stairs.  Instead, the dog looked at her, then back at Alex, before turning his gaze back at her. “Vladimir, honey, I need you to move.” She watched as her 50-pound defiant child laid on the bottom step and put his brown and white head on his paws. “Fine,” she said, skipping a step to climb over him and made her way up the rest of the stairs, rolling her eyes when the dog followed behind her.

Alex followed behind them and stood in the doorway of their bedroom watching as grabbed a handful of items; a t-shirt, toothbrush, and hair scarf. This entire argument had been blown way out of proportion. Now she was leaving?  “Baby, where you going?”

“Away from you.”