naya 🍰

To your dismay, you found the selection of eligible men to spend your time with far more limited than in Palermo. The working young men were too tired from their labor in the fields or their trades to engage in foolish antics with a vacationing foreigner. The rest were mafiosi, as you gathered from the veiled comments and numerous euphemisms the older villagers used. 

These elderly became your companions during your stay in Corleone, talking wildly with their weathered hands over coffee or wine. Filomena, a woman of nearly eighty years and fluent in English, lived in the house next to the one your family was renting. Her husband Gianni only left the house if absolutely necessary, and she considered him a burdensome hermit. Each morning, she fetched you to accompany her into town. Some days, you’d do little else than sit outside of a cafe on the sleepy main street, eating and drinking and gossiping. 

Your Sicilian improved immensely in the near month you kept up with their chatter. Those women always had their ears to the ground, as far as knowing more about your father’s business in Corleone than you did. The vacation he promised you was little more than a gesture of confidence toward Don Manusco, a man notoriously difficult to meet directly with. That your father achieved this naturally generated interest in the village, as no one knew of him. When pressed for more information about your own family’s line of work, you answered what you knew, that your father invested, mostly in stocks, but occasionally in new business ventures. 

You were privy to little else, much to the disappointment of your companions, who moved onto other topics of discussion. One woman’s son sought work in Milan and within three months of getting hired at a factory, married a Northerner, much to her displeasure. In contrast, Filomena’s daughter was cloistered elsewhere in the countryside, preparing to take her vows and become a nun. 

Their superstitions, however, intrigued you most of all. A curse and blessing existed for nearly every conceivable situation. The most striking tale they spun regarded an abandoned villa about a mile past the rental house. Foreboding and hostile, its faded facade peeking out from thorny vines, it was once the envy of the village. At one point in time, though no one could agree quite when, the Don of another family lived there. He took in a strange young man, reclusive yet polite, wandering the countryside with two armed shepherds as bodyguards. He married a local girl, but the marriage ended tragically soon after the wedding. In a sudden blaze of fire and betrayal, she was killed. The strange man vanished not long after, and anyone associated with the villa—including the old Don Tomassino—were soon found dead or had disappeared altogether. Thus, no one dared approach it for fear of the curse surely cast upon the place.

Some of the gruesome murders in the vicinity of the villa could have been attributed to the tradition of violence Don Manusco carried on following Don Tomassino’s death. It didn’t explain the livestock dying of unusual causes, an older woman interjected. Even the land surrounding it was cursed, and the local shepherds knew better than to let their flocks graze nearby, explaining the abnormally tall grass and overgrown foliage that surrounded the villa.

Yet another woman claimed to have seen a demon or ghost in the form of a man wandering the villa’s grounds at night. Of course, she didn’t get close enough to take a good look, instead uttering Hail Marys as she ran into the local church to take refuge until her husband found her some time later.

Your mind drifted to the villa sometimes, this forbidden and mysterious monument to grief and superstition that seemed to cast a longer shadow over the village than the mafiosos who ran it. Like Don Manusco, who your parents were joining for dinner one evening, and Filomena insisted you join her and Gianni instead of eating alone.

The scent of stewing summer tomatoes with garlic and mouth-watering spices invited you inside the house, its windows open for hopes of cool breezes moving through. Gianni offered you wine and a simple antipasto spread of cheese and oranges to snack on while Filomena cooked dinner. Despite his reclusiveness, he somehow knew that your father’s dinner with Don Manusco involved more business than a friendly visit, the final chance for your father to seal what he hoped would be a lucrative deal with the mafia boss.

Two hours later, you sat across from Filomena at the small wooden table in their kitchen, filling your plate with the delicious meal she prepared. You ate silence while Filomena spoke, bickering with Gianni every now and then. As the sun set over Corleone, unease crept over you, though you chose to attribute it to the heat of the day and eating too quickly.

Until a commotion erupted up the street, almost deafening as it approached, finally arriving outside of Filomena’s house. Frantic Sicilian shouting mingled with rapid pounding on the front door startled you into dropping your fork. Filomena and Gianni shared a worried glance before both getting up from the table to answer. 

Wailing. 

Screaming. 

Arguing. 

All you found yourself able to do was sit in confused silence. When they returned to the kitchen with a few other locals, panic truly set in.

“You have to leave!” Filomena cried, pulling you out of your seat by your arm.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Your father’s a fool–”

Gianni shook his head. “A dead fool–”

“Your father should have never brought you here if he were going to try to cheat Don Manusco!” an older woman said.

Another cursed. “Selfish bastard!” 

“Go! As far from here as you can!” Filomena implored.

A hard push toward the back door was the extent of the help you’d receive from the villagers of Corleone. 

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart beating in time with your feet against the uneven dirt path that nearly tripped you up in your desperate rush to the rental home. You opened the door, scrambling upstairs in a frantic half-crawl to reach your room.

You shoved clothes and essentials into a bag, hardly paying attention to what exactly you were packing, just knowing you couldn’t flee empty-handed and hope to rely on the goodwill of strangers. 

In the kitchen, you grabbed what you could from the pantry and shoved everything into a wicker basket. With just that and your suitcase in hand, you clumsily ran across the uneven countryside roads, hoping to find somewhere to take shelter for the night. Every rustle of leaves and animal cry sent chills across your skin. Just when you felt hopeless for a place to hide, you saw the abandoned villa's high walls, overgrown with vines and bramble in the distance. Superstition be damned, it was better than dying at the hands of a mafioso.

The iron gate was closed, but not locked. You held your breath as you opened it, sending out silent thanks to the universe that it didn’t release some otherworldly screech and announce your presence. Hardly visible in the dead of night, the villa peeked out from beneath the plants that had overtaken it. Even from a distance, it appeared as if the building were hollowed out somehow. It remained your best bet. 

Superstition offered you refuge, as masculine voices drifted above the villa’s high walls, the structure still sturdy despite the general state of disrepair.

“Should we go in?”

“You sound as much of a fool as that old man. That place is cursed. Even if she were in there, she'd be dead anyway.”

Their heavy, rushed footsteps against the rocky terrain fell silent after a few moments. You sighed in relief, allowing yourself to relax just the slightest bit. Until you glanced back at the villa again, a new sense of dread making your stomach turn at the prospect of having to go inside the place. While you didn’t believe all of the rumors you’d been told over the previous few weeks, being in its presence unsettled you.

Then again, feeling unsettled in an abandoned villa was preferable to whatever would happen if Don Manusco’s men got his hands on you.

After a moment of hesitation, you approached the shadowy building, hoping your luck wouldn’t run out when you got inside. 

To your surprise, the interior wasn’t as poorly maintained as the exterior. The furniture betrayed the wealth of whoever lived there previously, though they’d seen better days. Dark wood scuffed or splintered. Dull fabrics that must have been rich violets or crimson upon their initial purchase. 

You walked into the living room, freezing upon seeing lit candles around. Someone was living there after all. 

“Hello? Is anyone–” you gasped upon seeing a man standing on the other side of the living room, partially obscured by shadows.

Even in the cover of darkness, his features rendered you speechless as he approached. Handsome seemed too pedestrian of a word to describe him. His raven hair fell across his forehead with a deceptive boyishness. Brown eyes, almost black as the night itself bore into your own. His skin wasn’t nearly as tan as the villagers you’d met, but you supposed someone who lived in such a place was wealthy enough to not have to partake in the grueling manual labor typical of the area, the strong Sicilian sun giving its residents a healthy glow which he lacked. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

“The men who were outside before—I think they’re going to kill me,” you said, panic overtaking your senses as his face remained unmoved by your explanation. “Please, I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

“Why do they want to kill you?”

“I think my father tried to cheat Don Manusco. I don’t know all of the details, but if they don’t want to kill me, then they’ll probably—“ Your voice caught in your throat. 

“You can stay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow and find a way to get back to Palermo.”

He shook his head. “You have a vendetta out against you now. Getting back to Palermo so soon will be nearly impossible, especially if Manusco has allies there.” He watched in unreadable silence as hopelessness ate away at your resolve. “You can stay,” he finally repeated. “Don’t leave the villa. Not during the day, and especially not at night. You’ll be safe.”

“Thank you. I owe you my life.” You offered him your name, as a courtesy and as collateral. More valuable than anything else you carried with you, he could use it to betray you for his own gain whenever he wished. You prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Michael Corleone,” he said.

“Like the village.”

He smiled the slightest bit, his dark eyes shining an almost betraying crimson in the moonlight. Ethereal. That was the right word for him. “Yes, like the village.”

Your host led you upstairs, helping you with your meager belongings despite your insistence you could handle your small suitcase and a basket of food, which you left on the console table in the foyer. The villa had certainly seen better days, its plaster walls cracked, crumbling in some places. You would’ve used caution going up the stairs if Michael hadn’t been so confident as he ascended them. 

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing at each of the doors along the hallway. After a few moments, he seemed to settle on one, leading you to a dark bedroom, full of odd shadows that made you pause. It seemed otherwise better taken care of than the rest of the villa you’d seen up to that point.  

“It’s just me here. I’m afraid I’m not the best homemaker,” he half-joked in response to your hesitation to enter the room. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s nice. I can’t thank you enough, Michael.”

He nodded. “I have insomnia, so you’ll see more of me at night than during the day. The cellar stays locked, but you can have the run of the place otherwise.”

You bid each other good night. 

When he shut the bedroom door behind you, you collapsed onto the bed and cried into your pillow, both from heartbreak and exhaustion, until you fell asleep. 

The following morning, you awoke to fresh bug bites on your arm–inflamed and itchy, though perfectly in line with each other, oddly enough. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and you supposed you’d rather deal with mosquito bites than whatever Don Manusco and his soldiers had in mind for you. 

True to his word, Michael was nowhere to be found when you went downstairs to eat a breakfast of bread and hard salami. Again, not ideal, but you’d make do with what you brought with you. For the rest of the day, you explored the villa, acquainting yourself with your new albeit temporary home.

You found yourself with little to do to pass the time. Venturing out onto the surrounding grounds of the villa was hardly an option, most of it so overgrown you couldn’t take a proper walk. There were a few books in the house, but often you found your mind drifting to your parents, what their fate looked like and what could await you if Don Manusco found out where you were hiding. By the time you’d finally see Michael around in the evenings, you’d force yourself to stay up as long as you could to be in his company. Soon, your schedule nearly matched his nocturnal one.

Over the following weeks, you got to know Michael. At times, you couldn’t help but stare at him, but sometimes it felt as though you couldn’t do much else if you tried. He was a gracious host for how you imposed on him, showing concern for the bug bites you tried to hide from him. A good thing he noticed, as he brought you a cup of tea, a deep maroon color that he explained was a natural remedy from the village for the discomfort you were experiencing. A common occurrence that you’d been fortunate enough to avoid since arriving in Corleone.

“You’re not from around here either,” you said one night. “I can tell from your accent.”

“I’m from New York, but my father was born here,” he explained. “My last name is a mistake from when he immigrated.”

“Do you miss it?”

He was silent for some time, lost in thought before answering with a soft, “Terribly.”

“But you can’t go back.”

“No, I’m very sick. I wouldn’t survive the trip.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your curiosity getting the better of you when you asked, “What do you have?”

“What I have is incredibly rare, there’s no word for it. Sunlight puts me in excruciating pain, and my appetite is abnormal.”

“How long have you been sick for?”

“Years. More than you’d believe.”

“You know, everyone in the village thinks this place is cursed. If you just talked to them, then they’d understand what was going on and maybe be able to help.”

“I can’t be around people. It’s not safe for them.”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you contagious?”

He hesitated. “Not how you’d think.”

“No matter what you have, it’s not good to be alone,” you argued.

“You’re here now.”

“Only until it’s safe for me to go to Palermo and leave Sicily.”

He shook his head. “You won’t be able to leave. Not when a man like Don Manusco has a vendetta out against you,” he said, his intense gaze boring into you. Your chest grew tighter as he spoke. “This villa is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just know what he did to your parents…he and men like him have done to many others on this island, too.” Your silence perturbed him. He grabbed your shoulders, squeezing them gently, though his eyes seemed to blaze with fury. “I’m keeping you safe here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice nearly catching in your throat.

“Then what’s there to be afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s right, as long as you stay here.”

“I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed dismissively, not bothering to acknowledge your statement. You soon excused yourself to go to sleep, a sudden uneasiness settling in your stomach.

You awoke late into the afternoon the following day, judging by the amber sunlight that streamed through the broken shutters. Still, your limbs felt heavy, and your head pounded as if you’d hardly slept at all. A quick glance at your arm revealed twin bug bites on your wrist again, this time darker than the previous ones, leaving your skin tender to the touch. 

Dizziness turned the room over when you sat up from the bed, and you nearly considered going back to sleep, if it weren’t for the hunger that ached in your bones. 

You ventured down into the kitchen, relieved to find a pot of tea sitting out. You didn’t even bother reheating it, though the consistency was odd, thicker in its room temperature state. The texture didn’t deter you, as the more you drank, the better you felt, your dizziness and aches gone as the tea overflowed from the corners of your mouth and dripped down your chin, insatiable until there was nothing left. Wiping off your face, you went back up to your room and fell back asleep.

A knock on the door woke you up in the pitch black some hours later. You lit the candle on your bedside table before getting up to answer. You knew it was Michael, concerned about why you hadn’t joined him yet. 

Just as you got up to answer, he opened the door, letting himself into your room–except it wasn’t your room. It was his, and you supposed he could enter whenever he wanted. 

Frozen in place by his gaze alone, you stood still and silent as he approached, demeanor darker and more intense as his presence filled the room, as if his essence somehow intermixed with each breath you took. A citrusy sweetness with a bloodcurdling undercurrent of violence filled your lungs. Despite this, you felt no fear, but rather anticipation when he finally reached out and caressed your cheek, his hand freezing against your warm skin.

“Michael,” you whispered.

“Don’t fight me, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t. Not even if you tried. His eyes took in your face with a softness that betrayed his fondness for you. His lips pressed against yours, a chaste kiss to start, but it proved to be insufficient for him, as he claimed your mouth with the fervor of a man long starved for affection. His desire for you tangible as you kissed him back, allowing his hands to roam your body above your nightgown until his fingers brushed your thighs, pushing the hem up to your hips. 

He laid you back on the bed, ridding you of your panties and slipping his fingers between your folds. “Tell me how it feels,” he said, his lips against your skin. “Tell me everything.”

Before then, you would have died rather than admit it to him, but at his urging, the dam broke. Of course your thoughts of him weren’t always innocent. Some nights, when you were sure he was elsewhere, you touched yourself to the thought of him. The confession slipped from your mouth so quickly that shame couldn’t catch you, not when Michael pushed his fingers inside you, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit, denying you any sensation but absolute pleasure. 

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you,” he whispered, pressing desperate kisses into your neck. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me not to–”

Your whine interrupted his train of thought, and a knife-sharp pain jolted through you when he sunk his teeth into your throat, breaking the fragile skin. His fingers curled inside you, a moan clawing its way out of you as you came, ecstasy pulsing through your limbs in waves that threatened to drown you in it. Spots clouded your vision and breath evaded you, the poignant scent of copper mixed with your sex made your head spin. 

“Michael, I–” You passed out, though you awoke later, curled up next to him, your body sore and more fatigued than ever. You winced when you tried to move your head, a dull ache coming from your neck. “What did you do?” you mumbled.

“Sweetheart?”

“To my neck.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, petting your hair. “I got carried away. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“Me either,” you admitted. 

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. From then on, he was ravenous, and like a woman possessed, you gave in to him every time. Nights with him blurred together as thoughts of escaping Sicily and the danger that waited for you outside of the villa walls were almost nonexistent. 

Some time later, though you’d largely stopped keeping track of the days by then, you realized your food supply was running low. Michael would go out at night and get some for you if you asked, though he never revealed where exactly he went. Still unsure of your safety from Don Manusco, you figured the farm up the road would be a good place to swipe some fruit from the orchard and anything else they might have lying around and not exactly miss.

The sun felt especially harsh when you went outside. Each step brought about unimaginable fatigue that made your bones ache. You hardly made it halfway to the farm before you had to rest beneath a large tree’s shade to rest your tired limbs and eyes. 

“Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?” 

You jolted awake, surrounded by a handful of elderly villagers from around the countryside. You recognized at least one of the older women as one of your old cafe companions in Corleone.

“I’m fine.”

The woman in question squinted at you. “Where do I know you from?”

“We’ve never met before,” you said, voice tight with panic. “I have to go. Goodbye.” You forced yourself up, using what little strength you had to return to the villa, ignoring their calls for you to wait. Exhaustion swept over you by the time you made it inside, promptly collapsing in the foyer. They had recognized you, and surely they had seen you retreat into the villa and were on their way to let Don Manusco know of your whereabouts. They’d be foolish not to with the price on your head.

Michael was nowhere to be found, and you worried that by the time you finally saw him that night, it’d be too late to tell him what transpired. Tears rolled down your cheeks as fear and guilt crept up on you. Your carelessness had put Michael in danger, too.

With no way of knowing how long it’d be until word got back to Manusco, you considered the layout of the villa, which you knew like the back of your hand, and the best place to hide if he or his men intruded in search of you.

In hindsight, the kitchen cupboard was a more obvious choice for a hiding spot, but it was the most your fatigued brain could come up with while you were panicked. 

Your instincts had been right, though. The inevitable intrusion did come.

The voices that echoed through the foyer were the same ones from the night you first arrived in the villa. You kept a hand over your mouth, the other with an iron grip around the kitchen knife. 

“Come on, Don Manusco isn’t angry with you. He just wants to talk,” one of the men called out.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” the other added. “He knows you didn’t have anything to do with your father’s schemes.”

You couldn’t take a chance on whether or not they were telling the truth. 

Footsteps approached, growing louder with each passing second. You readied yourself for attack, until you heard a blood-curdling scream rip through the night and you dropped the knife in shock. 

With all of the foolishness of your father, you opened the cupboard door. Blood pooled around the man’s head, a look of terror etched into his face, betraying his final thoughts. Your gaze lifted, and you stumbled backward, unable to comprehend the gruesome sight before you. If you hadn’t been watching Michael with your own eyes, you would have assumed an animal attack was responsible for the carnage at your feet. What more, after the initial shock wore off, an almost physical pull drew you to the spilled blood.

The villagers had been right. It wasn’t mere superstition, but reality, one more horrific than any of them could have fathomed. The unexplained murders, the livestock deaths, all by his hand. His illness a fabrication to conceal the true nature of his being, something unnatural that existed in the worlds between life and death with a hunger to match. He’d been feeding from you for weeks, allowing you to carry on believing lies. Of course you felt awful, constantly fatigued. You could only hazard a guess as to what was really in the tea you’d been drinking like a fiend.

You wished you could scream at yourself for your naivete, as if he’d help you out of the kindness of his heart and not expect something in return. Your willful ignorance of his odd behavior in exchange for refuge in the one place where you’d be safe from who you thought were the only men who wanted to harm you. But he saved you from Don Manusco and his men. He kept you alive. He could gain little from drawing out your death for so long. Unless…your eyes widened, and you looked at him in horror.

Michael spoke your name softly. “Do you understand now?”

“You–You’ve been making me like you.”

“I should have done it sooner. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have believed me?”

“I guess not.”

He cupped your face in his hands, “Things won’t be that different. We’ll be together. No one will be able to hurt you.” 

“How–How much longer until I’m–”

“As soon as tonight, if you’ll let me.” Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a bloody kiss to your forehead. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the urge to trust him, to commit to an eternity of all-consuming, reclusive violence with him. “I want to be with you. I want to be like you.”

A weak groan leaves your lips when he presents them to you. “I don’t like driving your car,” you whine, huffing out a breath. Bruce just smiles at you and chuckles, keys still held out to you.

“You know, we have a few cars,” he says, scoffing when you rolls your eyes and start shaking your head. “Oh, cmon!”

“I don’t like driving any of your cars!” You say, batting at his hand. Bruce holds his hands up in the air, the keys to his extremely fast sports held in his fingers. Technically they’re not only his cars, but other than the one you drive everyday, Bruce picked them out, thus making them vehicles only he would drive. You eye them and glance down at your watch. “Shit, I’m so late.” You murmur. “Fine, give them to me.” You hold out your hand for his keys and he drops them into your palm.

“It won’t be that bad,” he says, reaching for your waist and pulling you towards him. Bruce smiles when you frown, and leans down to kiss you, but your angle your face away from him.

“I’m wearing lip gloss.”

He blinks at you, confusion etched on his features. “I don’t care?” He goes to lean back in and you turn your face so his lips get your cheek instead.

“I don’t want you ruining it, I’m already late,” you say, empathetically rubbing his bicep. He frowns at you, annoyance clear in the way his jaw ticks. “Alright let me go so I can leave.” You pat his chest, but his hold on you remains stiff.

“You’re not going to give me a kiss?”

You smile and offer him your cheek again, your shiny lips taunting him. Rolling his eyes, Bruce sighs and begrudgingly presses his lips to your cheek before letting you go, muttering a ‘drive safe’ on your way out the door.

Later, on your way home from your errands you get a call from Dick. Clicking answer, the static from his end of the line coming through the car speakers. “Hello?”

“Hey. What’s wrong with the old man?” He sounds a little out of breath like he’s been jogging or something.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been on our ass today, more than usual. Did you guys fight, or something?” He asks. You can hear faint grunts and the sound of a punching bag in the background of the phone call.

Your eyebrows furrow. “No,” but you say it with a lilt to your voice.

“Well can you fix it, then? Because I feel like I want to fight him, and I’m smarter than that,” you snort at his words and nod to yourself.

“Yes, I can fix it. Bye, Dick—and good luck.”

The phone call ends and when you come to a red light you dial Bruce’s number, a small smile on your face. Bruce was canonically hard on all of the young justice heroes, so it was a little funny to get a call about his attitude even still. The line rings and rings, and finally he picks up. “Yes?”

His tone and greeting take you aback, and you blink once before replying. “Hello to you too, honey,” you chuckle.

“I’m a little busy, y/n. Are you alright?”

“Yes, Bruce. What’s up with this attitude?” He’s quiet on the other line like he’s contemplating his next set of words. You wait, but almost laugh because of the silent standoff you’re having over the phone.

"I don't have an attitude. I am just busy," he says calmly, the tone in his voice significantly different compared to when he answered the phone. This time its more even, still clipped, but less hostile and cold. "I take it you're on the way home?"

"Mhm."

A pause, and then. "Come to the Bat Cave when you get home," His voice is much softer now, and you smile to yourself. There he is, your giant soft-hearted brooder of a husband.

You tell him you'll see him soon, and then the two of you hang up.

About fifteen minutes later, you pull up the manor. You reach over into the front seat, grabbing the items you picked up while you were out, before hopping out of Bruces car. The front door is open before you walk up the steps, Alfred standing beside it with a pleasant smile on his face. “Thanks, Alfie,” you say with a bright smile, waving him off when he offers to grab something from you. “I’ve got it. Should’ve called that husband of mine.” You joke as he closes the door behind you.

“I can go get Master Bruce, ma’am,” he says politely. You open your mouth to tell him it’s not a big deal, but think better of it and nod, a sly smile working its way onto your face. “Very well. I’ll be right back.” Alfred leaves the foyer and you set the few bags that you have down by your feet.

A few moments later, Bruce rounds the corner to the front of the house in his typical training outfit: black tshirt and black sweats. His face is flushed and sweat trickles down his temple to his jaw then neck, and catches at the material of his tshirt. He eyes you and the bags by your feet and presses his lips into a line, sighing through his nose.

You can’t help but smile at his behavior, watching him pick up the bags in amusement and following him up the stairs. “Hi, baby,” you say once you’re sure Alfred is out of earshot, your tone teasing.

“Hello, y/n,” he says gruffly, setting the bags down on the chaise in your bedroom before spinning around to leave, but you block him, arms coming to lock around his midsection. A mocking frown is on your lips at the use of your first name, and not a pet name like he usually calls you.

“I’m not your baby anymore?” You tease, pulling him closer to you even though his shirt is slightly damp with sweat. Bruce just looks down the slope of his nose at you, expression bored and unamused. You only smile at him, which makes the corner of his lip twitch and forces him to look away from you. “You don’t say hi to me, won’t call me baby and now you won’t look at me? You haven’t even tried to kiss me.” You pinch him when you see him roll his eyes.

“You have lipstick on,” he says simply, finally returning his eyes to you. Your jaw falls open slightly, eyebrows raising as a scoff of a laugh leaves you lips. Bruce only quirks an eyebrow at you, and you pinch him in his side again.

“You are so dramatic!” You say, laughing at the realization. Bruce only rolls his eyes again and tries (barely) to pry your arms off of him, mumbling something about having to go back to training. “No, you’re not going anywhere, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce lets out a huff of air through his nose. “They are waiting on me.”

“Dick said you’re being mean.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I am only preparing them for real threats. If he thinks it’s ‘mean’, then maybe he should- oh my god, Bruce!” You laugh again, cutting him off. Bruce frowns at you, sighing through his mouth and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You are! You are very dramatic today, Mr. Wayne. I didn’t know you needed a kiss to have a good day,” you tease. He rolls his eyes but a faint blush dusts his cheeks, his lip twitching again. You smile and uncross his arms and wrap them around your waist, your own encircling around his neck. “Do you want a kiss, Bruce?” You tease.

“Yes,” he murmurs, already leaning down to bring his lips down to yours. You smile against his lips before pressing back into him, fingers stroking the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

Bruce holds your tightly against him, one arm tightly around your waist and the other on your upper back. He kisses you like he’s been dying without your lips against his, his body relaxing and his shoulders finally sagging. Bruce pulls you impossibly closer, pulling you up onto your toes despite the fact that you are wearing heels.

When you two pull apart, his features are visibly softer than before. "Feel better?" you ask, a little breathless. He shakes his head and kisses you again, chest swelling when you giggle and stroke the side of his neck. Bruce lets out a small moan and only holds you tighter against him when he feels you start to pull back.

He slips his tongue into your mouth easily when you provide an opening, and you start to walk him in the direction of the bed. Bruce lets you, pulling the both of you down onto the mattress. You pull back to catch your breath, a shy smile on your face as you look down at Bruce who is equally breathless.

Bruce's lips shine with traces of your lipgloss and you push him flat onto the bed and crawl on top of him, bringing your thumb up to wipe away the residue. "Now do you feel better?" you ask, hair falling in front of you face.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

The group has planned this road trip for months.

As soon as you heard that Angelina's family has a lake house, you're all excited to go there and spend the summer in a cool lake while enjoying the hot sun. After all, it's going to be the last year in Hogwarts for you all as soon as the summer break is over. So Lee gives the idea to spend the summer at Angelina's lake house.

Thankfully, Angelina's father was kind enough to lend the group a van for this trip. And you, being a muggleborn, same as Lee and Angelina, had no choice but to take turns driving until you reached the lake house. The plan was simple: drive for 4 hours, refill the petrol, and keep an eye on the map.

The problem is, Angelina's lake house is out of nowhere.

And it's definitely a problem because the three of you, being the drivers, sometimes take a wrong turn whenever there are two roads in front of you. Not to mention, Fred and George couldn't keep their mouths shut for the whole ride. So for the entire trip, you all have no choice but to listen to their chatter filled with not-so-funny jokes. It's sort of clear to you that the ride is starting to bore them, so they just did what they had to do. Annoy people, you'd consider.

"For Merlin's sake, can you two be quiet for a while?" Alicia groaned on your shoulder. She's been trying to fall asleep for the entire trip, but Fred has been talking about the time when he and George pranked his poor brother Percy.

"What's the problem, Spinnet? It's a bedtime story!" exclaimed George as he laughed along with his brother. His gaze turned towards you as he asked, "You don't mind, do you?"

You shrugged as you let Alicia lay her head on your shoulder again, "Just let her have her peace."

George playfully scoffed as he heard your response, clearly not impressed by your answer.

"That's a bummer. I'd rather you be the driver instead. I feel sick now!" Fred complained sarcastically. He's fully aware that it's Angelina's turn to drive right now, and he knows that she and Lee are struggling to keep an eye on the map right now.

"I have ears, Weasley."

"Shocking!"

Alas, Angelina just decided to ignore Fred's behaviour. Still, you can definitely see that they're both struggling in front of the car. "Everything alright there?" you asked with concern etched on your face. It may be your turn to keep an eye on the map now. But unfortunately, you can't move since Alicia has finally fallen asleep on your shoulder.

"Can you read the map?" Lee turned towards you as he passed the map. The van stopped while you tried to read the map, and a frown immediately formed on your face. "I'm sure we're close by now?" You raised an eyebrow as you threw the map back towards him.

"I see no lake," George murmured.

"Say, Angelina. How come you have no idea where your lake house is?" questioned Fred while looking out of the window. You're all stuck in the middle of nowhere, few cars are passing by, and the six of you are stuck between two roads given, and you don't know which one to take.

Angelina scoffed as she tried to defend herself, "Do you think I paid attention every time I went to the house every summer?"

"You go every summer and still have no idea where the house is?" Lee asked with genuine curiosity. He frustratingly threw the map to the backseat again. George immediately caught the crumpled paper and sat beside you as he helped you to navigate the road again.

"Bloody hell," you groaned with a sigh as you could feel Alicia shift a bit as you continued to speak, "Just turn right! What the hell are we arguing about?"

Angelina and Lee immediately turned back to you, their eyes widened. "Are you sure you're not bluffing?" You pass the map to Lee again with a glare, "I swear on Merlin.”

Finally, after a minute of discussing, Angelina turned the van on and started driving again. You can feel that you're all already close to the lake house, a hint of relief finally coming through you as you can see a glimpse of the huge lake through the window.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" George asked as he glanced at you, but before you could answer him, a popping sound on the road was followed by a flapping noise.

"Shit!"

"What is that?" Alicia mumbled while yawning, slowly gaining consciousness after sleeping for almost 30 minutes. Angelina is the quick one to panic and immediately hits Lee as she says, "Go check it!"

"Can't. I'm holding a map here so we won't get lost— You check it!" Lee responded as he pointed at you, "Oh, hell no. I can't move!" you reasoned while patting Alicia, who's still half-asleep on your shoulder.

"George? Fred?" You raised an eyebrow at the twins. You can tell that they're starting to bicker again just to decide what's happening to the van. "Get out of the car," George argued while swatting his twin brother, "No! She calls your name first— She wants you to check it!"

"That doesn't make any sense—"

"Are you two seriously arguing about this?" Angelina shouts, still with her panicked tone. Of course, you'd understand why she's panicking, after all, it's her father's van and it took her almost weeks just to get him to convince her that she'll take care of the car. Undoubtedly, she feels like she might face another scolding from her parents again.

You slowly take a glance at George, and surprisingly, it's quick enough for him to return your glance as you nod, wishing him just to check the goddamn car.

"Fine," George grumbled as he slid the van's door. While stepping outside, he checks around the van, they're stuck in the middle of the hill with… A flat tyre on the back of the car.

"Flat tyre!" George shouted, still observing the tyre with a frown. "What did he say?" Fred asked tauntingly inside the van, "A fucking flat tyre! You heard me!" he shouted back.

The people inside the van immediately panicked, you're all in the middle of nowhere and have a flat tyre. That's great, you thought, that's just so fucking great.

While outside, George starts to notice that the van is slowly moving, but instead of going forward… Is it going backwards? Stupidly enough, he immediately ran to the back of the car and tried his best to get in the car.

"The handbrake!"

His voice is muffled inside the car, and it's not helping that Angelina is panicking in the driver's seat. "Is that your lake house, Angie?" Alicia pointed out while rubbing her eyes. You slowly shifted to take a better look at the house. It's true, there's an old house there at the side of the lake.

"Oh— Oh! Yes! That is my lake house!" Angelina cried happily, "We can just walk to the house and leave the van here, right, guys?"

"Hold on, why are we still moving?" Fred frowns while holding his chin up, clearly everyone of you started to notice that, indeed, the van is moving backwards, down the small hill. "You idiot! The handbrake!" Lee exclaims as he finally pulls the brake to hold the van.

A sound of a thud was immediately heard by everyone in the van. You guys must hit something or someone.

"Do you guys hear that—"

"George!" you exclaimed with a pang of worry as you immediately got out of the car, only to find George Weasley lying down on the muddy ground, completely unconscious.

Everyone gets out of the van as soon as possible. "Oh my god, did we just kill him?" Lee asked as he knelt on the ground, observing the poor guy on the ground. "Don't say that," you argued back with a glare, while Fred and Lee just checked on George with no worries at all on their faces. Perhaps you worry too much; after all, George had been through worse, such as getting hit by the bludger in the middle of the Quidditch practice.

"Girls, let's carry him," Fred offered jokingly while he slowly put George's left hand on his shoulder, preparing to swing carry him.

"No thanks," Alicia murmured, and Angelina just nodded beside her.

"You want to help me carry him, right?" Fred turned to you with a smirk. As if he knows something that you don't. It's irritating, you admit, but he's always been annoying when it comes towards you and George. "Why can't Lee help you?" you raised an eyebrow, still eyeing the unconscious George.

"Oh, no, no. He's busy; he'll carry all the luggage we have in the backseat. You will help me, m'lady," he replied smugly as you rolled your eyes. You were so close to slapping him, but decided not to. Perhaps it's best to help one of your closest friends first before taking it all out to his twin brother.

"Just wrap his hand on your shoulder and hold his leg with your other hand," the older twin commanded, and you only nodded in desperation. If George is conscious right now and aware that you were helping him, you know damn well that he's either going to semi-consciously flirt with you, or it's Fred who's going to tease both of you for being 'lovebirds'.

It's sickening.

But it's also sickening that you happen to be head over heels for George. It's never part of your plans, after all, you just happened to be one of his closest friends. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't help but just stare at him while you were helping him with his potion essay, and you couldn't help but fluster every time you caught George staring at you during classes.

"Blimey, how could someone this skinny be this heavy?" you complained while walking towards the lake house, but at the same time, you feel a bit of relief that you're all arrived at the destination safely (except George, of course).

"Where's the key, Angie?" Alicia asked as she put down some of the luggage while admiring the lake. You can tell she couldn't wait to dip into the lake as soon as possible.

"Oh, wait. I must have left it in the van then," Angelina answered while she walked back to the car. Lee, on the other hand, just took a look around the lake house and murmured, "It's a bit creepy, isn't it?"

You scoffed in response to him, "Aren't you a ray of sunshine?"

"Oh, come on! Aren't you a bit scared? A flat tyre? George getting hit? What's next—"

You all immediately turned to Angelina, who was shouting from afar, trying her best not to panic, "Guys! I couldn't find the key!"

Everyone groaned, including you. Perhaps this trip is starting to get doomed. Lee turned towards you and gave his 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Blimey, hold him." Fred removed George's hand from his shoulder and walked back towards the van.

"Hey!" you're about to protest, but it's no use; that boy leaves you with his heavy, unconscious twin brother in your hands on purpose. You immediately struggled to keep holding George and could only keep him from behind by his underarm as his body was limp and heavy in your grasp.

After a while, you can see Fred running back towards the group as he complained, "For Merlin's sake! There are no keys!"

"Are you fucking serious?" Alicia scowled, "because if you do it's not fucking funny!"

Angelina tried to catch her breath as she spoke, "Fuck it! We're breaking in—" she reached out for the nearest pebble and immediately hit the window and broke the glass.

"Bloody hell, woman," Lee murmured. It's actually very rare to see Angelina Johnson crash out like that, at least not in front of the boys.

You raised an eyebrow at her, "Have you ever thought of unlocking charm?" You can feel George slowly sliding down in your arms. After all, holding him through his underarms is not the best way to carry an unconscious person. Not to mention, he's incredibly heavy.

"Can't you mention it sooner—"

"Found it!" cheered Fred as he raised his hand to show the key. Turns out, he's been checking the dried flower pots around the lake house while Angelina has a mental breakdown about her carelessness.

—

The group finally settled inside the lake house, while you and Fred slowly tried to lay George down on the nearest couch. There's still no sign of him being awake anytime soon.

"We're lucky… for now," Lee mumbled behind you. "You gotta stop that!" you raised your voice, putting your hands on your hips.

Alicia enters the living room after putting down her luggage, "Now to think about it, maybe Lee's right. What if bad luck is following us?"

"You all need to stop taking divination class," you frown. "You guys act like Trelawney, I swear to God! It's so stupid, there's no such thing as bad luck—"

"What is that?" Angelina pointed her finger at the window. You, Alicia, and Lee immediately approach her, looking out the window. Sure enough, there's a figure near the van that Angelina parked outside the house. You couldn't tell what it is, but it looks like Bigfoot? A man?

“What the hell?” Lee cursed.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s probably the twins who tried to scare us,” you reasoned, mostly trying to convince yourself that everything’s fine. “Ouch, I’m wounded,” said Fred dramatically. He was actually kneeling in front of George, trying to see his brother's injury, but then he decided to get up and tried to look out at the figure you were all whining about.

Alicia stepped back and groaned, “That’s it, we’re cursed! First, we have a flat tyre and George’s dying, we couldn’t find the key to the lake house, and now someone tried to kill us!”

“Don’t you think you’re all being too dramatic?” you asked the others, but you couldn’t hide the fact that you’re starting to have goosebumps because of the situation.

Then a lightning strike.

Which is odd since it’s summer and now it’s raining. But what makes it worse is that the electricity went off after another lightning strike. You’re starting to think that maybe the others were right. You are all cursed for no reason at all. “That’s it. That’s my final straw,” Lee sighed as he threw his hand in desperation. “We’re trapped,” Angelina murmured, staring at the heavy rain. “Oh, poor Georgie,” she continued. At this point, you couldn’t put up your words anyway.

“Guys?” a voice mumbled weakly.

“It’s like he’s still with us,” Lee said as he put his palms together. The group stared at the window together, watching another lightning rumble for the third time.

“Can I get a glass of water please?” George whispered.

“He was a good man,” Fred joined. The atmosphere is solemn, and a part of you thinks that your friends are a little bit dramatic, but perhaps they're right in some ways. You all truly are cursed by now. “He was,” the others agreed with a sad tone.

“Guys…?”

“Would you shut the fuck up, George?!”

The group immediately turned towards the finally conscious George on the couch. George being finally awake brings a sort of comfort to you; at least you're not so doomed for now. “Now, now. Be careful, head trauma causes memory loss. What if he thinks we kidnapped him?” Alicia asked with genuine curiosity.

“Don't be daft,” you answered as you knelt down to check if he was bleeding or not. “Who's the president of the United States?”

George turned to you with a frown, “I don't know that… Do you know that?”

You shook your head, admitting it was a stupid question coming from you. “Look, I'm fine, I think,” George said as he sat down.

“You think?” you scolded him. Now, everyone stared at him weirdly, “He's showing signs of concussion.” Angelina crossed her arms sarcastically, and the group just nodded in agreement.

“I.. I saw a tunnel,” George mumbled, his gaze turned into a solemn stare. “Only it was made out of a tree… Hundreds of trees are overgrown and intertwined. Then there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and a voice as if from nowhere… Whispering to me… ‘walk towards the light,’ it said.”

You all listened to George ponder in silence, but as soon as he closed his mouth, Fred interrupted, “I'm absolutely starving.”

“Aye, me too,” agreed Lee as he got up and was followed by the others. “Now I wonder where all the food might be,” Alicia mumbled while following the others. The sky is getting darker due to rain, and you can definitely feel another goosebump coming right through you again. It’s also not helpful that the power outage makes the house feel creepier than it should.

—

Now, the situation is that you all forgot to stop at a supermarket just to buy food. Luckily enough, Angelina’s mum packed some instant soup for the six of you to eat for a night. “I made us some broth,” she offered while the others just sat lazily on the couch. “It's called soup,” Fred commented while yawning; his words were mostly just an attempt to get a rise out of Angelina.

After all, it’s just pure boredom right now. No electricity, no food, just stuck in the heavy rain, and what makes it worse is that the lake house is way more creepy at night, especially if there’s no source of light.

“Soup is broth, broth is soup. Vice versa,” she argued, giving out the bowls of soup to each one of you.

“Soup is soup, and broth is something used to poison people in a horror movie,” Lee said as he refused to take the bowl.

Alicia continued, “Seriously, Angie. As if this place isn’t creepy enough!”

You only watch your friends argue while sipping your soup in silence. “It’s freezing,” George whined beside you. Everybody suddenly turned towards him. “There’s no electricity, George,” Lee stated in a bitter tone, “I am so fucking bored!”

“Don’t even start, Lee,” you grumbled. “You’re the one who started with this bad luck bullshit.”

Alicia, on the other hand, just casually wanders around the living room with her wand as the light source. “Bloody hell, look at this!” she exclaimed as she picked up an old photograph. The group immediately approached her with curiosity.

Betty and William. 1941.

“Are they your grandparents, Angie?” you asked, looking at the old couple in the picture. “No, my great-grandparents,” Angelina answered. She looks interested in the picture as well, perhaps she has never noticed her great-grandparents' picture before. Alicia then flipped the picture and gaped, “His dead notice!”

“He died really young,” she murmured, and you all nodded. “William didn’t fight it. He walked towards the light!” George points out with an enthusiastic gaze.

“For Merlin’s sake, will you shut the fuck up about your near-death experience, George?” Fred complained. It’s been an hour and George still couldn’t shut his mouth about a tunnel he saw when he was unconscious, but the five of you decided not to listen to him every time he brought up his tunnel.

Lee stepped back as he turned off the lightning charm on his wand. “Maybe William’s still here.”

“What? Like in one of these vases?” Fred questioned with a frown. “No, I mean his spirit is still here… Maybe he loved Betty so much that he wanted to stay and watch over her.” Lee continued, you couldn’t tell if he’s trying to mess with you or not, but you find yourself leaning toward George's presence just to find comfort. “Hey, you're okay,” he whispered to you, slowly sliding his hand onto yours.

“Lovebirds,” Fred mouthed in front of you both, making you irritated on purpose.

“...Maybe they both are,” Lee mumbled again, “I know this sounds really mad, but I do feel something here… like a presence, it’s like we’re not alone.”

A silence in the room. You all switched up your gaze towards each other, not knowing what to do next.

Until you hear glass smash.

The problem is that there are six of you in the living room. You, George, Angelina, Fred, Alicia, and Lee. No one else. What the fuck could that be? Alicia is the first one to react; she immediately screamed at the top of her lungs and ran upstairs. You and Angelina followed her directly, and you’ve never felt this scared before. Even if it’s one of the twins' and Lee’s prank ideas, you admit this is too far, but seeing Fred and George's reactions, it looks like Lee’s words start to get through to them too.

—

The six of you ended up hiding in the master bedroom. Angelina said that this room also happens to belong to her grandparents. Which is great, that also means this room has been passed down from generation to generation!

But for now, you all are just pathetic teenagers who are trying to hide from whatever the fuck is happening out there. You are even willing to squeeze each other just to fit on the bed. Perhaps sharing a king-size bed with five people is already a bad idea, but you have all agreed for the boys to lie down across you girls.

“They’re angry at us,” Alicia said while hugging a pillow, seeking any comfort from it. “Why would they be angry at us? What the hell have we done to Angelina’s great-grandparents except try to enjoy a nice vacation?” Fred grunted, but his gaze immediately fell towards you and George as he noticed you both were communicating through your eyes.

“What?” George frowned as soon as he realised Fred had been inspecting you two again.

“You and your damn tunnel, that’s what it is,” the older twin grumbled.

Alicia sighed dramatically, “Oh, we will perish here! We will perish in this place!” Lee throws his hands in desperation, “Great. I’m going to die a virgin.”

“To be fair, that was always on the cards,” Fred commented in a low voice.

The sound of thunder rumbling for the umpteenth time made the atmosphere more tense. You slowly try to steal a glance towards George, who’s sitting across from you, only to find he’s been staring at you too. An awkward silence lingered between both of you, not to mention Fred has probably already noticed that you and George are communicating through eyes again, and he’s not going to be silent about it. “Look, we have to keep our wits about us tonight,” you said as you pulled the blanket.

Everyone immediately nodded. “Be alert and be on guard,” Angelina followed while lying down and getting ready to sleep. “Goodnight,” George whispered softly, his voice so low that you’re sure that only you could hear it. You must be tired already. At the end, you’re all exhausted after a long trip and decide to go to sleep (even though the six of you are still scared as hell).

—

Sunlight finally appears after a dark night, and it calms you down as you open your eyes. You were the first one to wake up out of six of you, and the first thing you noticed was that Alicia was spooning you in her sleep. You immediately pulled away and walked downstairs.

The living room is just as you left it last night. What makes you curious is that there is no broken glass to be seen, whereas six of you heard a glass smash last night. You take a look around the house, and it is less creepy than you thought. Perhaps you may have overreacted, but you’d rather blame Lee and Alicia for scaring the shit out of you.

The picture of Angelina’s great-grandparents piqued your interest as you grabbed it. While observing it, you hear a step behind you.

“Well, aren’t you really brave? Wandering about down here on your own,” George chuckled with his hoarse voice as he approached you. “Alicia was spooning me. There’s nothing scarier than that,” you answered as you smiled.

The two of you examine the picture in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, just a peaceful one. “They look really happy,” he mumbled, and you nodded in agreement.

“Listen…” George turned towards you nervously. Making you frown as you make eye contact with him, “Something changed when I was standing at the end of that tunnel.”

He won’t stop talking about the tunnel, won’t he?

“You know, the light… The voice, the brush with death. It scares me,” he continued as he stared deeply into your eyes. “But what terrified me the most was all the things I hadn’t done—”

“—Like turning Mr Filch into an ugly toad,” you interrupt unconsciously. The sentence is supposed to stay in your brain, but you somehow managed to blurt it out.

“What?”

You blinked dumbfoundedly, “Err— I remember you always complaining about him and wanting to turn him into a hideous toad.”

“No… I looked into it. It’s illegal, I could end up in Azkaban."

“Wait, really?”

George rubbed the back of his neck as he answered, “Mr Filch is a squib, that’s why it’s illegal— Look, can I just get my point?” You nod your head slowly as you apologise, “Yeah, sorry.”

He clears his throat, preparing himself for whatever he’s about to say. It looks like he’s about to say something serious, by looking at his nervousness and his reddened ears, but you’re not sure by yourself since the only thing he talks about is his near-death experience and the so-called tunnel, “What terrifies me the most was all the things I hadn’t done and all the things I hadn’t said because I’d been too pathetic or too nervous.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” you quickly responded while reaching out to his shoulder and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

George shook his head as he stuttered, “No, no. I… I—”

You waited for his words. It’s very rare for a person like George Weasley to struggle with his own words since he’s always confident about everything that comes out of his mouth. The look of vulnerability is showing on his face, making your gaze soften as you watch him stutter.

“Are you alright?” you asked, trying to lighten the situation.

He then finally burst out with a sigh, “Look, I… I like me… I really do.”

“...Sorry?” A frown creeps onto your face.

Seeing your reactions, he blinked in a daze. At first, he really thought you might take his words the wrong way, but then he realised he might have used the wrong words.

“You! Shit, I meant you. I like you, and I think I’ve really liked you for a long time,” George swallowed as he continued, “And I don't expect you to say anything, seriously. I just want you to know that I think… you're really beautiful.”

You blinked, clearly trying to process everything he said to you. He can be really sweet at any time, and you can melt at his words every damn time. Besides, what are you supposed to say anyway? George Weasley just fucking confessed to you right after his near-death experience.

“Merlin, help me,” he rubs his entire face while trying his best to hide his bashful grin.

You can feel your feet unconsciously move closer towards him right now. Merlin, you don't know what you are doing at this moment. You keep moving closer and closer, the sound of your heartbeat pounding louder inside of you. George is also aware of this tension, and before you know it, your lips meet his.

And it somehow feels so right.

You let out a soft gasp as soon as George kisses you back. It starts as a warm and gentle kiss, until you can feel his tongue slowly seeking entrance into your mouth. What started as an innocent kiss quickly turned into a passionate snog, and he clearly knows how to deepen the moment, as he successfully sets your whole body feeling warm all over.

“What the hell?”

Both of you immediately pull back from each other as soon as you hear the voice right in front of you. It’s Lee, still with messy hair and a yawn on his face, but seeing George and you making out in the living room definitely wakes him up for good. “Lee, I swear if you tell anyone—”

“Merlin’s beard, maybe your head injury was much worse than we thought! And you’re temporarily possessed by whatever evil spirit wanders around this creepy house, which caused you to lose your fucking mind and kiss her!” Lee bluntly explained with a panicky stutter tone, almost like Trelawney in her class (perhaps that’s why you dropped her class). You almost scoff at his words before Lee turns to you with a serious frown, “You have to stay away from George!”

George quickly pointed out as he crossed both of his arms in front of his chest, “For fuck’s sake, you’ve gone bonkers!”

“What’s going on?” Angelina yawned while climbing downstairs, followed by the others behind her. Your bicker with Lee certainly woke the others up. “They snogged! George is possessed by the evil spirit that lingers in this house!”

“Lee!” you and George quickly sneered at the same time.

At this point, you just couldn’t see the group’s reaction to Lee’s exposition. From the side of the room, you can feel Fred’s smirk forming on his face. You don’t need to look at him to see it; he’s just spiritually like that. Angelina, on the other hand, couldn’t help but pique at Lee’s words when he mentioned ‘possessed’ and ‘evil spirit’. The silent morning has now become chaos as soon as Lee exposed that you were making out with George.

“No— I am not possessed by the evil spirit!”

Fred asked with an annoying smirk, “Are you sure they were snogging, Lee?” You almost die of embarrassment.

“Holy shit, is that the evil spirit you were talking about?” Alicia pointed out as she stared outside the window.

“Who?” The six of you immediately turned to the window. To your surprise, there was a tall figure approaching the lake house but you couldn’t see their face, adding to the more eerie feeling that lingered from last night. Lee groaned as he rubbed his forehead in frustration, “Fuck, we are so doomed! I think that’s William!”

“Angie’s great-grandparents?” asked Alicia, as the six of you stood there in panic while the appearance moved towards the house.

The tall frame walked closer to the lake house. You squint your eyes and before you could finally tell the face of the figure, Angelina gasped instantly, “Holy fuck! Is that my father?”

“WHAT?!?”

She rushed to open the door and greet her father in front of the house. “What is he doing here?” Fred murmured as he glanced at the father-daughter moment outside the lake house. “Must be the evil spirit,” you answered mockingly while glaring at Lee, who’s now embarrassed by his antics.

“Morning, lads,” Mr Johnson greeted with a grin, while the five of you just stood there in confusion. “Sorry for scaring you all last night. Angie forgot the key to this house, and it caught me! You’re all teenagers staying here, unsupervised! I couldn’t let that happen!”

Turns out, Angelina indeed forgot her key to this lake house, but luckily Fred found a spare key inside one of the old dried pots (right after she smashed out the window with a pebble). How ironic, you thought. The glass-shattering noise you heard last night was actually a rat, which you spotted just after Angelina’s father had served breakfast to everyone (you guys refuse to eat after that). Eventually, things finally went back to normal, and you get to enjoy summer in a relaxing, not-haunted lake house with your friends—Until you realise that you kissed George earlier this morning.

You immediately rushed to find George, only to find that everyone was at the lake except him. As you’re about to reach the living room, George appears with a towel in his hand.

“Looking for someone?”

You grin slowly as you respond, “You almost frightened me.”

George chuckled, leaning against the wall while towering over you with his goody-goody smile. You almost want to remove that face from him and just kiss him again, but alas, you tried your best not to act impulsively again. “I’m sorry about earlier,” you murmured quietly while crossing both of your arms as you turned around to see the others near the lake.

“Don’t apologise,” George answered with laughter, “Lee ruined it. I’ll never forgive that git.”

You smile at his response as an awkward silence lingers around you both. There’s nothing much to say anyway, you thought. But something inside you wished for something else.

“I quite enjoyed it,” he continued while rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up to him with a sheepish smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A sound of splashing can be heard from outside as you hear your friends finally dip into the lake, but none of that matters to you right now. “I’d love to do that again, perhaps when it’s just the two of us and no ghost talking around us,” George offered as he placed his towel on his shoulder.

“How about a date then?” you offered, trying your best not to feel giddy. “As soon as the semester starts, at Hogsmeade.”

The younger twin smirked immediately, clearly amused by your offer. “Deal!”

“Now let’s head to the lake before everyone starts to suspect anything weird,” George immediately takes your hand, and both of you walk towards the other.

he watches you from across the room. your sweater—cheap, probably some off-the-rack, mid-tier brand evelyn wouldn’t be caught dead in—is slipping off your shoulder, baring the soft curve of your collarbone. there’s a pea-sized dark stain on the fabric. coffee, perhaps. your nails are painted, but the polish is chipped, little jagged edges catching the light.

carelessness. disarray. it should make him want to correct you. pin your hand to the coffee table, drive the tip of a letter opener beneath each nail, feel the resistance before the inevitable give. watch you tremble and whimper through it, as he pries them free one by one.

he could scatter the torn remnants like a flower girl tossing rose petals, let them fall in a delicate arc across the polished oak floor—except these would be jagged, curling at the edges with crimson.

pretty.

but that wouldn’t be enough. not nearly.

the exposed nail beds would be raw, pulsing, slick with red and begging for relief. he’d give them exactly the opposite. rub salt into the wounds, dig the edge of a his american express platinum card against them, drizzle scalding espresso from his very expensive la marzocco machine just to see how deep the pain sinks.

he wonders if you’d beg. if you’d cry. if you’d still look at him the way you do now, like he’s human.

patrick takes a slow sip of his drink, lets the burn sit on his tongue.

he wonders, not for the first time, why you?

he’s never introduced you to anyone, never taken you out, never let his colleagues know you exist. to everyone, he’s single. eligible. to himself, he should be unburdened. you are not evelyn—you do not whine, do not make frivolous demands, do not exist as a social obligation he must endure.

and yet, you are still here.

you are not the kind of woman he should keep around. you are not like the girls he fucks in his apartment and forgets by morning. you’re not like courtney, either—who, despite her being high on drugs half of the time and utter lack of intelligence, was pliant to his demands.

you’re an entirely different breed. something unclassified.

he tries to break it down logically.

is it your face?

you’re pretty, undeniably so. but not perfect. he’s seen perfection before—high cheekbones, symmetrical features, the kind of beauty that belongs on a vogue cover.

is it the sex?

you’re good, yes. responsive. but he’s had better. girls who arch their backs just so, who moan on cue like it’s scripted, who wear la perla lingerie instead of whatever mismatched set you threw on that morning.

then what is it? what keeps him here?

the thought wedges itself between his ribs like a letter opener.

it circles.

it fixates.

you look up suddenly, meeting his gaze. what?

patrick blinks. his fingers twitch against the armrest of the eames chair.

“nothing.”

…

later that night, when you’re asleep in his bed, he touches that stain on your sweater. presses his thumb against it. he should take a pair of scissors to the fabric, cut it out entirely, or just press the blade somewhere softer and warmer, somewhere that would really make a difference.

but he doesn’t.

his thoughts keep slipping, circling back on themselves like blood swirling down a drain. he imagines taking a box cutter to that hideous godfuckinugly sweater, peeling it from your body in ribbons before wrapping one tightly around your throat just to admire how your pulse flutters beneath the fabric. replacing it with something acceptable. a tom ford cashmere blend, a dior blouse, something clean. he could wipe you down, scrub you raw, bleach out every flaw until you gleam like marble.

but then—would you still be you?

no. probably not.

the thought disturbs him.