YOU GO BACK TO HER

she had only packed a small bag, mostly her daredevil suit, a few pairs of regular clothes and as much cash as she could get her hands on without any suspicious withdrawals from her account. the last thing she needed was anyone making the connection that she had disappeared from metropolis for a strangely similar extended period of time as the daredevil. not that anyone would really make the connection between a blind lawyer and a vigilante, but it was a risk she couldn't take.

THAT HAD BEEN A week ago. since then, clark had only heard from her twice: when she made it to opal city at the beginning of the week, and then three days ago when she had followed a lead to gotham.

clark wasn't one to dwell. he kept himself distracted by your leave by throwing himself into his work and doing his part to research into the separate companies built off lexcorp. lois seemed to note his obsessive nature of it, so much so that she inserted herself into his research and widened his perspective of who to look into. it kept him thinking about his girlfriend less, just enough so that he didn't spiral while she was away.

it certainly helped him not picture her dead in an alleyway garbage can somewhere in the depths of gotham. he had faith in her and he knew better than most that she could look after herself.

he was so thrown into his work that, only after it had been a week (which was longer than she had scheduled time off for), did he begin to notice a strange shift in the world around him. the streets seemed rowdier about dark, and a higher police presence had been put into place to help control the issue.

people were realising the daredevil hadn't been seen out in quite some time. less media outlets were discussing lex luthor and his company's actions. even the government officials had been strangely quieter, not pushing their abolish illegal metahumans rhetoric that had been plaguing the news for months.

all the news reported on now was a higher number of superman sightings and the daily sports and weather updates. the clouds were gloomier, the sun struggling to break through the thick grey matter. clark had been spending a lot more time as superman down in his antarctic fortress, lounging in the remains of the sun instead of returning to his apartment. the silence and lack of human technology was a blessing.

apparently, it was also a curse.

"NO, MAN," CLARK WAVED jimmy off for the fifth time that morning. "i'm sorry, i don't have time t—"

"clark," there was something off about jimmy's tone this time. it had him looking up from his computer, questioning the sudden change. jimmy was an upbeat kinda guy and so him being this serious in a situation that seemingly didn't constitute it wasn't normal.

"what?" clark asked, suddenly very aware of jimmy's somber expression. "what's up?"

jimmy's eyes led clark's gaze to one of the tv screens up on one of the many pillars, the one closest to lois' desk. she was already staring at it with an unreadable expression.

clark's blood ran cold. "turn it up," he told jimmy, who did so immediately. clark had heard it just fine, alien hearing and all that, but this was such a deafening moment that it felt like everything had just failed him. he stood up and he felt like his knees were crumbling. his mouth felt dry and his skin scratchy and his hearing disintegrated. was there kryptonite nearby?

"—has been reported missing by colleagues at her law firm after a few days off turned into over a week of no contact." the news anchor said it so seriously it was almost unreal. this wasn't right. she wasn't missing, clark would know if something had happened to his girlfriend. he was sure of it.

and then your face flashed up on the tv like one of those missing posters he saw decorating the streets, childrens faces standing out with a smile from a time that they had been so happy. his work, that he had started because of her, was to find those exact children that were depicted in those posters.

now she was one of the posters. she wasn't smiling like those kids; her photo had been taken outside of a courthouse, red glasses reflecting a thousand words. he knew that photo to be her first big win, the one where he had met her for the first time and fallen enamoured.

clark felt cold, numb, frozen.

"known for her work in defending metahumans, her paths have crossed with various vigilantes and self-proclaimed 'superheroes'. we have had reports stating that she may potentially have a connection to the currently wanted vigilante, daredevil, who has also not been seen for almost two weeks now."

the screen shifted, the poster of her face with missing in red text shifted over to the left and a new poster flashed up on the screen.

this time it was the daredevil with wanted written in the same red font under her face. everything about your hidden identity was so obviously her that it was hard to believe people couldn't see through it — especially now that both identities were side by side. he supposed it was similar to his hypno-glasses—

and he realised he was actively trying to think about anything but the fact that his girlfriend could be dead somewhere and he blinked, staring back at the tv screen.

"we're urging anyone with any information to come forward and contact us at the number on the screen . . ."

it all faded out. one moment he was standing, and the next time he blinked he had sunken into his desk chair and had lois and jimmy hovering over him.

"o—okay man," jimmy's hand hesitantly found clark's shoulder, not really sure what to do. "uh . . . just breathe . . .?"

"that's . . ." clark's tongue felt numb and heavy. "that's my . . ."

lois cleared her throat. hand on her hips, she bent down to clark's eye level with a gaze of steel. he blinked his blurry eyes a few times until she looked a lot clearer. "okay, clark," she said sharply, "we're gonna find her, okay? i just need you to tell me wh—"

"lex luthor," clark mumbled out before she could finish asking. he already knew: who would she consider to be an enemy right now? the obvious answer was lex luthor and there was absolutely no doubt about it. she defended metahumans in the court of law, the same metahumans that lex disregarded like mud under his polished loafers. she also had been building a case against him, with the help of clark and the daily planet archives, to gain intel on the experiments his companies are implementing on children so that she could seek justice for them. their families deserved closure and their children back if possible, and that included taking down lex luthor himself. clark was sure lex knew what her plans were well enough by now, it hadn't exactly been a secret as of late.

"oh, good. again," jimmy rubbed his face. "we are so screwed."

every time an article went out about lex luthor and his companies, it had all come back to haunt them. lois had been followed by some of his thugs (that mysteriously stopped when superman stepped in) and jimmy recieved more than enough threats on his life in the mail. it never stopped them, there was freedom of speech and journalist protections in place for a reason, but it was incredibly inconvenient and annoying all the same.

"i . . . i think i'm gonna deal with this," clark said slowly, quietly. "superman kinda owes me a favour with all the good press i've given him, so . . ."

"mhm, yeah," jimmy nodded. "good idea to have a superhero on our side. nice thinking, man."

our side. it brought back that warmth to know that his coworkers, his friends, cared about her after only a handful of times meeting her. he narrowly noticed lois' eyes stare at him in that particular way she always did when superman was brought up, but clark never thought too much about it. how could she know if she had never seen him without his glasses?

either way, she nodded, "good idea. we'll dig up what we can on luthor while you go . . . do that," she nodded, her smile tight-lipped as she moved back to her desk.

jimmy nodded in agreement, "i'll let perry know if he asks."

leaving everything on his desk, clark forced himself to his feet, albeit a little clumsily, and called out a 'thank you!' over his shoulder as he ran towards the elevator.

five minutes later, he was dialling her number as he manoeuvred into his superman outfit.

IT WAS COLD, THE air thin. something metallic speckled across her tongue and painted her mouth disgustingly like the copper she could smell from rusted pipes. something heavy kept her wrists down, jingling when she moved like chains. based on the grit she could feel rubbing against the outside of her wrists, she decided they were rusted, too.

she wasn't the daredevil, and that was probably the best case scenario right now. one moment she had been sitting in her dump of a motel room in gotham, flicking through the various tv stations for background noise and the next she had been grabbed and unable to put up a fight. not that there was much of a fight that a blind woman could put up anyway, not with a secret identity under wraps in an unfamiliar city.

her phone was ringing for the sixth time now. she wasn't even sure how it was able to ring this far below ground but it gave her some form of hope to know that someone was looking for her. she assumed it would be clark, but she had since overheard that her firm's new paralegal had filed a missing persons report, and she knew that she would be giving that woman a raise the second she got out of here.

"someone clearly wants your attention," it was a man's voice, the same one she remembered hearing back in her motel room. "who is . . . clark? a boyfriend, maybe?"

keeping silent, she kept her face blank. that meant that he knew something was wrong, good.

"are you gonna answer me?" he snarled, footsteps drawing closer.

"are you gonna answer me?" she retorted, tilting her head to the side and listening in to see where exactly the man was standing. he had to at least be a few metres away now. "why am i even here?"

he scoffed. "because you're snooping around in our business . . . gettin' daredevil involved in our shit, too. should've fuckin' kept out of it, girl."

"i'm a lawyer," she deadpanned, "i've been hired to bring justice to those kids you've got in that other room." pointing blindly behind her, she took a stab at a wild guess based on the sounds she had heard earlier. this was probably great for her in some fucked up way, considering they had taken her potentially straight to the source of the kids she had been tracking down for months. "i don't even work with daredevil."

she heard his breathing fall unsteady. so the missing kids were in this same space and she had been correct all along. this man had pretty much just confirmed that lex luthor was apart of this, and that this kidnapping wasn't just some random event.

stupidity is a disease.

"yes, i know about the kids," she continued. she had plunged in the knife and now it was time to twist until it stung. "and what you guys are doing to them. disgusting, really."

his nostril's flared. she heard his blood pressure spike. "you don't understand—"

"what's not to understand?" she spat out, a devilish smile pulling across her lips. it was so much unlike the professional smile she was normal seen on tv with, and so much like one of a specific alter-ego. how easily she was able to switch almost scared her; the lines blurring between where the really good lawyer ended and where the daredevil started. "you're kidnapping children and experiementing on them because theyr'e easier than adults. they're defenceless, they're vulnerable, they're malleable, everything that someone your own size couldn't ever be."

his footsteps drew closer. he bent down until she could feel his breath across her face. it was hot and smelt like the burger he undoubtedly had for whatever meal the current time of day corresponded with. time was difficult to tell in darkness so far underground. even if she strained her ears, she couldn't hear the trill of birds of the squeal of bats or the thunderous exhausts of cars. everything was dark and cold and still.

"you shut your mouth," he grabbed her cheeks and squashed her face harshly, "you don't know what the fuck you're talkin' 'bout."

she spat at him and he let go. "you're too much of a pussy to pick on someone who can fight back? isn't that right? c'mon—" she was cut off by his hand striking her face with so much force that she lost her bearings on her environment for a moment. feeling blood pool in her mouth, she spat at the ground this time, leaning forward just enough to unnoticeably sit up on her toes a little more from where she was kneeling on the floor. "come on," she annunciated this time. "'s that all you got?"

rage consuming him, when the man went to fight again, his balance was uneven and therefore she took full advantage of it. pushing off her toes, she stood and slammed her body full-force into the man until he went tumbling down with her. from there, she managed to manoeuvre so that the heavy chains were situated around his neck, just enough force pulling back on his neck to choke him to sleep rather than killing him. he struggled, but she kept her legs locked around his waist from behind to avoid getting kicked off. slowly, his fight trickled out of him until he was out cold on the floor. she groaned and shoved him off of her before pulling herself to her feet.

"okay," she mumbled, closing her eyes once more. blindly, she reached out until she felt the man's shirt, and she ripped as much of it as she could to fasten it around the top half of her face like a makeshift mask. the chains rattled awkwardly as they tried to restrict her from doing so, but she managed to tie the knot. "where are those kids . . .?"

taking a deep breath, she let the tension flow from her shoulders, rolling her neck. the chains dragged her wrists down, but that was a mild inconvenience compared to her real objective. she knew that this wouldn't be all of the kids, based on the amount of voices she had heard, there had to be at least ten and there were plenty more missing. ten was better than nothing, and so she let her feet carry her in the direction she heard them from earlier.

the layout was strange. there were walls and scaffolding that she had to dodge all over the place. she supposed it was either a building since abandoned due to costs like so many others, or it was just a shell of a building that lex had put money into for a 'future project'. she didn't stop until she approached a door, and voices rattled louder from inside when she jiggled the locked handle.

"fuck, okay," she muttered, taking a few steps back. "step away from the door," she called out, trying to keep her voice light as to not scare the kids on the other side of the door. when she heard feet shuffle, she threw herself at the door with all the strength she could muster. it gave way under the force, flinging inwards and snapping at the hinges. she heard a few young voices scream, but otherwise it was clear no one was hurt when the dust settled.

"hey," she said quietly, tilting her head to assess the room. there were eleven different heartbeats, she had miscounted earlier, and all of them were staring expectantly. they seemed to be in fairly good shape all things considered, except for maybe two in the middle of the lot that were having a harder time breathing than the others. "i'm here to get you guys out of here, but we've gotta be super quiet, okay?"

"are you a superhero?" one quiet voice asked, a little boy on the far left. your head turned to the voice.

not really, she thought, but she couldn't tell a bunch of kids that. not after all they had been through. "i'm your superhero, i guess," she agreed, trying to sound a little confident in it. "now, can we all walk?"

a chorus of yes ( and one girl who said her leg hurts ) echoed, and you took that as a good sign. "okay, you," she pointed to a random kid, "help her," you pointed to the girl with the sore leg. "and i need someone to go get my phone from in that room back there," you gestured to where you had just come from. "can you all do that?"

one girl stepped forward. "i can get it," she promised. she was missing a tooth from the way she was talking, a slight whistle through her front teeth, and she hoped that it was from her losing her baby teeth from normal means and not because it had been knocked out of her mouth. her blood boiled at the thought.

"perfect, good girl," you smiled softly, "i need you to call back one of the missed calls from a contact called clark, and then put it on speaker for me. yes?"

"yes," the girl nodded. "i can do that."

her heart was breaking. these kids couldn't be any older than ten. "come on, let's go."

it was relatively easy from there. awkwardly walking with her hands tied in front of her, she didn't stop until the little girl was redialling clark and holding the phone up.

it hardly rang once. "baby? oh my god, i'm—"

"listen to me," she cut him off urgently. "i don't know where i am but it's some old building in gotham, probably abandoned, and maybe at least a street away from some sort of burger place. i've—" she paused to catch her breath. "i've found some of the kids, clark . . . i can't get out. i don't know where i am . . ."

that was the true horror. she hated the unknown and with a lack of vision, any sort of loss on her position was an instant panic attack. she was doing her best to not give in to it because there were eleven kids huddled around her, but—

"miss," a squeak of a voice came from her right. she held her breath as if it would stop the imminent panic and waited for him to continue. "i can untie your hands, miss."

and, without warning, he lifted the heavy chains in his little hands and snapped them clean in half. they fell from your wrists in a loud clang on the floor. one of the other boys jumped. "you are incredible, you hear me?" you told him truthfully. god, the last thing she wanted was any of these kids hating themselves with the new abilities they had. she knew what that was like and it was torture.

clark only spoke once he heard silence. "i can see an old building up ahead . . . there's a diner down the street."

"maybe?" you said slowly. you could feel hands grabbing at your arms, shivering with terror and grabbing onto you like you were the only source of stability. "get to the entrance of the building . . . i'll let you know if i can hear you."

for the next few minutes it was agonising silence. she readjusted the makeshift mask her your face anxiously, knowing that clark was their only hope right now. it was the blind leading the blind in this scenario, with an outline of the building unfamiliar and her head scrambled, getting out safely may not have been possible. she wasn't going to put the lives of children at risk when she wasn't at her best.

and then, a bang!

"tell me that was you," she whispered like saying it any louder was a curse. she heard it again, and this time she smiled.

"yep," he hit the broken pipe against the building one more time for good measure. "thinking of starting a band."

"maybe stick to your day job," she couldn't help but smile. "what do you see?"

"uh, building is empty on the side you're on. looks like it was just the one guy while everyone else is on their lunch break. i'll be down in a sec."

he hung up, and only then did the girl who was holding the phone tap you on your shoulder. "hey, miss?"

"mhm, sweetheart?" you answered gently.

"who is that?"

you grinned, a symbol of hope in the darkness. "what if i told you that was superman?"

gasps echoed around her. "no way! we get to meet superman?" "oh my god, superman!" "i love superman!"

she had never truly understood the extent around the cult-following that superman had until now. even just hearing his name rose like symbol of peace and hope within these trying times, something that felt so weird to comprehend compared to other superheroes. others struck fear into people, some cared little about civilians, but something about superman being for the people made him so loveable. from helping kittens stuck in trees and helping the elderly cross the street to stopping intergalactic threats, superman put everyone else before himself in every situation. to be so selfless and caring was to be loved universally, and though that was something she knew she could never reach, she loved witnessing it for him all the same. these kids needed hope right now and superman was about to be that pillar of security for them.

she wasn't sure how clark had gotten down to their level so quickly, but she didn't care whatsoever when she heard his voice and suddenly tiredness washed over her. her adrenaline shattered into a million pieces, disappearing into nothing and drooping her shoulders towards the floor. the kids were so excited at seeing him that it took him a little longer to get them all out of the basement with his super speed, but he got it done and they were in the hands of the GCPD ( that somehow he had time to call in the midst of all this — she was too out of it to know how ) up at the top of the building in no time.

then there was just her.

the second his arms were around her, she all but melted. "sorry," she mumbled drearily.

"no," he shook his head, "i should be sorry . . . should've noticed something was wrong sooner."

he felt her shrug against him. "then i wouldn't have found them, clark," she sighed. ". . . it's never gonna be over, is it?"

"i consult here," still, you rolled off your leather couch and straightened up your vest. your smile contradicted every annoyance you had about having to fly all the way out to missouri. not like it was a long flight but still. it was the easiest case that had come across the desk in a while and yet somehow it was a BAU case. something about the local police department not having a clue, probably. you picked up the small black travel bag you kept beside your couch and moved into step beside hotch.

he walked alongside you through the bullpen with a stoic look on his face, his eyes dead ahead and not once glancing over at you. "the unsub—"

"—is targeting young adults in the hazelwood area. the link between the eight victims is that they all grew up in the same children's home but the cops can't find anything that connects them to the staff that worked there, or the foster parents, etcetera . . . what?" you questioned like an afterthought when you caught hotch's side-eye, "i like to read."

you hadn't been at the briefing because you knew you'd hear it all over again on the jet anyway. you had snagged one of the files that garcia put together before it made it to the circle table and spent ten minutes scanning through the documents for all the relevant information before tucking the manila folder in your go-bag.

"clearly," hotch hardly raised an eyebrow.

"and if you read the case properly then you would also know what i know," you finally looked at him, flashing a blinding smile with a little skip in your step.

"which is . . ."

"the unsub is one of the kids from the home." hotch held the glass door open and you nodded in thanks as he held the door. once you were through, he let go and followed after you until he fell back into step.

"that doesn't fit the profile," hotch denied immediately. "this unsub isn't immature or displaying signs of trauma or mental illness. there's not even signs of revenge, which would've showed up in at least the first two victims. it's unlikely another one of the kids." he paused for a moment; you had a smile on your face as you listened to him ramble. "and, if it was, the first victim would've certainly been one of the caregivers."

when he finally finished, you spoke once again. "i think you're wrong," was all you said, smile turning tight-lipped. not another word was spoken on the way to the airfield.

"OUR UNSUB IS A white male in his late thirties," rossi said aloud to the surrounding hazelwood police that crowded in the bullpen. "he's going after this specific group of kids here." pointing to the board where a photo from a group home was printed out, now nine of the fifteen children in the photo were dead. the victims now were all roughly in their mid-twenties, as would be the remaining people in the photo that were under police protection across the town and the surrounding area. "which leads us to believe he was someone who either worked at the home during this time, or he could potentially be someone who lived at the home ten-ish years prior to these kids here."

you sat there shaking your head while sipping at your cup of tea. leaning back on one of the chairs, your feet were kicked up onto the desk belonging to chris, one of the quieter local cops that had been rather nice to you since you showed up. usually you clashed with the local cops because they had opinions on why you were wrong and unprofessional. chris had been the opposite, listening to every word you said and even writing some of your theories down in his little notebook.

honestly, you found it a little off-putting that he seemed to care about your opinion so much, but it was a nice change. not even your coworkers seemed to be as interested as he was half the time. something about you being an unqualified scam-artist or something, who cares?

"we're looking for anyone who has ever had a link to this home, but refine your search around anyone that worked there from 2003 to 2007," hotch added on. it was almost electric how he commanded a room. you noticed everyone else's eyes focused in on him like he was an authoritarian leader of the most obedient regime.

"gardeners, teachers, therapists, guidance counselors, social workers, nannies, cooks," emily listed off clearly, raising her hands as she spoke. she said it just slow enough for the cops to scribble it down in their notes. "it might not be anyone that had direct contact with these kids, it could be someone who noticed them from afar, for example."

reid cut in. "37.4% of child abuse perpetrators in this scenario are institution staff, and 36.5% are foster parents," he sported a tight-lipped smile that you only ever noticed from him when he shared his knowledge with the class. "it's more likely they are our unsub."

"what about the other, like, twenty percent?" you asked aloud, swirling the remaining tea around the too-white coffee mug. you had found it in the back of the cupboard in the break room because it had been the only clean mug. it was probably because it had some ex-cop's ex-wife on it (so you had been told via chris), but it didn't smell like coffee or have dead moths in it, so it was good enough to drink out of.

reid turned to look at you. "relatives of the victim."

one of the local cops snorted. "doubt that's the case here." one of his buddies scoffed out a laugh at the joke.

standing up, you hummed to yourself as hotch delivered the rest of the very wrong profile. you understood it, you weren't going to cut him off in front of so many people, but you knew it was false. all you had to do was wait for more evidence to fall into your lap to change the team's mind. you ignored the few sets of eyes on you as you made your way to the board that all the photos had been taped up on when reid went over victimology and the geographical profile with emily.

the one photo that stood out was the photo rossi had mentioned before. it was taken like a class photo, with all the kids, nine of whom now had a bullet messily lodged in their brain, lined up with the two primary carers stood at either end. morgan had been covering the faces of those who had been murdered with circular magnets to make it easier to see who was left when there were so many potential victims. six of them were still smiling brightly, their face free from a magnet, so full of life and an innocence that stole oxygen from your lungs.

one face in particular stood out, he had since the very first time you saw the image printed out in the case file back in quantico but you kept that to yourself. there was no convincing hotch unless you had a concrete enough case; he knew you could be right but he wanted to see that you could prove your theory first. and right now you had absolutely nothing but a very convincing gut feeling.

"penny for your thoughts?" rossi's voice had you blinking away your thoughts. the cops had scattered to canvass once the profile ended, and looking to your left, you noticed that emily and morgan were being instructed by hotch, probably to go visit the ninth crime scene, before he turned to talk to reid and jj.

you grinned at him, "my thoughts are worth way more than that, agent rossi," you said airily, waving your hand as you walked away to go sit back in chris' chair. he just shook his head like he seemed to always do whenever you opened your mouth.

the sun was setting on their second night in hazelwood. today had been profiling and chasing leads and dealing with the increasingly antsy police captain.

you didn't know his first name but his badge read 'andrews' loud and proud. he was the 'crime doesn't exist until it's in my neighbourhood' type, which was strangely counterintuitive considering he was a cop, but then again crime wasn't a huge part of life in this town. usually petty theft and traffic incidents were the most common . . . something like murder was an entirely different ballgame.

"where's your team?" andrews hadn't stopped pacing for ten minutes and thirty-seven seconds. the watch on your wrist had been your focus for that duration of time, watching him walk back and forth and mutter to himself like a madman. "why aren't you with them?"

you shrugged carelessly. taking a sip of unremarkably mediocre tea, you set the mug back down on chris' desk. he had gone with morgan and reid to comb through the first crime scene again, and that had been hours ago now. that only added tension to andrews' shoulders. everyone else was off doing their part. jj had set up a press conference for tomorrow and in the mean time was picking up takeout for dinner since it was going to be a long night. she had refused to be the only one heading back to her hotel room when the rest of the team was still working on the case, and thus she settled for making sure everyone was fed.

had you been given the option like she had, you'd be back in your hotel room by now. you had attempted it already but hotch's gaze was stern and that had you lowering yourself back down into chris' chair. the sudoku puzzle in front of you had kept you occupied for the past half an hour, and every now and then your concentration would be broken with someone asking for your opinion. you were fairly certain that opinion was just to keep you involved in their theories rather than your own, so you humoured them and minded your business.

"i've seen the crime scenes," you waved your hand, disinterested, "don't need to see 'em again. ah," you grinned to yourself, drawing a 2 into one of the boxes of your sudoku grid, "there it goes."

something in andrews turned red hot. "do you even care about this case, agent?" he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. you slowly set your pen down on top of the open page of your puzzle book. "all you've done is parade around acting like you fuckin' know everything; haven't seen ya be helpful once."

not an agent, you thought, for once thinking better than to correct him.

apparently you minded your business a little too well. you leaned back in your chair and stared up at him. his face was flushed with anger, the type of anger that had his forehead creasing and his knuckles turning white from how aggressively he was crossing his arms.

"and don't get me started on your psychic bullshit. get real, kid, that shit's complete bullshit," he carried on, each syllable getting louder than the last. you noticed hotch's back straighten, his words failing him as he cut himself off from talking to the rest of the team when he overheard andrews. "you're useless, only here to waste my time. we have a killer to catch, goddamnit!"

upon noticing the captain was losing his shit with you, hotch shed his blazer over the chair like he absentmindedly did every time someone questioned his team. you weren't sure he even knew he did it. and if he wasn't wearing a jacket, he would roll his sleeves up like he was about to prosecute.

you paid little mind to him, staring up at the captain and waiting for him to finish his little rant. "now that is where we agree," you nodded compassionately, "psychic's aren't real, glad we're on the same page."

that only seemed to infuriate him more. he took a step closer, his fist slamming down on the desk you were sitting at. the cop across the desk from you jumped but you remained still, not breaking eye contact with andrews once. not even when your tea splashed over and spilled across half of your puzzle book, and certainly not when hotch crossed the space in a matter of strides.

hotch pushed himself between where you were sat and where andrews stood, all diplomatic but his eyes burned with a rage you had never seen before. it was no secret hotch hated people being disrespectful towards his team, his family, but it was something you had never really thought extended to you. the team had been together for so long now and you sat parallel to the outside, not quite in but not quite out either. hotch had stuck up for jj a few weeks ago on a case in georgia, and then again for garcia in quantico when they had to consult the organised crime unit and one of their agents belittled her. hell, you watched hotch stand up for reid constantly. everyone had each other's backs . . . but this was all new.

"that's enough," his voice was firm. you could only assume it was his prosecutor voice that he kept locked away for moments such as this. he was calm, very professional, and yet kept all his emotions hidden behind a wall. including the anger you could see flaring his nostrils and ticking his jaw. your eyes flickered to hotch a little too swiftly. "you don't talk to my team that way, do you understand me?"

silence.

this was agent aaron hotchner, who had little faith in your skills, standing up for you on behalf of said skills. god, was the world caving in?

"i asked you a question," hotch spoke with a coldness that left little room to argue. not that anyone would dare to argue with a man as articulate as him. the air seemed to become scarce, sucking the warmth out of the room and leaving everyone to gasp in carbon dioxide in their final breaths. "do you understand me?" he left a pause between every word, his eyes narrowing into andrews' skull with enough pressure to melt his brain into mush. you couldn't help but bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your gaze off hotch and back on the shrinking police captain.

". . . yes . . . sir," andrews gulped so hard you swore you heard it. his adam's apple bobbed uncomfortably, his throat constricting like a python. he forced the words out like he didn't really mean them, but the sheer fact that hotch had gotten him to fold so quickly was admirable. he didn't utter an apology to you, not that you were looking for one, but he did scatter while clearing his throat rather quickly.

you spun in your chair to properly face hotch. he was barely a few inches away from your legs. his shoulders were tense, his shirt tight in specific places just enough to see the faint outline of his muscles hiding underneath. "i'm surprised," you drawled slightly, a gentle smile tugging your lips upwards like it always did. he wasn't sure if every smile was real. he couldn't read through you but he could work out that smiling was your first line of defence in every situation. "thought you also thought everything i did was bullshit."

maybe you were imagining things but you swore the corner of his mouth quirked upwards for a split-second, just enough to drive you insane. "i don't let people talk to my team like that," he answered in that professional manner he always did. maybe taking a sledgehammer to his tone would break through to something new, something he kept hidden deep down. "especially not the people we're helping out on this case."

"he ruined my puzzle book," you muttered, reaching for a tissue and dabbing it at your ruined sudoku puzzle. you hadn't even gotten the chance to finish the one you were working on yet.

"i know," was all he said.

"well," you bravely reached your foot out just enough to knock against his on the floor after an additional moment of silence. he didn't move, much like you figured would happen. "thank you."

it was the best you could think to say to him in this situation. hotch didn't believe in everything you did and that was okay, you were used to that, and so he hadn't defended you because of that, you were pretty sure, but because of the entitlement from andrews.

well, you were at least pretty sure that was the case. there was no way hotch had a sudden change of heart and suddenly thought your ex-scam artist skills and lack of qualifications made you an important asset to the team. that would be silly. and unrealistic. and very strange.

"jj's brought dinner," were you imagining it or was his voice softer this time? "go get someting to eat." he walked away before you could answer. you found your feet moving before your brain did, sliding out of the chair and heading over to where jj was already smiling at you.

she nudged your shoulder like she knew something you didn't. "i don't know what you did but i've never seen hotch look all soft," she whispered, impressed. "good for you, girl."

for once, you had absolutely nothing to say.

"WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

"for a drive," you said like it was obvious. as if you weren't currently behind the wheel of the SUV emily had the keys to. your two options had either been grab hotch's keys or convince emily, and the latter was one thousand percent easier than the former because that way you didn't get chewed out for stealing the keys again.

"hm, yeah," emily rolled her eyes at the obviousness. "a drive in a very conveniently located neighbourhood . . ." she checked her little notebook, "the neighbourhood belonging to travis kern."

hence why emily had been the perfect choice: she had a better attitude towards your skillset than the rest of the team did (reid not included, he had grown to value you but you also knew he would dob you in to hotch and rossi the second you asked), and that was why she so far hadn't tried to get you to stop the car.

travis kern was their serial killer. he was a twenty-six year old, antisocial personality that lived in a nice home on the edge of hazelwood. he had done well for himself since he turned eighteen and left the group home — had gone to college for computer science and coding and to this day worked from home. he made more money than the rest of the kids he grew up alongside, and considering their bodies had been found robbed, travis had been ruled out of being a suspect. that theory had been solidified when no missing money or jewellery was found in his house.

none of that was the reason you suspected him. no, it was the tears and the pleading with law enforcement to do something as if that meant a thing. going to his house would be the final step in you determining whether or not he was hazelwood's serial killer.

"felt like going for a late night drive," you smiled over at her, and then pulled into travis' driveway. the sun had long set on your third night in hazelwood and really didn't want to spend another night here. small towns weren't really your thing, not after spending so long enjoying city life. it was also really uncomfortable how everyone seemed to know everyone . . . mary who worked at the grocery store on the one side of town should not need to know carol's daughter's second-cousin twice-removed by name and home address on the other side of town. that was too odd for you to comprehend.

"this is just a social visit, right?" emily asked. she looked hesitant but in a way in which she didn't fully care. three days in, emily just wanted to head home to virginia and flop into her comfy bed. the motel beds had hard springs and a weird smell to them; if you knocking on travis' door solved the case, she would gladly tag along just for the chance to go home.

"totally," you nodded, turning the car off and hopping out. staring out at the house, you noticed the upstairs light turn on through the blinds. "keep that thing holstered," you gestured to the gun strapped to her waist. "we're just having a friendly chat."

"mhm," emily hummed, staring at you incredulously. the last friendly chat you had with a suspect led you to being momentarily held hostage for running your mouth. "sure thing."

you let emily knock on travis' door, and the moment it opened, you wedged your way through travis and the ajar door to get inside. emily sighed and travis spluttered.

"where's your security?" you asked, glancing around the inside of the main foyer. not a single picture frame was in sight, and the further you walked in through to the lounge room, you noticed just how bare it was. everything felt so devoid of life. not a single photo or accomplishment hung on the wall, not even any artwork. the one couch was bare, no pillows or throw blankets, and the coffee table only had the tv remote on it. you hummed softly to yourself before turning around.

"shift changeover," travis said, eyebrows furrowing together. "sorry, is there a reason you're here?"

"ah, sorry," you grinned, closing the gap between travis and yourself and holding your hand out for him to shake. he did so with a gentle tremor in his hand. "thought you'd want an update on the case."

it was like something changed in travis at your words. his shoulders lost their slight tension and his expression looked a little off. surely knowing that you're a potential murder victim wouldn't let you feel this calm so suddenly.

"yes, please," he let go of your hand and shoved them back into his pockets. emily shut the front door behind her, and the three of you migrated into the lounge room where you had just been snooping.

he sat down on the one end of the couch, and emily sat down on the other end. you remained standing on the other side of the coffee table, far enough from emily so that she couldn't drag you out of the house to silence you like morgan usually did. "we've found our suspect," you said it simply, like it had no weight to it whatsoever. "case closed."

emily's lips parted like she wanted to tell you to stop, but a quick look from you had her closing her mouth.

"really?" travis sighed in relief, dropping his head into his hands. "oh thank god," he glanced between emily and you. "thank you, thank you. oh my god . . ."

you wondered if emily could see what you could see.

"yep, case closed," you rubbed your hands together. "agent prentiss here will fill you in on all of the details . . . where's your bathroom?"

apparently you had broken down travis' resolve enough to get him to wordlessly point out the direction of the bathroom down the hall without a second thought.

emily cleared her throat, her glare coming down hard on you. all the details you had told her, and she was angrily cursing you for putting this on her to deal with. there weren't any details for her to run with because the killer hadn't been caught. improvising wasn't necessarily her strongsuit but you knew she'd make it work.

you walked down the bland hallway. it was tinged with yellow from age but otherwise it was as pristine as the rest of the house. it was strange; it felt more like a display house than a home.

the bathroom was on the right and you completely bypassed it for the door shut at the very end of the hallway. silently, you twisted the doorknob slowly, taking a quick peek inside through the tiniest crevice you could find.

there you found kaitlyn jones, one of the others from the group home, her hands and feet tied with rope, and duct tape over her mouth. she noticed the door open and her eyes blew wide, but you quickly silenced her by placing your index finger over your lips to silence her. you were just glad that she had recognised you from when she had originally come into the police station two days ago. she could've only been in travis' house for two hours since the police checked in that everyone was safe two and a half hours prior . . . something that travis would've known. brusining was starting to form up her arms, blooming at the base of her throat in a pattern that looked suspiciously like handprints. this MO was different from the others; none of them had been reported with any bruising.

this was something more personal, but that would be for the rest of your team and the local cops to determine in their interviews.

grimacing at her, you made a silent promise that you'd be back and hoped that she understood. as quietly as you opened it you shut the door, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your lipstick to leave a little note for emily to find. it was better the armed woman be the one to find kaitlyn rather than you.

you wrote 'EMILY' in large letters, thankful that you hadn't brought a nicer lipstick with you today, before retreating back down the hall, making a pitstop in the bathroom to flush the toilet and wash your hands before walking back out.

travis looked so incredibly at ease that he probably assumed he was in the clear. whatever emily had said worked terrifically.

"okay," you clapped your hands together as you entered the lounge room. emily's head snapped up to catch your gaze. you gave her a very subtle wink before travis could turn to look at you. "we're gonna head off . . . em," you looked back at her pointedly, "you said you wanted to go to the bathroom before we left?"

emily stood up, blinking rapidly. "yeah . . . yeah!" she nodded in understanding, "won't be a sec, sorry."

your shook your head at her as you took her spot on the couch. looking at travis, you waved your hand at him, "long drive, small bladder, you get it," you lied rather fluently.

emily pretended she didn't hear that.

you waited roughly two minutes, your gaze continuously drifting to your watch, until emily came back into the lounge room, this time with her gun unholstered and aimed directly at travis. "travis kern, put your hands where i can see 'em."

you quickly hopped up from your seat and moved away from travis, only stopping when you were behind emily. peeking out from behind her, you watched travis grunt and begrudgingly stand up, his hands behind his head, his fingers interlocked. "ha! see, emily?" you didn't mean to gloat but you were currently enjoying being right. "i told you all it was him!" you looked back at travis. "i knew it was you the second i met you. you have the house of a psychopath too, c'mon."

emily said your last name with enough conviction that you shut up. "yes, you were right," she rolled her eyes, but you weren't blind to the ghost of a smile across her lips. "call hotch."

"with pleasure," you stepped away and pulled your phone out of your pocket, hotch's contact the first one in your list of recent contacts.

the phone rang three times before he picked up. "hotchner."

"hotch, i have fantastic news for you," you gushed into the phone. emily had travis handcuffed and was leading him outside into the car. "y—"

"does it have anything to do with the reason you and prentiss aren't here?" his voice was lower than usual, riddled with tiredness and something like annoyance.

". . . potentially," you sounded sheepish. "i promise it's worth it! we'll meet you at the station."

"you arrested kern, didn't you?"

the call lapsed into momentary silence. "okay," you said slowly, "i didn't arrest him, emily did! i just . . . kinda had a feeling it was him and then i found kaitlyn jones tied up in his spare room—"

he cut you off by deadpanning your first name. that silenced you immediately — hotch never called you by your first name. it was strangely warm in the cool tones of his voice. "we'll talk about this later," he left no room for argument, and your smile slipped for just a moment. the mask cracked. "but good work." he fell silent. then, begrudgingly, "you were correct . . . the profile was wrong."

you smiled warmly, a smile different to your usual one. "can you say that again?" you asked, quietly this time. "i wanna record it."

he didn't humour you. "i'll meet you at the station." but you swore you heard an uplift in his tone before he hung up.

good work.

you were correct.

the hotel was nice. it was an expensive suite in cannes' JW marriott hotel. it was far too big of a room but it was spacious enough to keep distance from franco for moments like this, where he was pissing you off.

he'd been receiving the silent treatment for the past few hours and it was driving him insane. in all the months that this stunt had been going on for, this was the quietest and most distant you had ever been. franco was losing his mind in your silence, his thoughts cloudy in the sensory deprivation you were stranding him in.

all because he wouldn't hold your hand.

the whole reason he had accompanied you to the cannes film festival was to support you with your acting career and so that you didn't have to go alone. that was his entire purpose: you went to his F1 races where you could, and he went to your events with you where he could. the pr stunt was to boost your careers, and yet here he was refusing to uphold the image that months of hard work had gone into.

sighing, franco crossed the room to where you sat on the window seat. you looked ethereal under the stars, still dressed in that gorgeous, strapless gown of sparkles and silk. your makeup was the same sparkly silver to match, but all he remembered was wanting to taste the bubblegum pink lip gloss coating your lips in a delicious shine. "i'm sorry, mi amor."

his heart stuttered when you didn't spare him a glance. you kept your gaze locked on the window, a gentle pout on your lips like he had truly shattered your heart into a million pieces. like you weren't being dramatic and petty because he couldn't do one thing for you.

what else good was he for? his image was a good thing for you at the moment, but holding your hand was where he felt the line had been crossed? how silly considering the paparazzi had photos of his tongue down your throat on his side of the williams garage in miami.

witholding from sighing again, franco crossed the room until he was kneeling on the floor beside your knees. his suit jacket had been discarded long before entering the hotel room, and the top button of his shirt had been undone at the same time that he loosened his tie. hair messy now that the event was over for the night, he looked up at you with eyes so gorgeous that it was better if you kept staring out the window.

"tell me how i can fix it . . . please," he was borderline pleading with you for something, anything. his fingers twitched, begging to embrace any part of you he could touch. "i'll do anything," he breathed, "just tell me what to do . . ."

you took a breath that felt cold, one that rattled the inside of your chest and sent fuzziness up your spinal cord and into your brain. "you don't have to like me," your voice was quiet, a contained that you only seemed to keep within your private life, far from the extroverted persona you showed to the public. "but we need this to work, franco." with a slight shake of your head, you added, "if you've met someone, tell me so we can call this whole thing off without the embarrassment."

you had been under the suspicion that franco had met someone new for at least a month now. he had become distant in a way that was so unnatural. ever since the two of you had met, physical touch hadn't been an issue. hell, he held your hand when the cameras weren't even around, sometimes he'd even loop his arm through yours while you were walking together. that had been erased since the beginning of the month and it left a sour taste in your mouth. you didn't want to be embarrassed by having the public catch on first before anything was confirmed. they were vultures and you wanted the upper hand.

franco blinked, genuinely taken aback. "i'm . . . sorry . . .?"

"you're clearly not interested in this anymore," you finally turned to face him. his eyes sparkled in the moonlight in a way that made him so beautifully picturesque. they were a watercolour that shimmered delightfully with all the words he couldn't say, a melting shade that bled blue into green into hazel and gold. "you could've just told me that instead of being distant. communication is kinda the whole point, y'know?"

oh, no. oh, no, no, no, no. this was not what he had thought had crossed your mind. it actually hurt him to hear your pretty voice say such sad words.

"no," he breathed, shaking his head like his life depended on it. his fluffy hair lost the position it had been tampered to sit in as the hair product finally broke its bond on the amount of hold it once provided. you thought his hair looked better this way, anyway. "tell me you don't believe that."

you scoffed, glancing back out the window for a moment. the crowds were starting to disperse from below, the hotel security managing to finally get them under control. it released a certain weight from your bare shoulders. "how can i not believe that?" you questioned.

and suddenly franco felt like the idiot. the whole time he had no idea that you were truly hurting from his actions — the actions that he hadn't even realised were harmful in the first place.

"god," he said your name like a prayer in the dark. "i never meant—" he cut himself off when words failed, reaching out to grasp your hands with his own. your eyes found him once more. "i'm sorry."

it was breathy, undertones of a certain desperation that struck through every syllable. it was the most sincere apology he had ever given, so much so that he felt it tear through his heart.

your stare was quite blank, a gentle, very subtle tilt of your head told him that you weren't on the same page as him. confused, you waited for him to elaborate.

"it became so real," franco spoke hardly above a whisper, carefully squeezing your hands like you would disappear. he watched your eyebrows knit together. "i thought that if i distanced myself a little more than it wouldn't hurt so bad when it was all over."

"what are you saying . . ." you trailed off. you knew where he was going with this but you needed him to spell it out to be sure of it.

you needed to know you were on the same page, the same paragraph, the same line and the same word.

"i love you," he blurt out like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months. little did you know, it had. "i didn't mean to fall in love with you and now i'm scared of losing what we have because i stupidly just admitted that this is so real to me. i can't play pretend anymore . . ."

you shocked him by kissing him so fiercely it was like a fire had sprouted from the ashes of your annoyance. you rose from the seat and collided into him with so much force that it sent him letting go of your left hand to stabilise himself before he tumbled over entirely. it took him a quarter of a second until he melted, your embers sparking his own fire into existence. he coaxed you into straddling his lap fairly easily, your dress bunching awkwardly on either sides of him. in the brief glimpse he got before closing his eyes again, the fabric draped across him and the ground was such a sight that he wished he could commit it to memory.

his fingers felt through your dress as if he could reach skin, scrambling for whatever he could grab. it was messy desperation that he swore he wouldn't ever fall into when you deserved nothing less than being treated like the gorgeous angel you were. it was hard to think that now when you had been the one to start it.

"i love you," you mumbled into his lips, sliding further up his lap until you heard a pretty sigh of desperation escape him. his lips were parted and were starting to puff up from how hard you had kissed him. if you looked closer, you swore you would be able to see the imprints of your teeth in them. "thought you hated me . . ." you gasped quietly when he moved under you, his head lolling as your forehead fell forward to press against his shoulder.

"never," he breathed, leaning forward to chase all the access you had just granted him to your neck. "you're everything to me." his teeth sunk into your skin and your eyes rolled, too hooked on the feeling you had been praying to experience for far too long now. there would be marks too high to cover properly tomorrow but you couldn't stop him now, nor did you want to.

really, nor did you care.

"'m gonna do this properly," he promised, breathless. with your eyes closed, you shivered when you felt one of his hands trace up the inside of your thigh. small, teasing patterns, just enough to frustrate you into silently begging for something, anything. "gonna take you out on a nice date and ask you to be my girlfriend. gonna make this real . . ." a quiet sound escaped your throat when he found the waistband of your dainty, lace underwear. he snapped it against your skin twice before daring to explore lower. "tomorrow, yes?"

you were almost so lost in everything that was him that you didn't hear him until his fingers stopped. "hm . . .? yeah," you agreed haphazardly, blinking rapidly to try bring yourself back to reality. it was impossible to achieve when his lips connected with your jaw. "tomorrow . . . perfect."

the waiting room was still full — because when wasn't it? — but it felt good to finally be able to breathe again. all the current emergencies had beds and everything else was under control for now. the probably thirty seconds of freedom started now and you weren't going to waste a single second of it.

the break room was empty. all the sounds of the ER disappeared behind a muffled wall once the door shut: the beeping, the cries of agony and medical terminology being shouted were white noise that faded out once you entered the break room. it was rare to find anyone actually utilising the room, but you were in desperate need of a snack while you had the chance.

"congratulations," the voice behind you startled you as you opened the cupboard. turning, dana stood there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. she didn't step inside the room as if it were a bad omen that taking a second for a break would cause a mass casualty to occur. instead, you took two granola bars out of the cupboard and tossed her one that she caught. "thanks, kid."

"congratulations for . . .?" you trailed off, tearing the plastic off the bar. it wasn't the best granola bar in existence but it did the job when you were desperate. the only annoying part about it was when the doctors ate them all (even the one's that weren't in the ED) and didn't bother to tell anyone they needed to be restocked. it had been the nursing staff's idea to start stocking them in the break room after all.

the last set of congratulations you had received had been a few months ago when frank proposed to you. you were ninety-nine percent sure dana had been among the first to congratulate you when she caught you wearing a stunning engagement ring after work one evening.

dana's eyebrows furrowed. "the newest member of your family," she said as if it were obvious. your eyebrows furrowed because frank and you were not expecting a kid and had no plans for that any time soon. "the dog," she continued when you looked confused.

it didn't help when you were still confused after she explained.

"jesus, you didn't know . . ." it wasn't really a question that she muttered but a statement of realisation instead. "langdon was goin' on about it like the two of you had decided to get a dog together."

your lips parted but no words came out. clearing your throat, you tried again. "apparently not," you coughed, "so . . . there's a . . . dog?"

dana grimaced. "i've said too much, apparently. your fiance has gone around tellin' the entire department that you two've gotten a dog; tried to get some opinions about it. figured you knew because he told robby that you both decided it was a good idea when robby said it wasn't."

the granola bar didn't feel as important anymore. with a sigh, you wrapped the plastic back up over it and shoved it in your pocket. "oh, great. he with a patient?"

dana gave you that motherly look she always seemed to hand out when she could tell something wasn't one hundred percent okay. "he just discharged his," she told you. quieter, she added, "go easy on him, kid. he's just excited about the two of you startin' your life together. it's sweet."

"sure," you agreed. you loved frank but sometimes he did things while forgetting to communicate them to you. a dog was a big commitment, especially with your jobs, and though you appreciated the gesture he was trying to make, it was still a lot to process.

you caught him easily. he had just dodged around a crash cart being moved back to its usual spot when your hand caught his elbow, gently tugging him to keep him in place. frank's mouth went to open, but the second he caught your eye, his lips closed and every one of his features softened. "hey, baby," a soft smile pulled across his face.

this was more than enough PDA in the workplace. you kept your personal life separate from your work, you both learnt early on to compartmentalise to keep the relationship healthy, so you grabbing him to catch his attention was a lot more than he expected. "hi," you flashed him a tense smile. his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "we need to talk."

"uh," frank looked around to make sure there wasn't anything else he had to do, but the ED was pretty much under control at the moment. his elderly patient with hypernatremia was the last on a list of cases he currently had to look at before he was going to move into helping out with triage. the last time he had seen you was when you were smiling with emma while helping re-dress a patient's wound. the patient was a woman in her mid-thirties who was terrified of hospitals, and so every extra second you had was spent making sure she was comfortable. "yeah, okay," frank nodded, following behind you as you walked out into the empty stairwell up to the roof.

the second you crossed your arms over your chest, frank gulped. "uh . . ." he trailed off, "are you okay?"

"frank," not langdon, no, frank. what you called him at home and in the parking lot before walking into the ER. compartmentalisation seemed to have drifted out the window. "i need you to be honest with me."

"yeah, yeah," he said with no hesitation whatsoever. his hands hovered awkwardly, desperately wanting to place them on the sides of your arms but unsure if that was crossing a boundary. you didn't look impressed; he was toeing a delicate line here. "of course. what's up?"

you weren't exactly sure how to word it, so it all just came out at once. "when were you gonna tell me you got us a dog? apparently you told everyone but me which isn't totally fair but also we both work really long hours— we don't have time to look after a dog, frank, and—"

you cut yourself off with a sharp breath. "a dog is a lot of commitment and responsibility and i think it's really sweet that you want to start a family with this dog but . . . the poor thing's gonna end up neglected and sad."

frank waited until you finished your little rant, not wanting to interrupt until he was sure you had finished talking. only then did he speak.

"okay . . ." he trailed off, slow and steady. his hands found your arms and you all but melted. "i haven't gotten us a puppy, i promise," he spoke quietly, a sort of gentleness that you found comfort in back home in bed while reruns of some old show lulled you to sleep.

"but dana said—"

"i asked a bunch of people what they thought about getting a dog and everyone pretty much told me it wasn't a good idea," he explained. "i'm guessing what i said got tangled up down the grapevine of eavesdroppers." that part earned a snort out of you.

"okay, good," you sighed in relief, "because i'm not ready for that kinda commitment yet. plus," you gestured around you, "we're busy people. we gotta start out with, like, a fish or something. as a trial run."

"yeah?" frank smiled, a chuckle slipping from between his lips. it was airy and light and it made you mirror his smile. "we can get a fish, honey. i'd get you a million fish if you wanted it."

your face scrunched up, your smile staining permanent. "let's just start with one for now."

"yeah," frank breathed, "good idea. we'll go on saturday, hm?"

"sounds perfect," you mumbled, and suddenly you were being pulled into his chest. compartmentalisation be damned, sometimes it was nice to be held by your fiance at work. "i love you."

"i love you," he kissed the top of your head before pulling away. "i would never make a decision that big without you, okay? i promise."

clark sighed. "i don't wanna look after him either," he promised, trying to yank his cape back from krypto's mouth. krypto just yanked harder. "but kara's . . . y'know . . . and she dumped him on antarctica. he keeps tearing the robots apart and—"

she had met kara once and it was when she all but crash-landed on their balcony one morning asking for her dog back. krypto had not been with them then and so she had made kara up some breakfast and sat her on their couch on the balcony so that the yellow sun could wake her back up to reality. when she had gotten home from work, kara was gone and clark had left a note saying he was with her, and that had been months ago.

she did not want to meet krypto. she was not a dog person in the slightest, or any animal really, and clark knew that. it wasn't that she hated them, it was more so that she grew up without them and then spent years after being blinded relearning how to move through life again, so pets were completely out of the question.

this dog in particular seemed to be an entirely different breed. and he was certainly not helping clark's case here when she already wasn't an animal lover.

"why is it dirty?" her lips pulled together into a line. "and slobbering everywhere. i just cleaned in here today and i know that your shoes are on the carpet."

clark wasn't trying to hide that but he had flown in through the open balcony covered in chemicals and dirt and whatever else krypto had managed to get him into. "look, i'm sorry," he sighed, bowing his head slightly. "i'll clean the carpet before i go to work tomorrow, heck, i'll clean the whole house again."

her eyes widened. "krypto is not staying here while you're at work. you're not leaving me with that thing all day. i just cleaned and he's clearly out of control and i have so much work to do and . . ."

clark hung off every word she said, not daring to cut her off on her frustrated rant. "i wouldn't ask you unless i was desperate, honey, believe me," he hummed gently when she finished. her chest rose and fell a little heavier than usual, and clark could only frown knowing that he had caused this. "i'll try tire krypto out so he isn't a handful tomorrow, okay? i'm sorry."

she knew in her heart that it was impossible to be mad at clark for long. she loved him so strongly that it hurt to huff and puff when she could be understanding instead. it was a compromise she had made long ago and it was times like this where it was imperative she harnessed that mindset. so, with a sigh, her shoulders lost their tension. "fine," she mumbled. "only 'cause i love you, though."

"aw, i love you more," clark beamed, his teeth so pearly white that they'd be visible in a dark room. "i'd hug you, but . . ."

she understood. she did not want whatever situation he had ended up in transferring onto her through a hug. "shower first," she then tilted her head down towards krypto. "i'll . . . make up a bed for the dog." clark didn't miss her grimace as she walked towards the laundry for old blankets.

SHE WOKE UP TO krypto laying in the little space between clark and herself in bed, and worse, he was snoring. loudly.

with a groan, she lifted her pillow from behind her head and slammed it over her face. "clark."

"i know, i know," clark sighed, yawning as he sat up and stretched. "krypto, bad. get down," he pointed to the floor, but all krypto did was wag his tail and roll over. his tail was wagging so hard that it was vibrating the bed and jumbling up the inside of her head. "now."

krypto did not move.

"clark, i can't do this all day," she whined, voice muffled by the pillow. "he doesn't fucking listen. seriously, what does kara teach this dog?"

"nothing," clark grumbled, rolling his eyes. "last time i saw kara, krypto was slamming her head into the concrete. like, broke through the concrete."

"and you're living me with this thing?" she sighed, removing the pillow. clark's eyes were staring back at her from above, she could feel him above her and so she pushed his head away and sat up. "i'm miserable."

"just . . . pretend he's not there," clark shrugged off like it was nothing, pressing a kiss to her cheek before getting out of bed to get ready for work. "that's what i do."

her head snapped in the direction of the dog, a gentle tilt to her head. she could hear krypto panting, could smell his disgusting breath a little too close for comfort. she was going to have to wash everything he touched . . . and that meant she probably wasn't going to get all the work she wanted completed done today. "no wonder he's badly behaved," she muttered, not trying to hide her remark from clark but not really caring whether he did hear it or not. "you don't pay attention to him."

"no, my cousin is the problem," clark shook his head. he slipped off the navy blue shirt he'd fallen asleep in and replaced it with a white button-up. she sighed annoyingly at krypto being her obstacle to her trailing her fingers up clark's muscled arms this morning and reluctantly rolled out of bed. krypto stayed perched up on clark's pillow like he owned the bed. "i'm just the babysitter."

"i'm the babysitter," she complained with a roll of her eyes, reaching out to pick up her red glasses off her nightstand. she put them on and krypto barked immediately.

"fuck," she jumped, reaching subconsciously for the batons she usually kept on her belt . . . the belt she wasn't wearing because she wasn't currently the daredevil. it was becoming a worse habit with the current climate of what luthor was doing to metropolis. "they're glasses, krypto, jesus fucking christ . . ."

clark snorted, "that's not very godly of you." he caught the pillow she threw, and she caught it without a fumble when he threw it back at record speed. a laugh tumbled out of him when he caught the edge of her smile.

the cross around her neck probably agreed with him, but she tucked it back under her shirt and moved to her side of the closet to pick out an outfit. she didn't need to wear anything too fancy today, just comfy pants and a cute blazer because she had a few zoom meetings with clients to attend. and now, by the looks of it, she had a dog to clean up after all day. she did not have the time or the patience for this.

"i go to church more than you do," she argued, which really wasn't much considering she didn't go as much as she probably should anymore, "you don't get an input on what's godly."

holding his hands up in surrender, clark coughed out a laugh as he slipped into the bathroom. "fair point," his voice echoed off the tiles, each scrubbed pristinely white. "want me to make you breakfast before i go?"

it was sweet. clark loved cooking breakfast because it meant he could make a different variation of pancake every other morning, as well as refining his skills in making the perfect eggs. oh, and bacon, too, and don't forget the cereal . . .

he loved breakfast. he claimed that ever other meal of the day was so boring, and that was one thing that she loved about him in particular. she was almost certain that one of the very first things that made her fall in love with him was the breakfast he made her for brunch after she stayed the night at his for the very first time. he made it with so much love that it was like she was scooping it with a spoon straight out of his chest.

"mhm, no, it's okay," she shook her head, running her fingers across the fabrics of her blazers until she found the right one. it was black with red stitching, perfect for when she occasionally wore it with a loose, crimson tie. today wasn't the day for that, she would clasp a ruby necklace around her neck in its place instead. "make sure you eat before you leave."

it was a throwaway comment she tossed over her shoulder as she set her outfit off to the side (very well away from the bed where krypto lay with his ears perked up) and left the room to set up her office for the day. no matter how many times clark had mentioned that he didn't necessarily run on the same sustenance that a human did, she still made sure he ate and slept and did all the human things the same as she did. he loved her for it, a gentle smile always pulling across his lips at how much she cared.

the jingle of a metal tag against a metal cilip echoed behind her, paws in an unruly jumble against the floor as krypto followed closely on her heels. with a huff at how much she knew that his collar was going to annoy her today, she chose to ignore the dog until she made it into her office. krypto flew past her and hopped up on her chair, his tail wagging and his tongue out, panting happily. she paused, her head tilting (unknowingly) in the same direction that krypto's did, as she listened.

she sighed. loudly. "krypto," she moved towards the dog, "get down."

krypto didn't move. shoulders slumping, she reached out towards krypto's collar and guided him down from her chair. "go find superman," she huffed. "he's basically your owner, not me."

like he weirdly understood, krypto lowered his head, whined loudly, and then sulked out of the room in search for clark.

her head fell into her hands. "thank god," she mumbled before straightening up and setting up her desk with the appropriate case files and her calendar for the day ahead.

CLARK HAD PRESUMABLY PUT krypto in his place before he went to work. she had managed to get a good chunk of work done in the two hours since he had kissed the top of her head to say goodbye before leaving for the daily planet.

she had already made it through two meetings with clients and had a third meeting with the opposing counsel for settlement negotiations in a couple of hours. until then, it was mainly research and putting together arguments for an upcoming trial. it wasn't going to be a difficult case, her metahuman client was going to plead guilty to manslaughter after an incident in his apartment building, and that was probably the most effort she currently needed to put into any of her work.

she heard paws sinking into the carpet and a slight jingle of metal. head tipping back in frustration, she sighed and shoved her braille display to the side. "what do you want from me?"

a quiet woosh of air and krypto was sitting by her feet. she scooted her feet a little away from him. "i fed you," she deadpanned, crossing her arms and slumping back into her chair. "clark flew you. what else could you possibly want from me?"

she couldn't exactly go take him for a walk to tire him out. not only was he a special kind of dog, he also wouldn't behave enough to look like some sort of guide dog. no one would suspect she was daredevil, but they would surely still find it odd that a blind woman could control an insane dog. her name was too big around metropolis to get away with pretending not to be blind like she sometimes used to.

the silence swallowed her. she liked the silence because it meant she could focus on the calming noises from outside their apartment. the faint hum of neon signs, the engines of the cars below and the rumble of planes overhead . . . it was the kind of peace she found when she could finally relax, but today she had a dog sitting in that silence with her and that made it all the less peaceful.

she sighed once again, this time louder. "i have an idea." in an instant, she was up out of her chair and navigating through to the little laundry room. "you're either gonna leave me alone or i'm gonna bath you," she spoke as if krypto was going to respond with words. all he did was stare with his head tilted and his ears up. he didn't move, so she whistled and tapped the edge of the wide laundry sink. "c'mon, up."

krypto hopped up into the sink quite quickly. she wasn't sure if he understood the implications of him being keen to have a bath, or if he was even aware of what a bath was, but she kept her heart and her thoughts on a steady thrum, not wanting him to pick up on this being something out of the ordinary. with a grimace, she reached out to hesitantly pat krypto's fur. "jesus christ," she muttered to herself, "dude, you feel disgusting."

krypto's little noise sounded like one of wonder, as if he was asking what she meant by that. she shook her head, "you'll feel better after a bath, trust me. i need to ask your mother if she washes you because this is like, gross, krypto."

this time he barked. she quickly shushed him and moved to sift through the cupboard below the sink for the correct soap. this soap was particular in that it was unscented and gentle on the skin, and she assumed that it would be okay enough for a dog. especially a dog that wasn't from this planet. he would be fine. plus, he had that much grime on him that this wash probably wouldn't get every single bit of dirt unless he let her doing a second, third, and maybe even forth wash.

carefully, she ran the warm water until it was lukewarm, and let it fill up the bottom of the tub. krypto immediately began to splash around, and she would be lying if she said she hadn't cracked a smile. "krypto!" she exclaimed as he splashed water up at her face. "you're making a mess," a quiet, short chuckle escaped her, "god . . ."

she made gentle work of easing krypto into a pleasant bath. she started off slow with lathering him in soap until he seemed rather pleased by the feeling of her scrubbing him, and by then he was leaning into her touch with a dopey grin, tongue flopped out of his mouth like this was heaven. it was scarily out of character for the insane dog, it kind of put her on edge, waiting for the moment where he flipped out and started running around the apartment soaking wet and barking.

that moment didn't seem to arrive. instead, she rinsed him off. "i'll bet anything that that water looks like pure dirt right now. is that right, boy?" krypto grumbled out a noise that she took to be a yes, and she shook her head as she pulled the plug on the sink.

once the water drained completely, krypto did the unthinkable. he shook himself like a madman, water flying absolutely everywhere at the super speed he did it at. she ducked and tried to shield herself with her hands, spluttering out a laugh of disbelief at the sheer audacity of the dog. this was her first time washing a dog let alone any pet, she didn't think through the possibility that water would become a projectile.

"okay, that's wash number one," she told him gently, keeping her voice level as she wiped her face with the nearest towel she could find. it was a good thing she had taken off her blazer an hour ago when she started feeling a little too warm. the shirt she was wearing had suffered tragically. "i can still feel the dirt on you. at least one more wash, okay?" one more wash meant one more massive shake, but she had at least five minutes before she had to mentally prepare to go through that again.

krypto didn't move when she turned on the tap again, so she sighed in relief and took that as a promising sign.

WHEN HE GOT HOME, clark expected the apartment to be in shambles. he had been preparing for the worst, having stopped by the shops on the way home to pick up red tulips and a box of chocolates to apologise.

so when he got home and krypto was lounging quietly beside his girlfriend on the couch while she reread her braille copy of jane eyre for what felt like the hundredth time since clark had gotten it for her. clark blinked, quietly shutting the front door and locking it behind him, and setting his bag down on the floor. once he took off his shoes and placed them next to his bag, he silently trudged into the lounge room, staring unblinkingly at the sight before him.

"who are you and what have you done with krypto?" were the first words that tumbled clumsily out of his mouth as he took off his glasses and set them on the coffee table. "why is he so clean?"

"gave him a bath," she shrugged, sliding the bookmark between the pages she was up to and setting down the book. clark closed the distance between them, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. it lingered a second longer, and krypto's ears perked up at that. clark hesitantly pat krypto on the head, listening to his tail as it thumped against the back of the couch. "i don't think he's ever had one before."

"mhm," clark hummed, this time kissing her hairline before moving to the other side of the lounge room to put his phone on charge. he caught a peek into her office and saw that krypto's dog bed was no longer in the lounge room but instead by her desk inside her office. a smile pulled across his lips at the sudden change of heart she seemed to have during the day, but he knew better than to comment on that. it was better to let a sweet moment play out as if he never saw it. "want me to get you two anything before i shower?" he asked. he couldn't contain his stupid smile at seeing his prickly girlfriend with the dog she swore she disliked hardly twenty-four hours ago. he set the flowers down on the kitchen counter to put them in a vase after he showered and made his way towards their bedroom.

she only shook her head, shooing him away with her hand as she picked up her book again. "we're fine," she hummed, "thanks for the flowers."

we're fine. however she had tamed this dog, clark had no clue, but the fact that krypto had somehow won her heart in the process was a whole other can of worms he didn't have a can-opener for. with one more glance back at the uncharacteristically silent superdog (who looked so sleepy on top of the blanket he was laying on), clark made his way down the hallway with a larger smile than he wanted her to be aware of.

✶ PAINTED SUNSETS ¹

the only reason you're still around is because you close cases. if you weren't as talented, hotch would have you gone in a heartbeat. or at least he thinks he would — you're convinced otherwise | 1.3k |

✶ OPEN-AND-SHUT CASE ²

clark had driven her to the front of her office building with the extra time he had. he was starting a little later today and working back, having had a few things to sort out at his secret base in antarctica after he dropped her off. she knew he called it the fortress of solitude but to her all that really sounded like was mancave.

he sorted out a few things, namely having to do with a certain cousin and an insane dog, and then he went to work like usual.

it was just like every single day. the same routine, the same people, the same direction with the current piece he was working on . . . the only difference was that he left the office when the sun was beginning to set for the night.

she wasn't home when he got there. he sent a quick text to check in and he vaguely got one back seconds later about how an emergency break in a case had come through and so she was stuck in the office trying to figure out ways to defend a client's fuck up.

it having been days since he had last properly slept, clark fell asleep early, tired from the travel between antarctica and metropolis. early meant that she wasn't home yet.

TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

she wasn't in her spot beside him in bed this early in the morning like she always was. clark woke up earlier having gone to bed eariler than usual, and to see that she wasn't curled up dead asleep next to him at five o'clock this morning was unusual. her scent of vanilla and coconut body wash wasn't lingering on her pillow as if she hadn't come to bed at all. snapping awake in an instant, clark pushed himself out of bed, reaching for his plain white shirt that was hanging off the bed; the one she normally slipped on when she woke up in the mornings.

squinting as he made his way out of the bedroom, he kept his ears tuned in for any little sound to hunt her down quicker. he heard nothing but uneven breathing coming from the direction of the balcony. it was still cold outside, the sun desperately trying to push through the early morning fog. picking up the closest jacket he could find, he moved through the apartment as quickly as he could until he saw the back of her head through the sliding doors.

"baby?" his voice was a gentle hum as he slid the door to the balcony open, one so soft that it would be impossible for the average person to hear. the air was cold on his skin, he could see the goosebumps along her arms. "it's cold out here."

she didn't even blink. staring off into the distance blankly, it was like she was somewhere else entirely. it was so much different to the way she normally stared at something to rely on her other senses: this was something haunted. she flinched when clark draped the jacket over her shoulders, and he quickly rose his hands up in surrender. "sorry," he mumbled, but concern lay riddled within his eyes. "honey, talk to me."

he watched her bottom lip quiver when she opened her mouth to say something, and suddenly her eyes were filling up with unshed tears. "aw, sweetheart," he was quick to take a seat beside her, gathering her up into his arms until her ear was pressed against his heart.

the dam broke into a flood the second she heard the steady rhythm of his heart. the tears started falling so quickly that it pulled violent sobs out of her throat. every hiccup felt as painful as the gunshot that still reverberated in her ears from the night before, constantly on repeat like a broken and very unfixable record. clark didn't utter a word, keeping his heart rate at a soothing number of beats per second for her to hold onto. he held the breaking pieces of his own heart together for her, not wanting to crumble with sadness at the sight of seeing her like this.

he's never seen her cry before. it's one of those odd things that he didn't think about because why would she have a reason to cry? she had a good job and was one of the top lawyers in the city. she had a better income now than she did when they first met and that meant they could now splurge on wants instead of needs. and she was in love with the man that she had been so frightened of letting in once upon a time . . . things were going so well in her life that clark never thought it was odd to not see her cry.

he watched her experience anger and frustration, and that was the only time he watched her eyes go glassy. no tears ever fell. but this? full-on sobbing into his chest with gut-wrenching cries that echoed around the balcony into the early morning? this was unfamiliar territory and he didn't know how to voice his concern without her shutting down.

shutting down was her default, she did it long before meeting him and continued to do it now. it could be something so small and she would go silent and distant. it was evident that had almost been the case here, had he not woken up so early with concern.

clark waited. he waited so long that the yellow sun had finally broke through and warmed his skin to the touch. it healed him in every single way and yet it could never mend his heart the way she could, and right now she was unknowingly shattering it into a million tiny pieces.

only when the sun broke through the clouds did her cries begin to empty in a shallow, hiccupy nothingness. clark brushed her hair back from her face to see that her eyes looked all the more haunted, but this time he could see just how tired she was: it was clear she hadn't slept since waking up the previous morning to pancakes. her eyelids were puffy and undoubtedly sore from crying so violently. clark swore his heart broke a little more.

"do you—" he cleared his throat, rubbing his hand gently up her arm. "do you wanna talk about it?" his voice rose a pitch at the end.

"i'm fine," was the blank answer he received from her. her voice sounded so hollow, so empty. sometimes she spoke quite monotone, but this was new. this was a sadness that he didn't even think was possible to ever see from her. she tried to pull herself away but clark gripped her forearms, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to show that he was serious. she couldn't just walk away from this.

"you haven't slept," he kept his voice quiet all the same. "you were working late last night and i'm sorry i fell asleep before you got home but— i should've stayed up to help you through whatever's going on." he took a breath. "let me help you."

"i don't need help," she shook her head. "you can't fix this."

"maybe not," clark agreed, "but i can listen. it might make you feel better—"

"foggy's dead."

she hadn't meant to spit it out like that. saying it aloud made it real and the reality of all this was scary. her best friend was dead and all she could do was sit here and cry about it instead of finding the strength to fucking do something. anything. she was too paralysed to fight back and too angry to not do anything stupid. she hadn't felt this weak since she lost her vision as a child. this was embarrassing and stupid and she felt miserable and tired and weak and stupid.

clark had only met foggy a few times before. everyone's lives were so busy between work and superhero and vigilante extracurriculars that it was hard to find a time to go out that suited everyone. the first time he had met foggy had been not too long ago when he dropped off the files she had left at home. a few times after that had been similar, all of which ended up with clark running into him at their building. clark also knew that foggy and her hadn't been on the best of terms recently between all the vigilante stuff but that things had slowly been getting better. they had been in the process of expanding their business further into metropolis by hiring more staff and renting out a bigger building.

that joint dream had been crushed; foggy was her best friend but it was clear everything had come crashing down at once between her personal life and her career. clark didn't know how to fix this.

"oh . . ." he trailed off, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water to try find the correct words. what was correct to say here? he couldn't fix this.

the tears were starting up again. they were silently rolling down her cheek like a muted waterfall. "i couldn't save him." clark stayed silent. "i watched him die." he didn't say a word. "it's my fault."

"it's not your fault, sweetheart," he kept his voice a whisper. "tell me who it was."

"i was defending one of the sabatino sons recently," she said, voice shuddering like breathing was hard. "his case was bullshit but it's good money and he was gonna get put away anyway so . . . i got him life with no death penalty, which was the best case scenario. someone from the riley family was pissed that i got him out of capital punishment and put out the hit on foggy to get to me. clearly it worked," her laugh was humourless, a tragic sound that only brought forth more tears. "they're gotham crime families for fuck's sake, this shouldn't be an issue here."

"you're gonna find out who did it," clark assured her, the only thing he could say. there was no point in soothing the anger he could feel building when he knew that she would only lash out on him. there was no reason to upset her further while she was vulnerable. "and i'm gonna help, okay? we're gonna take a week off work and we're gonna sit here until we find out who did this."

". . . i pushed the guy who shot him off the roof," she admittedly quietly. "he's in hospital with a broken back."

it wasn't clark's way of doing things but at least he knew that she didn't kill to get revenge; that would go against every remaining moral she had. "good," he kissed the side of her head. "but we're gonna find out who put out the hit. we're gonna get him to confess and then you're gonna win in that courtroom. am i clear?"

it was stern. it was firm. everything gentle that clark was had stripped away. she blinked, having not expected this much dedication. "working from home sounds good," she sniffled, and clark wiped under her eyes with his thumb. "i just . . . all i wanna do is cry and scream and i hate it. it's not fair."

"i know," clark hummed, raking his fingers through her knotted hair. "and it's gonna take time . . . but i'm here with you for every step, okay? if you don't wanna move from bed, i'll bring everything to you. if you wanna go somewhere, i'll come with you. i love you, and i'll always be right here with you."

DO I WANNA KNOW?

BIG PARTIES WERE NOT really your thing. you liked them, but this one was a little too much for your taste. head spinning from all the lights and the noise ( and probably a little bit of whatever unholy liquid was in a red solo cup ), you nudged tashi.

tashi’s eyes met yours, her attention moving away from whatever conversation she was trying to have with art over the music to focus on you. “yeah?” she questioned, gaze lowering to where she could see you start to reach for the little box in the pocket of your leather jacket. 

“gonna head outside for a sec,” you knew that she knew you needed a moment to relax, but that was exactly why her face was turning a shade of sour.

“text me if you can’t find us,” still, tashi offered a smile, and when you nodded, she turned back to art. he gave you a look over her shoulder that you could read perfectly from the amount of times he’d done it: he’d join you if he hadn’t promised tashi that he’d quit for good this time. 

the fresh air was nice on your skin, the cool nip welcoming, a cleanse from all the grossness from inside. the movement was fluid with how quick you reached into your pocket and withdrew the box, slipping a single cigarette out before putting the box away. it was a terrible bad habit you’d picked up from an old partner in high school, and now it served to complete the rockstar look you’d built for yourself, a compliment for the worn leather jacket warming your shoulders.

it was your body’s automatic response to reach for the lighter in the other pocket while you slipped the cigarette between your lips, flicking the lighter multiple times and hoping for flame. the flame didn’t roar to life. your lips fell into a frown.

“i gotcha,” your head snapped to the closeness of the voice. he looked about your age, but the stubble decorating his face made him look a little older. a lit cigarette was between his own lips, fighting the cold from his body like his own leather jacket was. you were intrigued then, and even more when he was lighting yours without even asking. 

the flame warmed your face, the awful closeness had your eyes wandering. he was messy, and you hated that you liked messy – unruly hair and a wrinkled shirt, mismatched socks and mud scuffed across tennis shoes. “what’s your name?” you found yourself asking. 

“patrick, you?”

you told him your name and he repeated it as if he were tasting the flavours on his tongue. “art and tashi’s little friend,” he pieced together based on vague descriptions he’d picked up of you over the course of time you’d been at college. you felt his eyes take in every inch of you without even having to watch him do so. “they didn’t tell me you were hot.”

surprised, you didn’t let it show. someone that forward with their speech deserved not to get their ego stroked. who he was clicked also. you’d heard tashi complaining about him whenever art brought it up, something about how they all knew each other years ago before college. you never paid much mind to it. “thanks,” you settled for, watching puffs of smoke cloud the air above before disappearing entirely. “they’re inside.”

patrick shrugged, “would rather be out here with you.” he was nonchalant but it made your face warm ever so slightly, the cool air no more with his words as a blanket to shield you. “what do you study?”

“music.”

“damn,” he whistled, it was one he hadn’t heard before. it seemed to him like one of those useless majors that never landed you a job in the future. “you a musician or . . .?”

“yeah,” you perked up a little at the conversation. as much as you loved tashi and art, you knew they were never really interested because it wasn’t tennis. they liked the music you made but they never really asked about it unless you brought it up first. “i actually released my first album last year.”

you watched his eyes light up. light up. you’d never seen that before. “some kinda rock, obviously,” his eyes raked over you again. “on spotify?

you nodded, “‘favourite worst nightmare’,” and you watched as he pulled out his phone, found the grey and yellow album cover, and saved it. he then closed out of the app and clicked on a new one. he passed his phone to you. 

“and i’ll take your number,” he added casually. 

it was probably dangerous, but you were so much more intrigued now. enamored even, maybe. you weren’t one to fall for something as simple as that, you never gave your number out to anyone, but you couldn’t help but type it into his phone and hit save. you handed it back and took the cigarette from your lips with your fingers – it was close to being stomped out anyway. “i might head back in . . . you wanna come?”

patrick shrugged, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “only ‘cause you’re going,” he cracked a smile, and you rolled your eyes and tried to stifle a chuckle. stomping out your own cigarette, you headed back in the direction of the party, patrick a little too close to your side.

R U MINE?

PATRICK ZWEIG WAS DRIVING you crazy. maybe that was a little bit overdramatic, but you genuinely felt like the itch inside your brain was tearing you apart. 

he was away on tour, he only really ever stopped by when he was in the stanford area, and you couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. seeing him had you smiling and constantly in a good mood, but the second he left it felt like a storm cloud had gathered overhead. art noticed before tashi did – you were beyond grateful for that.

“what’s going on with you two?” art had followed you back to the dorm you were lucky you didn’t have to share. the girl staying with you had quit college after two weeks; you didn’t mind because you didn’t really get along anyway. 

“hm?” in a daze, you blinked a few times to zero back in on art. tashi was training right now and would be for the next hour, just like she did every tuesday. just like art and you did every tuesday, you went back to your dorm to smoke without her being there to stop you. you’d since learnt that art picked up the bad habit from patrick, and though tashi had pretty much forced him to quit, he couldn’t just stop altogether. he was down to one cigarette a week, though. the same couldn’t be said for you. “who?”

“you and patrick,” he said like it was obvious. the smoke was gathering, the little fan you had not doing much to push it towards the window. the plastic bag over the smoke alarm was your saving grace. 

your shoulders slumped, “nothing,” but was there any point in denying it? art had always been able to see through you, and patrick was his best friend. “don’t look at me like that.”

“i’ve watched you two grossly flirt for like a month,” art rolled his eyes. he hadn’t really watched, except for that night at that party, but otherwise he heard you two talk on the phone, or when he overheard you two talking in the kitchenette of his dorm last week when patrick dropped by before travelling interstate. “you look happy, too.”

happy. you weren’t sad, but there was really no reason for you to have a smile on your face all the time. maybe a smile had been appearing every time you spoke to patrick, every time he made some joke or his hand brushed against your own. “can i be honest?”

art didn’t have to say anything, he just looked at you with a reassuring nod, tapping the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray. 

“he makes me wanna write again,” you admitted, a warm flush painting its way across your cheeks. you hated to admit that your inspiration fell flat after you dropped your first album, and you’d been struggling for a while now to put things into words. things were flowing again now, smooth and steady like a stream, but you knew the consequences – writing music about a person was like a bad omen. you were ignoring that. “look,” you stood up, walking over to your desk and picking up a new black notebook, one that art recognised was different to the one you had on you last year.

you tossed it to art, who caught it as it landed in his lap, and this time you sat down beside him. art flipped it open to the bookmarked page. “‘i go crazy ‘cause here isn’t where i wanna be’,” he read out, “‘and satisfaction feels like a distant memory,’ oh god,” art glanced up at you. “you’re absolutely cooked.”

“you didn’t have to make fun of me,” you reached to snatch it back, but art was quicker, moving it away from you. “hey, i did not show you that for you to–”

“‘unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days, great escape, lost track of time and space, he’s a silver lining climbing on my desire’,” art was giggling as he read it. “i’m not laughing at you, holy shit you can write,” it was a compliment that you took well, but you still did not want to him hear laugh anymore. “you’re in deep.”

“you can’t repeat any of that, i swear to god, art,” you took the notebook back from him, your tone serious. it cut through his laughter, and he nodded honestly. 

“i won’t, i won’t,” he promised, just as serious as you were. “i suppose it’s the least i can do to thank you.”

“thank me?” your eyebrows furrowed, confusion wrapping vines around your words.

“if patrick didn’t like you, i wouldn’t get a shot with tashi,” he said it nonchalantly, but there was a blush turning his face a light pink. “but you didn’t hear that from me.” if patrick didn’t like you. patrick likes you. he likes you back. you felt like you were back in high school again with the excitement coursing through your veins. stupidly over a boy, yes, but still excitement. “aw, i had a feeling you liked her,” you focused on instead, a stupid smile trying to make your cheeks hurt. “i knew it!”

ONE FOR THE ROAD

“TELL ME ABOUT IT,” you asked, mindlessly trailing your fingers across his palm. patrick had his back to your cupboards, the tiled kitchen floor no longer cold to sit on. your back was to his chest, his arms thrown over your shoulders to keep you close. art and tashi were probably still in the main room watching whatever film they’d picked out of your collection. 

“it’s not interesting,” he shook his head, unable to see the immediate frown pulling across your lips. you never saw him because he was away on tour, god forbid you be interested in it for that exact reason.

“you never wanna talk to me,” you tilted your head back to try get a look at his face. “if you’re not interested in me anymore you can just tell me.”

his fingers suddenly enclosed over your hand, wiggling a little until your fingers locked into place with his own. he stood up from behind you and picked up his can of beer with his free hand. “come for a walk.”

“uh . . .” you stumbled to your feet with a tug from him, nothing but confusion plastered across your face. he pulled you through your dorm – you only just managed to pick up your leather jacket off the coat rack on the way to the door – until he stopped to slip his shoes back on. “pat—”

“trust me,” he said, which was insanely hard to do because he was the epitome of yes, give us nothing! but you found yourself following anyway. 

“hey,” you called out to art and tashi as patrick opened the front door. their heads turned to you. “no fucking on my bed,” you said pointedly. “or my couch. or . . . i don’t know, just not either of those.” you cringed even thinking about it, but art fell into a fit of giggles while tashi rolled her eyes. 

“so the dining table is fine?” she asked dryly, and you had no response to that, so you followed patrick outside and shut the door behind you. you couldn’t decipher a thing from him, silent and dragging you out into the crisp night air. you’d probably be terrified if patrick was actually capable of physical damage, lucky for you it only seemed to be emotional. though, in thinking about it, you weren’t actually sure that was the lucky option.

the lights along the footpath out of your building were illuminated. glancing up at the onyx sky, you wished they were off so you could see the stars better. “patrick?”

the pace had slowed, you could comfortably shrug your jacket on over your shoulders now. it wasn’t cold enough for one, but you didn’t really go anywhere without it. that included leaving your dorm at midnight, like now. “it’s a nice night,” he said, not really ignoring your questioning but definitely avoiding it. “you like the night sky, hm?”

you blinked a few times, a subtle shake to your head, “y–yeah,” you agreed, which only really proved he’d paid attention to your mindless rambles when you last saw him. “would’ve taken up astronomy if i was smart enough.” you didn’t talk about college all that much around patrick anyway – he’d told you he didn’t care for it a number of times now. it was rocky, he’d made remarks before about how he only dated college girls since graduating high school because they were conveniently easier to find. you hadn’t liked that and walked away while tashi was telling him off, but you’d moved past that . . . much like you’d moved past all the other incidents with things he’d said or did. 

red wasn’t the brightest colour, it was easy to miss a few of the flags here and there. 

it was silent again but he didn’t let go of her hand as they walked the empty footpath down towards the fountain in the middle of the little square that was bustling with students during the daylight hours. “i haven’t been . . . the best,” patrick worded, clearing his throat and staring straight at the fountain ahead.

“you’ve been a dick,” you reminded him bluntly, and he sighed with a nod. 

“yeah . . . a dick,” he corrected this time. “and i’m really sorry for the way i’ve been it’s just . . . i don’t know. i don’t have an excuse. i’m sorry.” you listened carefully, glancing at him until he stopped walking once you reached the fountain. it was off now, looking like a little play pool of water instead of this magnificent stone water feature. “i wanted to ask you something.”

oh god. fretting wasn’t the way to go about this, but this was patrick: it could go in any direction. you wouldn’t have been surprised if he straight up just asked you if he should get a haircut or not. “okay,” you said slowly, trying not to think of the fifty things it could be.

he looked nervous — had you ever seen that before? his hands were awkwardly shoved into his pockets and he was rocking on his heels slightly. what was so important that he had to take you out of the comfort of your dorm to stand outside in the cold?

“i just . . . i’m pretty sure i really like you, y’know?” he said it so quick you almost had to ask him to say it again. “and i know i’m always away, but i like spending time with you . . . will you be my girlfriend, baby?”

he was always away. constantly away. and it probably made it harder because he didn’t go to stanford, so out of the lineup of potential people you could pick from to date, patrick wasn’t the easiest contestant. but liking him was so easy. he was charming, and you liked staying up late talking to him, whether it be in person or on the phone. you couldn’t really imagine yourself with anyone else. “will you promise to stop being a dick?”

“uh . . . i can try . . .?” patrick’s voice rose a pitch, cringing at his words. “i’m trying, i really am. i don’t wanna make you upset anymore.”

you weren’t entirely sober. maybe things would be different if he asked you when you were sober. it didn’t really matter when you wrapped your arms around his neck tightly, your forehead pressed against his. “yes, patrick,” you laughed softly, “i’ll be your girlfriend.”

ARABELLA

BIG PARTIES WERE STILL not your thing. the only reason you were attending this one in god knows what frat house was because it was a costume party — the theme being 60s movies. you were going to pass originally and spend the night watching whatever movies you wanted instead of doing assignments, but art and tashi had invited you, and they’d convinced patrick to stop in for it as well. 

you felt good. you were dressed in a tight-fitting, lowkey revealing outfit because you’d picked barbarella to go to the party as. patrick, who had dressed up as a cowboy for once upon a time in the west, hadn’t been doing a fantastic job in keeping his hands off you to the point where tashi told him off because she didn’t want to witness it. art’s outfit was in line with west side story and tashi was dressed as eliza doolittle from my fair lady. and compared to those around you at the party . . . you were almost certain you guys were the best dressed there. 

can’t buy me love by the beatles was playing, a momentary surprise because these time-period costume events were never really accurate enough. the last one you went to was 80s themed and the music was early 2000s hip-hop. 

the most of an interaction you got when you made it through the front door was from a guy in one of your classes, who laughed out a, ‘never thought i’d see the day you’re not in that fuckin’ jacket’, too which you just rolled your eyes at and continued through with patrick’s hand in yours — as if that fuckin’ jacket wasn’t tucked up under patrick’s arm, ready for the exact moment you either felt self-conscious or cold, whichever came first.

the beginning of the party went as it usually did: people catching up and hunting for where the liquor was hiding. tashi, art, patrick and yourself kept in a tight-knit group while you were all still sober, occasionally chatting with classmates and other friends that were floating around the party. photos were snapped, keepsakes for a later date, and memories to appear on the facebook timeline tomorrow morning. the party picked up when more people arrived, and so did the atmosphere — the music got louder, people were dancing now, someone dressed as batman was making out with mary poppins against a wall . . . typical party stuff. 

patrick didn’t like to dance, or maybe he just didn’t want to dance with you at a college party, because art had promised you that they used to dance around at ones thrown at mark rebellato back in the day. he was tense and awkward, almost as if he didn’t want to be there, and it hadn’t taken you long to frown and move away from where everyone else was dancing. you couldn’t help but feel your mood drop in seeing tashi and art dance together not that far from where you had just been, a smile on both of their faces and laughs tumbling from their lungs.

still, you shook it off. it didn’t matter. maybe he just wasn’t in the mood, you didn’t want to force him to do anything. 

patrick had more to drink than you did, at least at this moment in time anyway. a part of you had hoped it would make him loosen up a little more like it normally did. and for the most part — it kind of did. 

you couldn’t complain too much when he was still paying attention to you. he wasn’t one to shy away from PDA, and on occasion, neither did you. you let his hands roam while you both participated in conversations with others. his hand would start at your back and travel lower, or sometimes his arm was around your shoulder and his hand was testing the waters of your chest. it was warm within the dizziness, so pleasant to be in the moment of. when others left to mingle further, he kept you to the spot, pressing his front against your back, hands sitting low to keep you in place.

whispers were shared, most of which right against the shell of your ear. you could feel every syllable in his breath. you had just enough self-respect and restraint to thwart every one of his attempts to throw you over his shoulder. he was so loving tonight; nights like this made you fall so much deeper, your heart opening up just that little bit more, all for him.

there was a brief few minutes that you found tashi and art again, and those were spent laughing at the news that batman had left his makeout session with mary poppins with a bright red handprint across his face. then they were gone again, and you both spent the time now mingling amongst yourselves. “hey,” you had to raise your voice to get patrick’s attention. his eyes snapped towards you, away from whatever he was staring at across the room. “can i have my jacket?” you asked, placing your hand on the leather. it was securely tucked under his arm still, and once what you said had clicked, he loosened his grip so that you could take it. “thanks.”

“no worries,” he waved off with the hand holding a red solo cup. you watched some of whatever he had in there slosh out onto the floor, a trip hazard for someone else to deal with. “aw,” there was a slur in his words to match the haze in his eyes, getting one last look of you from your head to your feet as he protested. “but i like the arabella outfit. ‘s hot.”

you blinked. “barbarella,” you corrected, and he shrugged, reaching for your waist again. he adjusted his hand as you slipped the jacket comfortably over your shoulders, buried in the comforting lull of smoke and leather. “goin’ for a smoke,” you leaned closer to him so that you didn’t have to yell to be heard clearer. you also had a feeling that if you said it any louder, tashi would appear and give you that disappointed mum look again. “comin’?”

patrick shook his head, “nah,” which actually managed to shock you. he’d been touchy all night, there were multiple times you had to stop him from raising his hands too high up your thighs or refrain from letting him pull you into the nearest bathroom. and now here he was refusing to step outside with you. it wasn’t a huge deal, it’s not like it was a bother or anything, but it was just weird. he stepped out to share a cigarette with you every other time.

you were just reading into it. it was nothing. 

you left without another word, fumbling through your pockets to pull out the familiar box. you seemed to be reaching for it more these days. 

I WANT IT ALL

“CAN YOU AT LEAST promise me that?”

you hated this. the pinpricks stabbing into your eyes, the tremble trying to force its way out through your words, you hated it all. the air still lingered with smoke that wasn’t yours, the gross taste of his cigarettes still on your tongue as you stared at patrick zweig like your world was caving in. he looked unbothered as he slipped on his shoes. 

“there’s nothing to promise, babe, fuck,” patrick shook his head, messy curls moving stiffly. “since when are you so jealous, huh?”

“i’m not,” you could feel the anger seeping through your bones, your teeth threatening to grind on his bullshit. “you feed into their attention like i give you fucking nothing. that’s not jealousy, that’s wondering why my boyfriend doesn’t think my attention is enough for him.”

it felt like discussing a dog with the attention span of a flea, but that’s what it was starting to feel like. you had no problem with the long distance between your relationship because you were studying and he was off playing tennis, yet here you were worrying once again that he was leaving and not coming back. art had felt bad and pulled up facebook to show you what patrick was getting up to because you didn’t use the website, and it had been bothering you ever since. it wasn’t your fault patrick got lonely on tour and looked for attention that wasn’t you, so why was he pretending it was nothing? at this point, you didn’t even care, you just wanted the truth out of him. 

“i love you,” he said simply, emphasis on the final syllable as he tied his laces.

“do you?”

“are you fucking serious?” he snapped, finally looking up at you. he looked as angry as you felt, pushing his hair back from his eyes. “i don’t understand what your problem is.”

“do you want to see other girls, patrick?” voice steel, you refused to let him see you cry. you kept your arms crossed over your chest in fear that you’d pick up the nearest object — which conveniently happened to be his tennis racquet — and launch it at his head. 

his silence spoke louder than he perhaps intended it to. “no,” he rolled his eyes, standing up from the couch. he closed the gap between you both, your heartbeat rising with every step closer. he didn’t stop until he stood in front of you. you refused to meet his eyes.

with a finger, patrick lifted your chin so that you were looking at him. “stop doing this,” he shook his head, dropping his hand back to his side. “every fucking time i come visit, for fucks sake . . .” a sigh rattled out of him, and you could only stay uncharacteristically unargumentative. “i gotta go.”

you nodded, “i know.”

you felt his lips against your forehead, your lips bristling with the lack of contact. he picked up his bag and racquet and was gone before you could even begin to try utter a goodbye. 

NO. 1 PARTY ANTHEM

“YOU SERIOUSLY CAN’T GO anywhere without this thing,” art rolled his eyes, a laugh tumbling from his lips. he flipped up the collar of your leather jacket as he moved from walking behind you to beside you, and you nudged him in the ribs in response.

art, patrick and you weren’t necessarily barhopping, but you’d gotten a drink at one before moving to the next street over to find a bar more entertaining. so far, the two you had gone to were full of old men being a little too creepy for your taste. you wished tashi had tagged along but she had a match tomorrow – something you didn’t know about until art showed up to meet patrick and yourself without her in tow. if you’d known, you wouldn’t be going out with the two of them right now. 

you smoothed your collar back down. “you keep telling me.” patrick led you both into the next bar, holding the door open before following in behind you. the bar was a lot busier than the others, a band even playing live music on the other side of the room. you noticed that this one was less old man and more women on their girls’ nights, some as young as you and others in their forties. 

“drinks are on me this time,” patrick spoke up before you could offer, and art and you shared a shocked glance. he never insisted he pay for something first. “what do ya want?”

art asked for whatever beer was on tap, and you asked for a martini, sick of copying art in getting the most disgusting, cheap beer there was. patrick nodded, hardly looking at the two of you before he headed over to the bar. 

still, you thought nothing of it, a simple shake of your head as you followed art to the nearest free table. “i think this is my last one,” you pushed your hair back out of your face, slipping out of the sleeves of your jacket to try cool down a little, the heat of so many people in one space overwhelming. 

“yeah, same,” art yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. the action made a yawn tumble out of you. “good luck convincing him,” he nodded in your direction, and you turned to glance over your shoulder to try catch a glimpse of him. you could just manage to see patrick by the edge of the bar. there were a group of girls your age sitting there laughing together, and it looked like patrick had been roped into their conversation while he waited for the drinks to be made. it would be rude to ignore them, so you shrugged to yourself and turned back to art.

art looked like he was thinking about that a lot more than you were. 

“i’ll head home by myself, then.” it wasn’t a long walk, maybe twenty-five minutes or so depending on how fast you walked until you were back on campus grounds. you weren’t going to be the reason your boyfriend stopped having a good time during his time off from tennis. he’d call you a buzzkill for it anyway, but you didn’t expect him to understand that you had more than one thing to commit to. you had classes, upcoming exams, assignments and songs to work on . . . going out was fun, but you also needed to keep up with your own life. 

IT TOOK PATRICK OVER five minutes to come back with your drinks. by the way his whiskey was half-drunk and how the ice cube looked a little sad, it was obvious that the drinks had been made a little while ago. you kept your mouth shut from commenting on it when your martini didn’t taste ice cold.

you were sick of arguments because he wouldn’t ever let you win. there were times you were winning and so adamant about it, but patrick always had to get the final word in, the final blow. the last thing you wanted was to display any of it in front of art, but you were almost certain he knew anyway. patrick probably complained about you and that was why art had been hanging out with you more often: pity. pity company. he probably felt bad about how his best friend was acting and was trying to make it up to you on behalf of him — it hadn’t been the first time he’d done it, so you couldn’t exactly rule it out.

“i’m gonna head back after this,” you dared mention once silence fell between art and patrick, who had been conversing about something to do with someone they knew back at mark reballato.

“yeah, i probably won’t be too far behind you,” art agreed, glancing briefly at his watch. “got an essay to finish.”

for once, patrick didn’t put up a fight about it, not even trying to convince the two of you to stay behind a little longer. “that’s fine,” you almost choked. he sounded so . . . nonchalant, almost like he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. you found it seriously hard to believe. “i’ve still got some time to unwind, so.” 

you were just glad that this time you did not have to stay back with him like other times when he begged you not to head back to your dorm to either do assignments or sleep. all you currently wanted to do was let tobacco mingle with the aftertaste of the martini on the way home. it was seriously becoming a problem, and you knew you had to drop by the tobacconist before your next class to pick up another pack.

you probably should have realised that something was wrong when you said goodbye to patrick but he didn’t lock eyes with you. you should have definitely realised this when he barely brushed your cheek with his lips to kiss you goodbye, seemingly lost in thought.

even so, you certainly should have come to terms with the fact that something was wrong when he didn’t slip into your bed at any point throughout the night, or when you asked tashi if she had seen him at art’s dorm at all the following morning. perhaps you were just in a tranquil state of denial.

MAD SOUNDS

THE FIRST TIME YOU realised it, you almost gave patrick the benefit of that the doubt. that was until you remembered that it was your dorm room, and that you also did not want to be a pushover. 

hand on the door’s handle, you paused. it was a wednesday, the day you had four classes and a group project to work on in the library all in one day. you were so tired that your feet had been practically dragging on the way back, fumbling through your pockets for your dorm key as you were crushed under the weight of your shoulder bag. 

the pause to fumble with your keys turned into a few moments of unmoving silence when you heard voices inside: one the unmistakable sound of patrick’s voice, but the other unfamiliar. and feminine. one that did not belong to tashi duncan or anyone else you knew. 

there was a giggle that patrick seemed to fuel with his own chuckles, and that was enough for you to stuff your key back into your pocket and pull out a cigarette. you needed five minutes to think.

the cold air nipped at your nose as the orange strip of the cigarette dwindled. you watched it shrivel up like a drowning metaphor, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and holding you under. dropping it to the floor and stomping on it, you made a mental note to pick it up on your way out with the stuff you needed for tomorrow morning’s classes. 

finding the correct key, you shoved it into the lock and listened to it click open. the commotion inside seemed to still. you had to bump your shoulder into the door to get it open ( you were still waiting for the maintenance staff to fix the old, stubborn door ) and the silence that hit you was like a wall. you dreaded rounding the corner.

the sight that greeted you was strange. there was patrick in a white singlet, but there was also diane from your music class sitting beside him, cheeks flushed. diane’s hair was messy and the eyeliner under her eyes had smudged. considering that this was the usually-flawless girl that had dubbed herself the pop princess after writing some lyrics that sounded a little too familiar to katy perry, you knew that the innocent look on her face was bullshit. it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened – and patrick not being able to hold eye contact with you sold it.

“oh, hi!” diane sounded chipper, a slight shake in her voice. the way she said it made it sound like she was surprised to see you in your own dorm. “i was just—”

“leaving,” you shot her a fake smile, one you were too tired to put much effort into, as you set your bag down on the floor. diane blinked, slightly shaking her head as she stood. 

“i was just dropping this off,” she handed the papers in her palm out to you, and you took them with a confused glance. “you left these on your desk, i thought i’d drop by and hand ‘em back.”

you were too tired to notice that the name in small writing on top of the first sheet was not yours. 

“patrick said you’d be back soon so i waited.”

bullshit.

patrick’s silence spoke loud. he knew he’d been caught, and diane was only making it worse.

“thanks,” your lips pulled into a thin line. “night.”

diane scurried to grab her things before leaving as quickly as possible. you waited for the door to click shut before you said a single word to your boyfriend.

“why?”

“look, it’s not—”

you cut him off sharply. a little sharper than the tears spiking at the corners of your eyes. “don’t lie to me. i just wanna know why.” he was silent. “am i not good enough?” you asked, and he was silent again. “‘cause i recall you being the one who couldn’t last longer than—”

“what the fuck,” it was like he exploded all at once, volcanic ash spewing from his mouth. “why do i always have to have a fucking answer with you?”

your eyebrows furrowed. “i caught you cheating, patrick. i’m not asking you to solve an equation or some shit.”

it was like it flipped a switch in him. there was no denying what you knew, and he had realised that. “i’m— i’m so sorry,” his voice shattered, all traces of anger gone in an instant. “i love you, baby, c’mon, i’m sorry.” he was inching his way over to you, abandoning his spot on your couch to try wrap you up in a hug. every step back you took from him hurt, but it hurt a lot less than knowing that you were going to have to bleach your couch. maybe even your bed.

“don’t, i can’t do this right now,” you stepped around him to walk into your room, sighing incredibly loudly in relief when you bed looked the same as how you left it this morning. patrick followed you at a safe distance. it only took you a few minutes to grab an outfit for tomorrow and shove it into your bag, as well as grabbing some toiletries from the bathroom. 

“i’m not staying here,” in other words, i’m not staying in the same dorm you fucked another girl in. you were going to stay with tashi, and though you didn’t tell him that, you assumed he probably knew that anyway. it was a lot safer staying with her than art, because tashi would absolutely beat the shit out of him without any remorse unlike if you stayed with art, who would be mad but also try play devil’s advocate. you loved art dearly, but now was not the time for that. 

you didn’t say another word to him, ignoring his begging on your way out.

THE SECOND TIME IT had been art who graciously let you know with a large amount of intelligence, tashi being his backing support. you skipped going to a party with them because you had an exam the following day, and apparently patrick was in town ( not that you knew, you weren’t really on speaking terms ) and apparently he got up close with some girl in tashi’s business class. tashi had been very kind in sparing details when she told you, “his tongue was fully down her throat. fucking pig, he’s fuckin’ nasty” and that had been enough for you to break out of your smoke-hazed bubble.

you cornered patrick zweig when you saw him next, ignoring his whining about being hungover and not being up for conversation. “i’m done,” you said without even uttering a greeting, so uncaring that this was the first time you had spoken to him since you caught him with diane. “i should’ve fuckin’ told you that ages ago.”

“baby—”

his face fell. he looked so much more sober and awake than he previously did moments ago. “no. fuck you, patrick.” you held your tongue as to not provoke any further arguments, leaving the comments about how his failing career is an embarrassment in the back of your mind and turning to leave before he could utter another word. 

FIRESIDE

THERE WEREN’T ENOUGH ‘MAYBE next times’ in the world to satisfy your best friends. especially not anymore when they were well aware you were avoiding anything to do tennis. you were running out of excuses. tashi and art knew your movements – when you had what class and a rough outline of your exam timetable, so when they knew for a fact that you had no reason to be studying, they knew you were choosing to avoid their matches like the plague.

they missed you, plain and simple. at art’s games, you were the designated cheerleader because tashi was usually busy critiquing his plays. at tashi’s games, art may as well have been sporting pom-poms with how he cheered on his girlfriend, something that you couldn’t help but join in on with enthusiasm. that hadn’t been happening recently.

tennis reminded you of him. of how you’d watched him lose more than he won, but when he did win it always felt special. accompanying tashi to art’s match two days after the breakup felt suffocating. there was no commentary from your then boyfriend, no answers to your stupid questions about the sport that you still didn’t fully understand. art had hoped it would make you feel better when he let you know that patrick had lost every match since but it did nothing of the sort. you tried to flash a smile and utter serves him right but all you could do was shrug and bottle your anger. your frustration. your bitterness.

hating patrick was fucking difficult. most days you hated yourself more than you hated him purely because you missed him. it was a hard truth you couldn’t share with anyone because it was so plain stupid. having him as a constant in your life for so long had morphed a place in your heart, one that you couldn’t just resculpt with cement. you hated yourself for spending more time staring at his contact in your phone more than you cared to admit. 

the world faded away for a little while. you went to classes, you spoke with your friends ( and avoided their hangouts ), and went back to your dorm to scribble on a notepad. 

lyrics came naturally to you, but you had been digging around in your brain for as long as you’d been dating patrick to come up with something new. now that it was over, the words wouldn’t stop flowing. your pens were running out of ink and your notebook was low on spare pages. 

you didn’t even hear your door open until the gentle voice of art alerted you to there being someone in your dorm. “oh, honey,” it was the same tone of a mother finding her daughter sobbing into a tub of ice cream. he maneuvered around the various sheets of paper that were not sheets of homework, trying not to move or step on any in fear that he’d upset you even further. “this isn’t good.”

you half-ignored him, crossing out a line of words that didn’t quite feel enough like worthy poetry. it was done with so much force that a hole ripped through the paper. you took it as your sign to throw it off to the side.

art was careful. he did not want to overstep. he found an empty spot on the couch and sat down, picking up the nearest sheet of paper. he read it once, then twice, and you watched as he did so, trying to figure out what he thought about it without wanting to ask. 

i’m not sure if i should show you what i found. has it gone for good? or is it coming back around? isn’t it hard to make up your mind? when you’re losing and your fuse is fireside? you had placed it on the couch because that one had a little more potential than the rest.

and then he picked up another piece of paper, this one tucked underneath the one he was already reading through. there’s all those places we used to go and i suspect you already know, but that place on memory lane you like still looks the same. but something about it’s changed.

“i hate him,” you found the courage to say. the words didn’t feel like your own. “and i hate that he’s the reason i’m writing again and the fact that i can’t stop thinking about him and how angry at him i am and how i feel like maybe i don’t hate him at all.”

silence swallowed them. it wasn’t the nice kind. 

“i shouldn’t have said anything,” you added quickly, heart hammering. “sorry.”

art was your friend, but he was patrick’s first. this wasn’t fair and you most certainly weren’t going to come between them and force him to choose sides.

luckily for you, you didn’t have to.

“patrick’s a dick,” art shrugged as if it were nothing, setting your lyrics back down where he found them. “he treated you like shit and that’s totally not okay. you deserve so much better than him, y’know?”

“mhm.” 

would it even be easy to move on? little things served as a constant reminder of everything he was — walking past the tennis courts, mindlessly cooking his favourite meal when the ingredients were all you had in the fridge, walking past the places he took you to when leaving campus . . . it was draining. emotionally, physically, and psychologically. he was everywhere and nowhere all at once. he clawed into the confines of your mind, nestling in the scratches he left; hidden, buried, and beyond reach. it seemed impossible to exterminate.

“i’m always here if you wanna talk . . . and him and i aren’t on speaking terms at the moment, if that makes you feel better,” art offered with a helpful smile. always so kind, you envied the fact that he could pull a smile out of any situation. he was sunshine with a golden halo and you were jealous that he was selfish enough to keep that all to himself. you would do anything to feel the same. 

you were running out of cigarettes. his smile reminded you that you barely had enough to make it through to nightfall. 

“a little,” you admitted. the haunting edges of a smile were scarce but art saw through to it. he didn’t push, just nodded and leaned forward as if he were to stand. “thanks.”

he nodded. “did you want me to leave?” he took your silence as an answer, but he paused midway through standing when you shook your head, internal debate ceasing.

“please stay,” it was so soft he almost missed it. soft, quiet, a meek murmur that was so unlike anything he had ever heard from you and he slumped back into the couch. “unless you have somewhere to be.”

art shook his head, his curls tumbling and giving in to the oncoming frizz from the humidity. “nope!” he said it so casually. so warmly. it was home amidst all the problems that laid deep.

your fingers didn’t itch towards that little box in your pocket the entire time art accompanied you. it laid forgotten, an unwelcome desire locked away for just a little longer, saved for a rainy day when the sun within your dorm was so pleasant.

WHY'D YOU ONLY CALL ME WHEN YOU'RE HIGH?

IT WAS THE DEAD of night when your phone rang.

no one really called anymore. why would they when you never answered? if art and tashi wanted something, they knew to come straight to you if they wanted your attention or opinion.

things were quiet on campus tonight. caught in the middle of exam weeks, all the parties would be on hold until next week when the break finally began. the weather was getting warmer, the nights getting longer, but things were good. soon enough, you would be graduating and moving your life to somewhere else in california — los angeles was looking the best for your up and coming career at the moment, and then maybe new york if things went well. 

things were great. excellent, even.

with a groan, you rolled out of the comforting lull of sleep and straight into your bedside table, blindly reaching for your phone that sadly was not on silent. 

it wasn’t just one call. at least five missed calls plagued your lockscreen, a few voicemails left trailing behind them. noticing the contact name, all tiredness melted away as you pressed on one of the voicemails and raised your phone to your ear.

“hey . . .” patrick zweig’s voice was daunting, a haunting coolness washing numbingly over your senses. “god . . .” you could hear it. he was unmistakably high, the drowsy chuckles gave him away. he sounded more hearty when he was drunk, more slurred speech and undefined rhythm. this was all tact and sleepy daze. “i saw you with that new girlfriend of yours . . . she’s hot but she’s nothin’ like you, y’know? she is your girlfriend, right? like, you guys seemed pretty close . . . i miss you. fuck, i miss you so bad. pick up, babe, c’mon.”

the message cut off. another call lit up the screen and with a sigh you answered it. “what?” it was harsher than you expected it to be, and you tried your best to keep it to a whisper-shout at the least. it was hard to feel bad when patrick was undoubtedly high and miserable on the other end of the call. 

“woah,” it was like you could hear him blink, slow and unsure, and there was a scramble on the other end of the phone. “did not think you were gonna pick up.”

“‘cause i wasn’t,” you rolled your eyes, angrily flopping back into bed and pulling the blankets up over your head. and i shouldn’t’ve, you thought numbly, the need to claw your eyes out from your skull sickening. 

“but you did.” it was a ridiculous taunt. he had clocked you on it and all you could do was press your lips into a thin line in response. “god . . . missed your voice so bad, babe—”

“this is the greed they spoke about in the bible, patrick,” you responded blankly. it was late – or early, maybe? – and you definitely did not have time to deal with this. to deal with him. dealing with patrick zweig was like navigating a freight train incident where the brakes don’t work and it decides to also take a tumble off the tracks. it was basically a natural disaster hidden under the guise of a below-average, washed-up tennis player stuck in his wannabe fratboy lifestyle. you did not have time for him.

he scoffed loudly, a lazy sound that dragged. “i broke your heart so bad you picked up religion? be for real, babe.” the switch up in his tone was normal; he went from calm to angry so easily that you can’t believe you stuck around with it for so long. he was a volcano waiting impatiently to erupt and destroy all in its wake and you had been stupidly addicted to the danger. 

“sure, patrick,” you hummed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “you’re high.”

“mhm,” patrick hummed casually, there was a pause and then the staticky sound of him exhaling, proving your point. just the sound of his breath had your fingers itching for a cigarette. “what makes ya say that?”

“you only ever call me when you’re high,” you really weren’t sure why you were still entertaining him. it was late, you were tired, and you had a million better things to do than sit here and listen to his voice. patrick zweig was irritable on any given day but no more so than when he was high at an ungodly hour of night and demanding your attention. your skin crawled when he exhaled again. subconsciously, your hand drifted over to the pack of marlboro reds sitting on your bedside table. they were strong and the perfect quick smoke — a deadly combination after hours. the pack was almost empty, you needed to grab some after the library study session tomorrow. “it’s really pathetic. bye.”

hanging up on him, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. the bed dipped as you moved to stand up, shoving the pack of reds into your pocket, and only then did a tired sigh escape from the pretty mouth of your girlfriend, juliet, who you had totally forgotten was sleeping beside you. you’d learnt in such a short period of time that she could sleep through a hurricane but if you moved a little too much in bed, she woke up immediately. it was kind of sweet. she was an angel. 

“baby?” juliet’s eyelashes fluttered open angelically, her hand reaching out to try grab you before you left. her voice was croaky but she was perfect all the same. you were genuinely surprised that she hadn’t woken up at your loud frustrations not even two minutes ago. "where're you going? ‘s late.”

you leaned over your bed to press a kiss to her cheek, “i’ll be back in a sec, go back to sleep.”

the rustle of the cigarettes when you bent down were the dead giveaway that made her frown. she wasn’t a fan of your chainsmoking, and you’d gotten better about slowly trying to wean yourself off doing so since you found out. you were doing your best but patrick got to you in such a way that it seemed to throw your progress out the window every time.

juliet sighed and nodded, tilting her head to let her lips meet yours before tucking back under the blankets. you slipped out of your dorm and into the starry darkness without another word.

SNAP OUT OF IT

ART WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP so fluidly that it was such an unreal match to watch. tashi and you sat up in the stands cheering louder than everyone else. it was like a match had lit your spark back up to what it used to be, so much so that you felt like art’s cheerleader back in the early college days all over again.

tashi wouldn’t say it to your face, but she could tell that you were morphing back into your old self one day at a time. she’d helped set you up with juliet quite some time ago now, them having been childhood friends that reconnected when juliet moved back to california after boarding school and university in england, and tashi knew she would be the perfect person to bring back your spark. juliet was a ray of sunshine even on the darkest of days and with your never-ending stormclouds, it was the perfect match. you were starting to realise that a lot more now; in the beginning it had just felt like tashi was trying to fix you. you were bitter and refused to have anything to do with juliet, but you promised her you’d go on one date and suddenly you were smitten. tashi was too good a matchmaker and you were now only bitter about how right she had been. you owed tashi big time. 

“i still don’t get tennis,” juliet mentioned as art, tashi and you hopped to your next bar. art had this glow that hadn’t died down since he won all those hours ago, and his smile only disappeared briefly every time he kissed tashi with so much passion. she stumbled every time, not usually one for PDA but the pride running through her veins had her giving in with a grin.

“i didn’t either,” you promised her, squeezing her hand from where your fingers were interlaced. your leather jacket clashed with her bubblegum perfume and pink miniskirt and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “clap when tashi claps and listen when she critiques something, that’s the best way to pick it up.”

nodding, juliet let her head fall onto your shoulder; she stood shorter beside you, even with the slight platform on her white docs. “got it. clap when tashi claps.”

“i’ll make you a powerpoint,” tashi called over her shoulder from where her and art had drifted slightly in front of the two of you. “and a pop quiz.”

art fell into a fit of giggles. he was a little further than tipsy and that meant everything was funny for no apparent reason. “we should play doubles,” he suggested, spinning around (and almost tripping) to glance between juliet and yourself.

you were quick to shake your head. “no fucking way, art. only if i get tashi as a teammate and you get juliet. then that’s fair.” there was no way you and juliet would be able to even get close to scoring one point against tashi and art if they were on the same team. you weren’t a sore loser but you had a feeling playing against two tennis champions would turn you into one.

juliet nodded once again. “sounds good to me. i don’t think i’d hit the ball well at all.”

“girl, me neither,” you snorted out a laugh. “i tried, like, once. horrible experience.”

art turned back around with another laugh, but it died almost instantly on his tongue when tashi nudged him in the ribs to bring his attention to something up ahead. you couldn’t see anything from behind them, your attention focused on not tripping over the uneven patch of sidewalk. you were so focused on that that you didn’t notice tashi and art had stopped, and you ran straight into tashi’s back.

“ow, what the fu—” your voice died in your throat when you made out the person stopped in front of tashi. patrick zweig looked slightly worse than you remembered him to be. his hair had grown out a little and his stubble had clearly meant to be shaven days ago. he had his hands in the pockets of his purple tennis shorts, goosebumps raising up his arm from the slight chill in the air tonight. there was a slump in his shoulders, no doubt from losing the tennis match he clearly had earlier in the afternoon. your spine straightened when you finally snapped to your senses, your hand squeezing juliet’s a little tighter. 

“hey, art,” patrick smiled at art like no time had passed at all. it was a little strained, confining into more of a smirk that had you grimacing and exhaling a sigh. “tashi.” he caught sight of you and mentioned your name, too. “long time, no see.”

art and patrick’s relationship had devolved since it turned out the latter was a serial cheater. you didn’t want to destroy their friendship, and you were happy to keep the distance if art remained friends with him but art was too loyal. he was loyal to tashi first above all, and then he was loyal to you. he couldn’t stand around and watch his best friend since forever smash your heart into five million pieces and get away with it unscathed. art tried to patch things up, especially by getting patrick to apologise properly to you, but patrick was too stubborn for any of that.

this truly had been the first time the three of you had seen patrick in a long time. 

“hey, man,” art’s voice was flat, the bubbliness in his tone from earlier flattening. “heard you had a match in the city.”

san fransisco was about a forty minute drive away. the fact that patrick was this close to stanford couldn’t have been a coincidence. the thought of it had you unconsciously pushing juliet behind you.

“yeah,” but he wasn’t focused on art. his eyes were on you, flickering between your face and the glimpse he could get of juliet. “heard you fell in love, huh?” he jutted his chin out towards juliet. “this the lucky girl?”

juliet, ever the angel, squeezed your hand comfortingly and stepped out of the safety of your side. “lucky girl, indeed,” she smiled so sweetly it could’ve been poison, holding her hand out for him to shake. “juliet, and you are?”

she said it in a way to shake his confidence. juliet knew who patrick was by name, she knew everything there was to know about him and how awful he had been the further your relationship with her grew. patrick assumed that was the case, so the fact that juliet was pretending she knew nothing about him made him falter for just a second. he wanted an attitude and to be told he was a dick. the kindness shocked him to the core so much so that anger built up in the depths of his stomach at not getting the reaction he wanted.

“patrick,” he didn’t bother taking his hands out of his pockets to shake hers. juliet only blinked casually and leaned into your side. “you, uh, you two serious?”

tashi grumbled under her breath. “lay off, patrick,” she spoke aloud, “don’t you have a loss to kill yourself over?”

so he did lose. it was obvious, but tashi kept up with everyone's scores. apparently that included patrick, but it was probably only to make sure that there was no way that any of your paths crossed at any tennis venues. it was essentially a community service.

“ignore him,” you muttered to juliet, “he’s not worth it.”

“clearly,” she said, and you could hear the disgust in her tone. “no offence, but your taste in men sucks.”

you snorted. “good thing i’ve got you now, hm?”

“look, man,” art reluctantly dropped tashi’s hand to clap patrick’s shoulder. “you got a way back to your hotel or whatever?” his voice dropped lower but you could still hear him. “leave her alone, alright? she’s finally fuckin’ happy again and i’m not about to let you fuck this up. she’s not gonna crawl back to you, patrick.”

“come on,” you tugged juliet’s hand lightly, “need to find a bathroom asap.”

“same,” she agreed without a second thought. it was easy like that, she always seemed to understand the words you didn’t say. “i need to fix my makeup.”

KNEE SOCKS

ART HAD BEEN GOSSIPING about patrick to tashi. something about overhearing that he was sleeping around, one night stands taking up his moonlit hours and then those girls tweeting about the awful experience on twitter. you obviously overheard but minded your business — it wasn’t that patrick was bad at sex, it was just that he didn’t like when a woman had a preference in bed. he liked dominance and god forbid a woman speak her mind. you knew that first-hand. 

not that that mattered anymore. you were about to graduate and packing up all your things was bittersweet. the place that had become your home for the past few years was about to lose all of your little touches that made it a home to become bland again for the next girl to move into. 

you’d left your clothes to be the last thing to pack up in case you changed your mind about the outfits you had set out three days ago. it’s a good thing you did because the weather had changed and so you swapped out the black longsleeved shirt for a tank top. 

there were way more clothes shoved into your drawers than you remembered. the closet had been bad enough with the amount of clothes you thought had been stolen from the laundromat but had actually just fallen down the back with a myriad of others. it seemed the drawers were worse than you could recall.

your sock drawer was so full that some pairs fell down the back when you struggled to pull it open. the assortment of random socks you wore under platform boots, and gloves and beanies filled the drawer to the brim. “jesus christ,” you muttered, deciding that this was the best possible time to sort through them. whatever you didn’t want you could donate; everything was clean and in really good condition, so you made a separate pile away from one of the empty boxes for your clothes to be the donation pile. 

it was almost peaceful. you were in a zone, humming the current beach boys song playing faintly from your speaker under your breath. the blinds were open to warm the bare room with early morning sun, the window adjacent to where you were sitting open to air out all the discovered dust. things were a lot more tranquil than they had ever been; tashi and art were out practicing on the courts and juliet was working until late. you loved the three of them dearly but you had almost forgotten how nice it was to have some peaceful alone time every now and then.

it was the kind of solitude that wasn’t from a deep spiral of depression but instead one full of serotonin and belonging. god, you found yourself smiling at the sheer tranquility of it all.

the familiar, out-of-reach stormclouds loomed overhead, threatening to roll back in like they had never left. your hands froze over the socks you had stuffed in the bottom of the drawer. they were larger than your other pairs, thicker, too, and in various colours. you found a pair more worn than the rest, a sky blue pair of knee socks that had once been your favourite but now hid forgotten with the dust mites as company. knee socks had been your thing for as long as you could remember. you would wear them under black boots, so full of dark mystery until you rolled up your jeans and blue socks eroded any inkling of mysteriousness. 

patrick loved them. he loved rolling them down and kissing every inch of your skin until he met your ankle. then he’d pull them up to do the same in reverse, not finishing until he kissed every bit of flesh up to your thighs. and then he’d cheated on you and you hated everything he ever loved about you. you hid the socks in the bottom of this drawer and forgot about them until now; you were so mad you didn’t realise you had stopped breathing until you inhaled a little too deeply. it stung your chest and sent dizzy signals up to your brain. 

“they’re just socks,” you muttered like that meant anything. but they weren’t just socks; they had been a staple part of you. tashi bought you a pair whenever she found a cute one with cute designs. you would take art shopping for outfits for him and he would always keep an eye out for cute socks to treat you with to thank you. they weren’t just socks when so many people loved that little quirk about you, only for one of them to love it too hard and ruin it all. you kept the socks that tashi and art bought you, binned the blue pair, and tossed the rest in the donation pile. 

you sorted through the rest of the drawer before reaching blindly, subconsciously, for the little box that wasn’t there. patrick was a dark thought of addiction that you had worked so hard to fight. instead, you pulled a stick of strawberry bubblegum out of your pocket — a simple trick to train yourself to at least reach for those instead of cigarettes. it was working better than it used to, so much so that you had gotten art to take up doing the same with mint gum. tashi and juliet had never been happier to kill the habit.

juliet wore sweet little socks with frills — you hoped you never broke her heart to the point where she hated them as much as you hated your own.

I WANNA BE YOURS

“hey, i’m probably in the studio recording, sorry! please leave a message after the beep.”

beep.

“um, i don’t really know how to say this so i’m just gonna, y’know, say it all. i heard you’ve got an album coming out in a few months and, uh, that’s really cool. i always knew you’d become a rockstar,” patrick cut himself off to chuckle dryly. “this is the last you’ll ever hear from me so i just wanna get it all out now before it’s too late.

“i love you. i’ve always loved you and i know that doesn’t change how wrong i treated you. i fucked up so bad so many times and you never deserved any of it. you deserved to be loved and treated like a queen and i never did any of that. if i could go back and change my behaviour i would do it so fucking fast. you don’t understand how fucking guilty i feel for fucking it all up. and i’m running out of time with this voicemail so i just want to tell you how bad i want you back. i’d do fucking anything to have you back in my life because you were the one good thing i’ve ever had. i’m so, so, so fucking sorry for everything i’ve caused and i know you’re probably happy with that juliet girl but just know that i’ll always love you, and if you ever want to take me back . . . i’ll be waiting for you. i wanna be yours again. i guess this is goodbye, then. so, bye.”

you deleted the voice message with an eyeroll the second you finished listening to it.