#and on those days i still have to be present and empathetic and a fucking therapist and friend and all that other actual practical shit

[girl-bateman]

Dream job rn is doing literally ANYTHING where I don't have to listen to, cater to, be responsible for, comfort, validate and help process anyone else's emotions ever again. I want to fucking put random papers in different piles of other random papers for like 6 hours straight and be paid a decent amount. ALL I ASK

#im sorry if i sound cold i just dont wanna fucking do it anymore im so so so sick of it #every day EVERY FUCKING DAY i have to listen to a rotation of the same people complaining about variations of the same problems #and i do care #but i dont think its in my nature anymore like it used to be- to do this job i mean #bc some days i feel like shit and im tired or havent eaten lunch (i dont even eat lunch anymore bc it isnt practical for my schedule) #and on those days i still have to be present and empathetic and a fucking therapist and friend and all that other actual practical shit #and i used to be able to turn myself off- like the real me and my emotions #but now all of it just makes me sick !!!! #i hate it i hate it i hate it #and i do care abt these people but the more i resent my job the more i resent them too and thats not fair #im just not the person i used to be #and aaah im sick of not feeling like a person every time i go in for work 😭 #which i guess isnt that weird- like who is 'a person' at work #i think the problem is just that its such an intimate relationship in alot of ways #so the fact that im used as a friend and seen as a friend by so many #but can never actually act like or be a friend- its hurtful ! #i just dont wanna fucking do it anymore god i wish i could explain it better 😞😞😞

[icedmatchatae]

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter IV: Everything We Didn't Say

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: This is a big one lol, heavy ANGST, flashbacks (including fighting you’re about to see how their friendship ended and guess who fucks up, crying, insecurities (self and relationship), mentions of the deceased, minor character death in the past), unhealthy life habits (a/n: pls don’t do this to yourself! Take care of your body/self-care)

Word Count: 17.5k

A/N: I would also like to point out that the story's first half is about understanding their relationship and gradually their individual lives. It goes back and forth between the past and present. Specific timeframes (like Taehyung as a trainee) will be mentioned but not all. As time goes on, things will start to unravel. BTW: when I say football, I mean soccer lol

Chapter IV: Everything We Didn't Say || Series Masterlist

You paced back and forth on the front porch as you played with your fingers to calm yourself. The clouds covered the cerulean sky and bright heating sun on a cooling fall weekend afternoon. Leaves shifted to their rustic tones, hardening to a crisp. Some tried their best to stick onto the trees while others fell elegantly, being done for the season.

As for you, you dressed extra special today and saved up some money for it as well. A brown oversized sweater over a muted green linen maxi dress paired with your old dirty pair of black shoes. You saved enough for the outfit but not the shoes. Your hair was half up, held by a scrunch that was the same color as your dress.

Though in one of your best attires yet, you waited anxiously for your grandparents to be ready. Well, they were already ready to go for the day but what was missing was Taehyung.

You’ve been waiting for almost an hour and called and texted him countless times, but he had yet to answer you. You told him months in advance, weeks, days, and literally hours before, and he still wasn’t here.

“Sweets, we have to go. We’re gonna be late.” Your grandmother informed as she saw your distressed state. Your lips were in between your teeth, not wanting to give up faith in your best friend. You blinked towards your grandmother as she could only smile empathetically.

“We have a long drive, ___.” Your grandfather came out of the house and locked the door.

You checked the time on your phone, an hour over the scheduled time. You sighed as you glanced over at the Kim residence, seeing no one was home. You frowned as you felt the tears attempting to come out. He was supposed to be there with you.

You nodded to your grandparents as you all walked towards the car. You and your grandfather loaded the back with baskets of food, a picnic blanket, flowers, and candles. Once you closed the trunk, you called Taehyung once more to which no avail so you ultimately accepted that he wasn’t coming.

Your family drove off the property and left Geochang for the time being as your destination was the Daegu City Cemetery where you spent almost the entire day there.

By the time you were back home in Geochang, it was already late in the night, ten at night to be exact and that was past your grandparents’ bedtime. All of you were tired from the day trip, more so you. You kept crying the ride too when you were at the cemetery and the ride from. It was a miracle you didn’t cry during dinner, but you showed you were upset.

Your grandparents—blessed their hearts—tried their best to cheer you up but it was rather difficult with a day like today and your best friend not being there with you. So they let you be and comforted you here and there.

As you unloaded the car, you heard footsteps pressing into the gravel and coming your way. You didn’t bother looking since you knew who it was and finally decided to show up.

“Blue!” Taehyung greeted you with a hug and a kiss on your head. Though this behavior was typical, it left a sour taste right now and you didn’t like it. Instead of hugging back, you pushed him away which surprised the boy. You glared at him before heading to your front door with the basket in your hands.

Your grandfather opened the door for you to come inside but Taehyung gripped your armand held you back. You tried tugging your limb, but he wasn’t budging. “Blue, what’s wrong?” He questioned. Confusion grew in his expression, not aware of why you were being like this to him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Taehyung.”

“Okay, something’s definitely wrong.” He disagreed, shaking his head. “You always call me Hyungie. Tae, when you’re annoyed or irritated. Taehyung, when you’re pissed at me.” You loved how much he knew you, but hated how much he knew you. 

You huffed as you gripped the basket. Your grandfather came next to you and took what you held in his hands. “I’ll bring these in, ___. Talk to Tae, okay?”

You scrunched your nose in displeasing, seeing how your grandfather had a soft spot for your best friend. He wanted you to talk it out, and you will but you’re just angry with Taehyung.

When your grandfather went inside and closed the door, you crossed your arms and leaned into one leg. “Where were you today?” You snapped, interrogating him right off the bat.

“No need for the attitude, Blue.” He mumbled, hating how you scolded him. “I went to the beach party!”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what?”

“Yeah, you know the second-year Lee Jungjae, our sunbae?” Your best friend mentioned. You didn’t know who he was, because you couldn’t keep up with Taehyung’s gazillion friends. “Well, he personally invited me to his birthday beach party. I had to sleep over at his house because we had to take the bus all the way to Pohang. It was tiring but so fun, like—”

“So you just went without me? Without me knowing?” You grilled him, your temper slowly thinning the more he spoke.

“I mentioned it to you the other day…” He reasoned, trying to defend himself. “But Jungjae Hyung didn’t say to bring guests because of the trip. I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care about the stupid beach party, Taehyung!” You yelled. Your cheeks burned hot with the frustration that built up and was ready to explode. “I don’t care about your sunbae, or the fucking trip, or how much you had fun!”

“___, why are you so mad? It’s not like you were sitting at home doing nothing. When I came back, Halmeoni said your family was gon—”

“Taehyung, we went to the cemetery in Daegu.” You interjected, your voice softened at the end of your sentence. “It was my parents’ tenth death anniversary.”

Then Taehyung’s confused and offended face morphed into the eye-opening realization that he fucked up. “That was today? Blue, I for—”

“I’m upset with you.” You told him. “You knew how important it was for you to be there.”

Due to the distance, time, and financial obligations, it was difficult to schedule a time to go visit your parents every year. Your grandparents had their shop and farm to manage and you were still in school as well as your grandmother had health concerns from time to time. The only thing you could do was put up a photo frame of your parents on the top of your dresser. 

As it was close to their ten years, you begged your grandparents to go to Daegu where they were buried. Reason being that it has been a long time and you would love to see them. Though they grew older and weaker by the second, of course, they did their part in making it happen. While doing so, you asked Taehyung to be there for you.

Since they died when you were so young, you had little memories of them. But with all you could remember, you told the stories to your best friend. You knew your parents would have loved Taehyung and he would love them. That’s why you asked Taehyung to come, not only for you and your support but for him to meet your parents for the first time and talk to them as if they were here.

Taehyung was stoked about the days coming to today, so it disappointed you when he said he has forgotten. But what hurts the most was that he chose his other friends over you.

Over time, this has been an issue between you two that was rather conflicting on your end. Though you knew how sociable Taehyung was from the second you met him, it made you jealous to see him hanging out with others. Of course, he always included you, but you knew at times, that you weren’t as welcomed.

You overheard peers whispering and murmuring why someone like Taehyung hung out with someone like you, quiet, awkward, and nervous. Some girls even tried to be your friend to get closer to Taehyung. That led to you confronting him about it and letting him have fun with his friends by himself. You reassured him that it was okay with you as you had his siblings to hang out with. It was a chance for Taehyung to reach his social butterfly status while you thrived with being a hermit. You certainly didn’t mind, but you envy those around Taehyung who were able to interact so easily.

Recently, he has been spending more time with older students after joining the football team. He has gotten popular when he went into high school. You were still in your last year of middle school as you were the same age as his sister. You loved how well he fitted into the crowd, but it felt like he left you behind and didn’t want to hang out with a recluse like you. You were considered a “kid.” You gradually became insecure about your friendship with him, worrying if you were meant to be his true best friend. You were so sensitive about it, so this stung way more than anticipated. That was something you never told him.

“I’m sorry, ___. I really am, I…” He apologized, but it didn’t work when he saw your eyes swell into tears and your chest bounce once you cried. “Blue, nooo.” He was utterly guilty, he wanted to embrace you and give you comfort but you rejected his touch.

“I-I w-wanted you there!” You wept with your palms covering your face. “I called you, texted you, and you didn’t answer.”

“Blue, please let me make it up.” He pleaded, making the chance to clutch onto your wrists and pull them away to see your teary face. He felt so ashamed that he was the reason you were crying. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He replicated the tears you produced.

You shook your head as you wiped your face with your sweater. You brought back your wrists to your frame, gesturing that you didn’t want him to touch you. “I don’t want to see you right now. You hurt me today, I can’t.”

“___, no, please. I’m sorry.” He refused, not wanting your demand. You’ve never said that to him. Though he bugged the shit out of you almost every day, you always wanted to see him. He couldn’t live without seeing you or being with you. He didn’t want to leave you hurt by him like this, he never meant to harm you. “Don’t do this, Blue.”

“I just need some time away from you.” You responded briefly.

“But—”

“Don’t make me madder than I already am!” You shouted crudely. “Now back to your fucking friends that you love oh so much and just forget about me!” Word vomit spewed out your mouth without intention. There was so much that angered, saddened, and overall tired you, you couldn’t help it.

Both of your eyes grew at what you said. You merely inhaled sharply while Taehyung shook his head in denial. There was no way he could forget about you.

“Blue, I’ll neve—”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence as you scurried to the entrance and closed and locked the door from behind. You heard Taehyung trying to follow you in, but he was too late to catch you.

He knocked constantly on the door. “Blue, ___, please. Don’t do this. I’m sorry! I fucked up, but I’ll never forget you. You’re my best friend, my Blue! Please I’m sorry. I’ll make it up!” He sobbed through behind the doorway. You stayed silent, crying and waiting for him to leave first but he kept pounding and professing his apologies and regrets. But they still weren’t enough for you.

This was the biggest fight yet.

“Tae!” Hoseok snapped his fingers in front of his younger member. Taehyung shook his head and blinked hard before scanning his eyes at his alarmed members.

After being separated for some time, Jimin and Namjoon thought it was a good idea to have a little lunch get-together to catch up with each of us. Hoseok released his solo album in the past month, striking many records. Yoongi has been busy with collaborations with other artists. Namjoon got back from a European trip. Jungkook has been going back and forth to the United States for recordings. Seokjin made appearances on various cooking shows. Finally, Jimin came back from Busan after resting with his family before going back into the studio. 

All in all, the guys were doing well with the pause and shift in career focus. Well, not all. Though Taehyung looked forward to the lunch, he knew that his updates were mainly him and his therapy because right off the bat, Yoongi insisted on knowing the progress.

Taehyung was lucky enough that the set-up happened the day after his session, so he bullshited whatever was said that time and nothing more. This week wasn’t any better, unlike the previous ones. The idol refused to speak out as much and stayed in silence with Dr. Im until the time was over. It was unsettling with improvements because Taehyung couldn’t care less right now.

Both his members and his therapist meant no harm in his life, but couldn’t help but feel bothered. They cared enough to help the idol, but was it really enough for him to live by? Almost every question asked patronized him and his actions rather than explaining why or how it is.

Like yesterday, maybe it was all in Taehyung’s head, Dr. Im wondered what has been happening with him in the past two weeks to have a sudden shift in his behavior in therapy. While the idol said nothing, Dr. Im claimed further if someone or something occurred that changed your life. Perhaps it was because the professional knew what was happening even without context, and it ticked the idol off and decided to end the session twenty minutes early. Again, Dr. Im was just doing his job.

However, his members… were a piece of work with him. They wanted every detail and what he did after, then they would comment on it and tell him what he should do. That was how the cycle went and suddenly Taehyung wished he never came to the lunch and never seen them a little longer. 

“Are you good, bud?” Hoseok asked once more. “You seem out of it.”

“Something happened?” Yoongi questioned. “If something did and you’re not tel—”

“No, I can’t say if I’m good when I’m going to therapy now, isn’t it?” Taehyung interjected passive-aggressively. 

The slight comment shifted the aura of the lunch. Things were still rocky from the last time, being the same members talking—Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon, but the older members thought to live passed that and be grateful to see their younger again. But by the look on the older’s face, Yoongi was about to call him out.

“What Tae means is that…” Jimin intervened to ease the tension before it erupted. “You’ve been awfully quiet since we’ve sat. You barely even ate.”

It was always Jimin coming to the rescue to protect his friend. Couldn’t blame the dude, that was his ride or die. He was the most patient when it came to Taehyung and his actions, was always there for him, gentle towards him, and was an overall caring best friend.

Taehyung was appreciative, but there were times when it was a bit overbearing like he couldn’t take care of or defend himself. It made Taehyung feel useless and pitiful, which irked him.

“Umm,” Taehyung sighed, poking his chopsticks and the cold cooked meat sitting on his plate. “It’s nothing bad, but just in my mind.”

“Something happened between you and Clara?” Seokjin asked, which brought a disturbingly positive shift into the group’s mood apart from Taehyung. “Haven’t heard about her in a while. You two doing good?”

Taehyung deathly wanted to scowl in revulsion at how much the boys loved her. After all, they were the ones who talked him into asking her out on a date in the first place. They endeared her so much that they thought that she was really a pillar in Taehyung’s life and helping him better himself.

Taehyung hummed noncommittally and shrugged, “Same old. She’s just been busy with work and online presence while I’m…not. She understands though, I guess.”

“Tell her we said hi!” Namjoon smiled. “Hope we can see her again soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to tell her.” Taehyung was most likely sure that he wouldn’t send back the thanks. She recently was getting on his nerves for being so quiet these past weeks and not texting right away. The idol reassured her that he was tired and focused on his solo project, but he knew that there was more to it.

“Then what’s the matter, Hyung?” Jungkook cocked an eyebrow as he chewed.

Taehyung had to think about how to approach this. He didn’t necessarily tell anyone what happened between you two, recently that is. Before they debuted, Taehyung was sure that they remembered you or some bits. They also knew what happened that ended your friendship since it happened weeks before their debut and Taehyung was somewhat of a mess. They haven’t met you, but they knew how much you meant to him.

But that was before.

His therapist had speculations but came out empty-handed so far. Seojoon and Wooshik tried to get some information out of the idol on you, but Taehyung was a hard shell to crack. They needed the electric saw or metal-cutting machine to know exactly who you were.

So no one knew you were back, physically, in his mind, thoughts, memories, and emotions.

But then he pondered for a while. He has been sulking and distraught over this alone, yet he had much support around him asking what was going on. It was truly the work of his stubbornness. The reason was unknown, or difficult for his brain to comprehend.

Maybe because he simply wanted to have you back on his own. Maybe his selfishness to know you and no one else does. Maybe his overthinking thoughts of anxiousness about how others would react to finding out who you were and what happened. Maybe all?

At this point, reasonably the best thing to do was tell someone. After what you said to him a couple of weeks ago that led him into his emotional downward spiral, he hated feeling hopeless and scared. He didn’t want you to see him in that light, fearful of the stinging burn that could keep you away forever. The words he spoke to you may have not been the best way to say—you were always scolding him on stuff like that—you knew deep down he meant well.

But you were rather difficult, another trait he remembered when you got mad or upset. You tended to say things you don’t mean while also distancing yourself.

Ypu can say Taehyung needed some help with you?

“Do you remember ___?” Taehyung began, which lead to many confused expressions around the table.

“Who?” Hoseok questioned, nothing popping up in his head as he sipped his drink.

“Uhhh, the name sounds familiar?” Namjoon responded while in his thoughts. “Can you explain more?”

“___ ___, my best friend back home,” Taehyung mentioned, but yet there was no ringing in their minds. “I’m sure you all remember her. I used to call her every single night ever since I came to Seoul.”

Jimin’s face lit up as he snapped his fingers in his realization. “Ahh, ___! It was so hard to remember her name because you always called her Bl—”

“You can’t say that name, only I can.” Taehyung squinted his eyes at his best friend. Though Jimin smirked cheekily, for a second, he questioned Taehyung’s reaction.

“Ohhh, ___! Yeah, I remember now.” Seokjin gasped, and the gears in his brain started moving. “I used to get pissed off at the both of you for keeping me awake.”

“Oh, yeah! With all the calls.” Hoseok nodded, remembering as well. “Your giggling and whining still haunt my sleep.” He joked with a playful glare at Taehyung, making the younger shrug.

“Yeah…name with no face. It’s been a while since we heard her name.” Jungkook stated. “Why’d you bring her up?”

Taehyung tapped his fingers on the table, picturing the first time he saw you again. “I met her again couple weeks back. She’s in Seoul now.”

Seokjin hummed in response, “Really? Interesting. Who knew?”

“Not me,” Taehyung muttered with a light forced chuckle.

“Yeah, didn’t you tell us you had a falling out before? I remembered it pre-debut.” Hoseok heard Taehyung’s comment and spoke up about it. “I assume the reunion wasn’t all on purpose.”

Taehyung licked his lips and nodded, “It was random. She works at a small restaurant in a sketchy part of Seoul, but it’s really good. I went with Seojoon Hyung and Wooshik Hyung. We should go sometimes.” When he said, he hoped they took that suggestion lightly but he knew Jimin and Jungkook would be down. “I found out she’s going to school in the city, she’s in a grad program, she didn’t tell me what though. Actually, these were her responses to my Hyungs. The whole time she didn’t even talk to me, practically never looked my way no matter how much I tried.”

It was at that moment, everyone knew they couldn’t blame you. The rest of the members didn’t know who you were deeply, but they felt for you and you seemed nice, judging by the very few interactions you had with them over the phone. What Taehyung did was hurtful and cruel even from an outsider’s perspective. They all knew it from experience. 

“Can’t blame her…” Namjoon said what everyone thought about.

Taehyung’s eye twitched. He didn’t need to say it out loud. “Yeah, I went back again, but alone that time, and she basically told me to go fuck myself.”

“Sorry, Tae.” Jimin frowned, patting his best friend’s back.

“Well, did she even want you there in the first place?” Yoongi inquired, but that made Seokjin glare at his younger for being harsh. “What? I’m being honest after what happ—”

“Please, don’t mention it, Hyung.” His words damaged Taehyung’s emotions, and he scrunched his face as the brutal memory replayed in his mind. Yoongi did not apologize, but he managed to shut up. “It was just nice seeing her again, an old face—a familiar face, a good memory.” You were always the best memory.

“I’m sure it was. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her.” Hoseok acknowledged.

“But then again, you should know the feeling isn’t mutual, Tae.” Namjoon pointed out, trying to get Taehyung to think realistically. “It seems she’s not over it and you know what you did.”

“I know, but…” Taehyung didn’t know how to express his thoughts in words. He was blanking out despite his mind running 200 km per hour. “With how shitty my life’s been going, even if she hates my fucking guts, I actually enjoy her presence. She’s my best friend! I’d want to rekindle what we had.”

The way Taehyung explained it made Jungkook have concerning thoughts. He seemed more expressive with you than his own girlfriend. “You should probably be careful, Hyung.” Taehyung cocked his head to the side to face the youngest. “I—I’m not saying Clara’s the jealous type, but….”

“What does she have to do with ___?” Scoffing at the youngest member, he eyed him out with hostility. Taehyung felt a sudden sense of protection over you.

“Don’t be like that, please?” Jungkook frowned, not wanting to get on his older friend’s bad side. “What I’m saying is that it sounds like you’re over here talking about some other chick and wanting her back when you clearly have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not some girl. She’s been my best friend for literally twenty years! More than all of you!”

“Not really, if you didn’t see each other in years…” Namjoon commented which made Taehyung clench his jaw but say nothing.

Taehyung closed his eyes and controlled his breathing while balling his anger into his fist. “What was your point, Jungkook?”

“Well, does Clara know about ___?” Jungkook asked sincerely. “If ___ meant something to you, then you should have told your girlfriend about her.”

Taehyung bit his lip while processing the question. He then shook his head before drinking his soda. “No, because I met Clara way after my falling out with ___. I didn’t think it mattered.” There was no way in hell, he’d tell Clara about you. There was more to the explanation, but Taehyung was currently unaware of why it was like that. 

“It kinda does matter now, especially when you want ___ back in your life.” Jimin reasoned as he stared at his best friend. “We can support you, but just be cautious.”

“It’s just…I—let’s not talk about that right now. I should have never told you guys.” Taehyung regretted his decision in revealing you. He knew that nothing went the way he wanted it to and didn’t like what was said. 

Hoseok pouted, reaching out to squeeze Taehyung’s hand. “No, don’t say that. We appreciate you telling us! We’re just worried about you and Clara. If ___ comes back, then you’d obviously have to tell her.”

“Just don’t fuck up with it,” Yoongi concluded bluntly. “You’ve been with Clara for five years and still going strong. If ___ isn’t back, then leave it. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not worth losing your relationship.”

What did Yoongi know about relationships? He was severely single. And what did he know about Taehyung’s relationship? Nothing, that’s what. None of them knew yet pulled shit out of their ass and spoke highly of his girlfriend. However, when it came to you, they treated you like some side character reprising an insignificant role. But you were never like that. You will never be.

“The point I’m telling you is that I met ___,” Taehyung replied, wanting this discussion to be over immediately. “And for the record, I’ve decided something.”

“Which is?” Seokjin asked.

Taehyung looked down at his plate, mindlessly glazing at the untouched noodles. He smirked as a memory came up. “There’s a reason why we were best friends.”

-

“Yes, I understand. I’ll pay the other half at the end of the month, please.” You nodded as you spoke into your phone. “I just need time.”

“___, you know you don’t need to do this all on your own. I’m sure your other relatives can help,” The nurse on the other side replied. “I’ve talked to your cousin and she sa—”

“It’s fine, I promise.” You quickly denied. “This responsibility landed on me and I fully accept it.”

He sighed into the microphone, “So strong as always, ___. It’s okay to rely on others.”

“Maybe.” You said, brushing what was said off. “I need to go now, I’m off my break soon. But don’t tell him, okay?”

“I’m sure he knows—”

“Please, Moobin.” You begged, feeling slightly uneasy. You didn’t want him to be worrying about you, especially with this.

“Okay, fine. I won’t.” Moobin answered, succumbing to your request. “Lucky for you, telling him would only worsen the condition.”

“It’s still not good either way, but thank you.” Appreciating his efforts, you nodded as you looked at the time. “Okay, I have to go but keep me updated.” You said before bidding goodbye to the nurse and hanging up.

You exhaled in distress, but surely, it wasn’t enough for you. You calculated what had to be done and now you needed to work at least ten more hours this cycle. Though the weekends were your day offs to catch up on school work, you might have to work them to get by without any burden. Ugh, your migraine was coming back up.

You swiftly grabbed a can of Coca-Cola and opened it before chugging the liquid down. Hopefully, it would help lessen the pain. So much to do with very little time.

“You know you have to pay for that.” You turned your head to see Kenji coming by to use the cash register. You nodded as you sipped more of the content. As he punched in the order, he glanced over and inspected the drink. “___, you okay? You never have coke unless something happens.”

“The way you know that sure is expected of you.” You huffed, not bothering to care any further. “Just had another chat with the nurse back home.”

“Is he alright?” Your coworker asked.

You hummed as a reply, “For now, but it was about the payments…do you think Halmeoni be okay if I work the weekends too?”

“___, if you need the money, I’ll be happy to lend yo—”

“No.” You interrupted him. “I can’t ask you to do that, I just want to work a little more.”

Kenji frowned as the register door opened before ripping the receipt. “You’re already working more than usual and you drinking coke to reduce your headache means you’re overworking yourself.”

“Ken, I’m fine.” You scoffed. You gulped down all of what was left in the can before recycling it into a bin. “I just needed a boost. But I do wanna work more.”

“___…” He looked at you and you had a face of determination. There was no way in reasoning with you. “Ask her. She won’t be too pleased, but if you tell her about it, maybe she’ll accept…or give you a bon—”

“No, I need to work for it.”

Kenji rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Sometimes just get the free opportunities.”

“Sometimes every opportunity is a blow to your fucking face.” You sighed as you grabbed a tray.

You then spotted Halmeoni coming down the hallway with a box of napkins. Gripping the tray in your fingers, you went towards her and grabbed the box from her. “I’ll get that for you.” You offered. You settled them behind the counter and under the table where all the extra supplies stayed. 

“Sweetie, you don’t need to carry it. I’m still strong!” Your boss laughed but appreciated your kindness.

“Just trying to make your day easier.” You said authentically before clearing your throat. “Ummm, Halmeoni?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I—Is it possible if I can work the weekends?”

Halmeoni sulked, “Why is it? Something ha—”

“Uhh, no, no, well…I have some more time on my hands. I don’t have projects coming up, so I’m not really doing much at home.” She knew your situation, but if you told her, she wouldn’t want you to work as much either.

She squinted her eyes with suspicion. “Everything going on back in Geochang?”

You nodded, “Nurse said he’s doing well for now, but I just want to work a little bit.”

She knew you were headstrong, not wanting to say anything. She would have to ask Kenji, but even so, she wouldn’t acknowledge it and play dumb with you. “Sure, okay, sweetie. Just tell me what hours later.”

You sighed in relief and nodded excitedly. “Thank you, I appreciate you and Harabeoji. I guess Kenji too.”

“I heard that!” Kenji whined, making you and your boss chuckle. 

“Just…don’t stress too much, okay? We’re here if you need anything.” She meant it with sincerity in her expression. She cared for you like you were her own, and it twisted your heart from the thought. You knew she meant well, but it was all too much to offer for someone like you. You only nodded as she patted your head.

Right after, the tarp entrance flicked open, catching the attention of your boss with widened pupils and a gasp. “Ahh, Taehyung, you’re back! And you brought newcomers.”

You groaned softly, closing your eyes as if it would relax you but it doesn’t. You desperately wanted to dropkick someone and that someone was the very individual who entered the restaurant. You directed your eyes to his stature as you watched him wave and greet your boss, coworker, and then you. Though he greeted you back, you said nothing. 

Of course, he didn’t listen. That was why you were best friends in the past. You can’t deny that the both of you had a lot in common yet still different. But one of the biggest commonalities was being stubborn as fuck and not listening to what anyone had to say. With that being said, it was inevitable that Taehyung would not give up even after you shunned him away.

As you scowled, you became aware of the two men. One on each side of the idol. Their eyes wandered around your workplace, somewhat fascinated by how clean it was in contrast to the dirty outside. As you looked at them, you immediately knew who they were—two of his bandmates, specifically Jimin and Jungkook.

Though your friendship with Taehyung was a bust weeks before his debut, you couldn’t help but support or somewhat follow what the group did. You knew the amount of work that had been made and you appreciated it. You pushed your thoughts and feelings away from that certain member and enjoyed the band and its schedule. You guess you can say you were a fan, but not fully. At least there were six other members to distract you from your ex-best friend. Plus, you didn’t need to tell Taehyung that.

“Ahh, Hyung-nim!” Kenji yelled, earning a smile from the idol. Since when did he get close to Taehyung?

“Halmeoni, it’s nice to see you again!” Taehyung spoke out. “These are some of my friends, Jimin and Jungkook.” The two with him waved at your boss.

“My, my. You always bring handsome friends.” Your boss clapped. “Please sit!” She motioned them to take any seat as it was a slow weekday night. As they settled down, she nudged you and said, “Go help them. They’re handsome.”

“No, please. Let Kenji help them.” You suggested.

Kenji gasped and shook his head, “Why do I have to serve them?”

You gloomed at your coworker’s audacity, “What, isn’t it fine since he’s your Hyung-nim?” He saw how serious you were and didn’t want to experience your wrath, so he puffed and walked toward the well-known idols. Kenji eased his way into the men’s conversation, seeing that their laughter echoed throughout the restaurant.

“___, you should date one of them.” Your boss prompted which made you blink at her. “Maybe Taehyung, he seems to have an e—”

“Halmeoni, I’m busy, remember?” You recalled. “I got all these projects, work—”

“I thought you said you had more time now?” She interrogated you as your jaw dropped faintly but closed it back up.

“Yes, I do…but I’m not thinking about dating right now.’ You peeked over to the side and spoke quietly, “No one wants me.”

Your boss hated what you said about yourself. “Don’t say that, sweetie. You’re gorgeous, a true beauty. Anyone could fall for you. If I could, you’d be dating Kenji by now.”

“Ew, don’t say that. That’s setting me up for ultimate failure.” You grimaced, shivers down your spine. She laughed before walking back to the kitchen. 

Eventually, Kenji came back to the both of you with a fresh set of orders, but he said, “___, please ring these up.” He handed you the sheet of orders.

You retrieved them to read but you asked, “Why do I have to do your orders?”

“It’s not my orders, it’s yours.” He shrugged casually and you shot your head back to give him your death stare.

“What the fuck, why?” You complained. “Ken, you know—”

“No, I don’t know, and you don’t tell me shit.” He refused before sticking his tongue out to you. “They requested for you to serve them.”

“They can’t re—”

“So what? Just do it.” He shrugged. You scrutinized your coworker, trying to declare why he was being so adamant then you realized.

“That fucker paid you to make me serve them.”

“Well, I can’t deny the allegations being brought upon me,” Kenji admitted wholeheartedly. “See, when there’s a 100,000 won thrown at you, you take the chances.”

Your eyes grew at the sound of the heavy stipend for a small ask. “You little shit sold me of—”

“___, it’s not a big deal.” Your coworker reassured you, but you weren’t having it.

“Kenji, it is!” You told him, frowning at him. “I don’t like Taehyung nor do I want to see him.”

“Kinda harsh for him to be your best friend.”

“He’s not.” You clarified. “We haven’t been for ages, and I refused him weeks ago to be back into my life.”

Kenji looked in the distance as if his peanut brain worked like magic, “You tell me this or that but not explain to me why. So unless you do, I’m feeding you off to them.”

You let out a whining sound, “You’re being irrational…”

“Better hurry up. Your table’s waiting for their drinks.”

You wished to never speak about it again, but you were actually being desperate right now. Kenji always begged to know what happened between you and the idol to cause this one-sided hatred, but you never let him have his way until now. You’d rather tell him than serve Taehyung again.

“Ugh, fine.” You surrendered, letting your shoulders droop. But Kenji looked back at you with success on his stupid face. “I’ll tell you more about it later, but I’ll tell you in a quick summary.” You spoke briefly about your past with Taehyung. When you told him, it saddened your mood a little, remembering the emotions and insecurities you had about it. It was damaging for you to say the least, but you pushed it aside to not let it get to you in the middle of your shift.

Once you finished, Kenji nodded as he processed what you said. “So you don’t want to deal with him?” You nodded. “And you don’t care?” You nodded again. “___, it sounds like you do.”

You were baffled and offended. “Really? After what I said??”

“Hey, if you don’t care, then you would have been indifferent toward him.” He argued nonchalantly. “Look at you being riled up by even the thought of him.”

Your eye twitched. Maybe it was your pride, or how the younger provoked you. Maybe both. But either way, you wanted to prove him wrong. “I am indifferent to him.”

“Prove it.” He threw more gas into the fire.

“Fine, you’re fucking annoying and lazy as fuck anyway. I’ll prove you wrong.” You crumpled the paper before opening it back up and punching in the order. But while you were doing so, you realized what he did. You frowned as you stared at a shit-grinning Kenji before you. “You’re full of shit, you know that.”

“Shit that molded into a mastermind.” He winked before parting ways, knowing you lost while he gained.

-

Eventually, you sucked it up and served them. There was no point when your coworker executed some type of reverse psychology on you. You gave him props for that.

However, he did emphasize something. Were you really indifferent toward Taehyung? What was the meaning behind all of that anger and hatred in you? Of course, the way he spoke to you in the past caused you pain, but shouldn’t it be gone by now? People get over it so you should too. It has been almost a decade. You say you don’t care, but why were there so many emotions in you when you see him? What was there to be said? What does being cruel to him lead to? 

You didn’t understand yourself, you couldn’t, especially with all that was going on. Throwing this into your bowl of responsibilities and issues made everything a lot more stressful. There was literally no time for you to be thinking about Taehyung, yet, it was prominent in your mind.

You settled the drinks down, calling out who got what. As you were doing so, Taehyung grinned proudly at you before announcing, “Guys, this is ___, my best friend from Geochang. The one I talked to all the time.”

You so badly wanted to yell that you weren’t his best friend, but you remembered—you needed to be apathetic, so you said nothing. But the heavy scrutiny of gazes from his friends brought agitation and shyness. You couldn’t understand why, but they indeed were handsome in person. You assumed it was because they technically haven’t seen you before. Sure, there were a few greets here and there but that was it. A picture, who knows? You and Taehyung stopped contact before you were able to formally introduce yourself.

Their pupils widened and blinked like goldfish. Jungkook had his mouth slightly apart while Jimin covered his with his fist. You furrowed your eyebrows, questioning if this was a good sign.

Nevertheless, you smiled bashfully. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you too. Uhh, Jungkook and Jimin.” You pointed at the respective person. “I know you both from BTS so…”

Jungkook gulped and cleared his throat. “A—ah, yes. It’s nice to finally meet yo—you’re ___?” He asked for verification. “You’re Bl—”

“JK, I told you not to say it. Only I can.” Taehyung chided, refusing for anyone to call you that other than him. Also, why were his friends looking at you like that? It was like they’d never seen a person before.

You rolled your eyes at what he said and you mentally scolded yourself, but fortunately, no one caught it. “Yes, I’m ___.”

“The person behind the calls? The late-night calls at two in the morning.” Jimin included. You grew puzzled at these oddly specific memories, but they were valid. You hesitantly nodded while keeping your gaze on the two.

“You’re pretty, like really beautiful.” Jungkook threw it out in the open. You were taken aback, even stepping back to look at them in disbelief.

Even Taehyung snapped his head back towards his members and was about to say something but Jimin butted in. “Tae, you didn’t tell us she was gorgeous.”

Taehyung opened his mouth, “I—I mean, I—”

“That’s fine, Hyung.” Jungkook interrupted before smiling widely at you. “I mean you do have a girlfriend anyway.”

“Jung—”

“Yup, of five years too,” Jimin smirked, showcasing his award-winning slit eyes in your direction.

Okay, you wanted to walk away from this table immediately. These sentences were uncalled for but somewhat curious. First, two jaw-dropping idols that everyone wanted, called you pretty, though you assumed they were just being nice. You weren’t very lucky in the dating world and you somewhat refused to dip your toes, let alone with idols. Mainly due to bad experiences and being too busy.

The second was that Taehyung had a girlfriend and seemed steady too, considering how long they’ve been together. You knew idols hid things regarding their dating life, BTS included despite their weird rumors between each other which were entertaining as is. So evidently, of course, Taehyung would be one with a secret partner. People always thought he was a handsome charmer back in Geochang and did have many confessions and admirers.

You said nothing and nodded, not knowing how to add to the conversation. “Well, thank you for that. Ummm, I’ll get your orders right after this so please excuse me.” With your chance, you escaped quickly and headed back into the kitchen.

It was a weird encounter, but not that bad. Though your body felt defeated and emotionally drained, you pushed meaningless thoughts away from your brain to focus on your work.

Meanwhile, Taehyung glowered at his starstruck members as they watch you walk away. He didn’t like what they said one bit. How dare they mentioned his relationship to you and also why are they shouting to the world how pretty you were?

“Stop staring at her like that, you perverts!” Taehyung scoffed. “Can you both be any more obvious?”

“We’re not touching, we’re respectfully looking.” Jimin reasoned before meeting his best friend’s upset eyes. “She’s pretty! Can’t blame us.”

“You never showed us a picture of her, nothing on her.” Jungkook pouted.

“I did! Years back!” Taehyung refuted as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It was a baby picture!” Jimin replied. “And it was only because it was your Lock Screen before. This is different.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Well, there she is and because of her status as my best friend, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you two get it with her. I know those looks…” Jungkook and Jimin were definitely not dating as they were in their eras. They’ve dated here and there, but nothing was serious and Taehyung will not let you be “nothing.”

“Taehyung, she’s a grown woman!”

“Does it look like I care? No, you can’t.”

“How can you even say that?” Jungkook frowned incredulously. “No offense, but will your opinion even matter to her?”

Taehyung’s frown then turned neutral as he heard what Jungkook said. It was insulting, to say the least, but he had a point. He came here trying to gain a friendship with you, nothing else. But right now, his friends sparked interest in you and he hated the thought. Why? He didn’t want to explain or else it’ll confuse his head. But he knew you hated him more. It didn’t help that he came back after telling him off weeks ago. So whatever you did, you wouldn’t care about him and what Jungkook said right?

He wanted to change your mind, so maybe he had to be on your good side and reminisce all of your memories together. He shouldn’t think about his members, it was all about you.

You came back with the first set of plates, placing them down on the table. Jungkook assisted you by moving it further back for more space in front of you. You thanked him for his gesture.

Taehyung bit inside his cheek before looking up at you, “Blue, do you think you can get me another bottle of soju?” That showed the affection you had for each other.

Indifference, indifference, indifference, you chanted in your head. But you wanted to punch him in the throat as he rejected your wishes to not call you that nickname. “Sure.”

“Make that two, please.” Jimin raised his finger as a gesture. “I would like grape, doll.”

“Of course, I’ll get that for you.” You grinned before walking away.

As you left, Jimin smiled proudly, getting more of a response from you than Taehyung. Taehyung’s jaw clenched, ticked off at everything.

Needless to say, he wasn’t bringing them again.

-

Over the month, Taehyung has been visiting and eating at the restaurant almost every other day. This past week, he came every day. Sometimes, he was alone, in other instances, he had Seojoon, Wooshik, or both. Once in a while, it was Jungkook and Jimin who flirted with you—yes, you knew and it made you a little less attracted to them but that wasn’t the point. And each time, he tried talking to you while you said very little and kept quiet. He only spoke about your good memories, nothing more. Not once did you hear him speak on what he did, almost like what he did was nonexistent. But it wasn’t, at least for you.

Interestingly enough, when he was alone, he called you Blue. But with his friends, he called your name. You weren’t sure why, but you let it be. However, it was so hard to be.

You didn’t want to talk to him, you didn’t want to serve him, you didn’t want him to call you Blue but look where you were. You did all of that and you let him. You tried to be detached from everything, the past, the present, him, but the rage in you kept fueling up every single time.

Yet you were ashamed that even with refusal, he somehow meshed into your schedule. When he talked to you, he mentioned the past. The good past, the laughter, the adventures, the obliviousness to a now broken bond. You couldn’t decide if they were painful or nothing to you, you refused to say no to either. It was all triggering that it hurt your mind.

You hated that you were distracted by him, you shouldn’t. You weren’t in his life anymore, and neither was he. You had other priorities to think about like your school, your job, and your family back home. None of your priorities should be Taehyung because you knew that you weren’t anything to him anymore, you knew that way before. He got his other friends, his fans, his members, and his girlfriend. You were nothing and that was permanent in your mind.

Still, you grew exhausted by his persistence. Sure, he told you he wasn’t all that well but that wasn’t enough. But looking at the situation you were in, you didn’t know how to approach it without breaking. You thought you could continue like that, but how much longer? 

It was five in the morning. The sun slowly rose from the horizon, looking into your tiny one-bedroom apartment. The light cascaded into darkness, gradually revealing the sunny dawn. You enjoyed the view from your broken window you had yet to call the supervisor of the building.

You pulled an all-nighter, trying to finish this education plan as an assignment that was due today. You had no time as you were focused on other projects, so you had to just work tirelessly until the end of this one. After submitting your paper, you had one hour left before you were actually supposed to wake up.

Though with darkened bags under your eyes and a drained body from working last night, you glanced at your three cans of coke, knowing you weren’t going to sleep anytime soon. You tried your best to at least rest your eyes before doing another repeat of yesterday and the days before. At least it was Friday, then after that, the weekend. But you agonizingly realized that you began working weekends as well.

-

“You’re going out again?”

Taehyung stared at his girlfriend through the full-length mirror in their shared bedroom as he viewed his outfit for tonight. Her expression was dumbfounded by the fact that it would be another night without her boyfriend. He never explained any further of his doings, only that they were with his friends which she knew very well.

“Yeah, with Seojoon Hyung.” He confirmed as he threw on a watch.

“Tae, you’ve been going out a lot recently.” Clara pointed out as she sat on the bed.

“And what about it?” The idol shrugged. “I know you’re busy doing your job and stuff, so think of these times as self-care or me time.”

“True, but I also want time with my boyfriend.” She replied as she leaned into her palms resting on the mattress. “But I haven’t gotten that lately.”

Taehyung’s face twisted before biting his lip. He took a glance at his pouting girlfriend. It was true though. Ever since he found you and wanted your friendship, it was all he has been spending his time doing. He was never home, only to sleep, eat breakfast, and feed Yeontan. Half of the time at home, Clara wasn’t even home as she had her schedule. He barely saw her but didn’t mind it at all. But with her being sad in front of his eyes, he felt a sudden guilt that he hated. 

He sighed before clicking his tongue, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy and a lot has been going on.”

“I thought you would have been less busy, especially with the pause on your group schedule?” She reasoned.

“Nothing really to do with the scheduling.” He mumbled.

The socialite peered at her boyfriend, “Are you really hanging out with Seojoon Oppa?”

He met her piercing eyes, knowing the implications she made. “Yes, I am. I’ve been hanging out with them. We go out to eat every time.”

“That’s a lot of downtimes Seojoon Oppa has, especially for a busy actor like him.”

Taehyung pitched the bridge of his nose, getting bothered by her interrogations. “I’m not cheating if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I’m not saying you are.”

“Yes, you are!” He opposed. “You do that fucking thing. “Are you really?” “Are you sure?” I’m sure I’m not.”

“But you’re always out!”

“Because I don’t like being home!” He explained before grabbing his wallet and shoving it in his back pocket. He did not want to deal with this right now.

“Tae, but I want to spend time with you!” Clara ordered as she stood up, trying to find her boyfriend’s eyes. “I thought the pause would have given you more downtime to spend with me. I’ve been clearing my schedule for you, but it seems for nothing if I’m at home alone. Can’t even go out because no one knows…”

There it was, the regret coming back up. Taehyung didn’t like yelling at her, or even fighting, especially something stupid like this. But sometimes, it was inevitable. You would think that after being together for five years would be easier to manage but it was wrong. So, so, so wrong.

“I’m sorry.” He said before turning his body to look at her. She was really stunning, even in low light, her beauty was emphasized by the shadows cast over her face.

“If you’re busy, I get that but it hurts when you don’t make time for me.” Clara approached frankly. “It was really bad when you were touring and always at the studio 24/7. I really thought this time would give us time together.”

“You do realize that the band’s not disbanding, I’m still busy with other things. These times are for me to feel freer.” Taehyung communicated clearly.

“Yes, I know. Spending time with your Hyungs and members, but I would want to be prioritized too.”

Another blow to his chest as the shame consumed him again. “I do—I—I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, but actions speak louder than words.” She specified. “Spend time with me, I don’t wanna ask again.” He nodded hopelessly as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

He opened his mouth but closed it shut. All he had was going to the studio and then having dinner at your work, which was “busy” to him. But the longer he stared at Clara’s pleading eyes, he didn’t want to let her down again. “No, I’m not. We can go to the park early in the morning and walk Tan?”

“Then have breakfast?” Her eyes lit up.

Taehyung scrunched his nose before ultimately nodding, “Yes, I’ll spend the whole day with you. I promise.” It was a big promise, but he had to do it. He had no choice but to.

-

“I’m sorry I’m late!” You ran into the restaurant restlessly. Your shift started at noon, but now it was close to two in the afternoon. You stopped before Halmeoni looked at you worriedly. “I overslept!”

“How can someone oversleep? It’s 2 PM??” Kenji commented as he grabbed empty cups to fill them with ice.

“Dear, you look paler,” Halmeoni informed, noticing your sunken features. She held your cheeks with her frail callous hands. “You’re even skinnier and I saw you yesterday. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Halmeoni, I’m fine.” You reassured with a tired smile. “I had to finish something last night and the night before, so I slept late, but it’s alright!”

“Sweetie, I think you should go rest for the day. I’ll pay you for the day.” Your sweet boss recommended it, but you denied it as fast as you could.

“No, it’s fine. I also know how busy weekends get for the restaurant and I wanna help.”

She sighed as she squeezed your arms, “If you insist.” You affirmed before getting your apron and tying it over you. While you were distracted, Halmeoni went to Kenji and whispered in his ear. “Keep an eye on her.”

Kenji assured his grandmother before she walked back into the kitchen. As he was about to go to a table, he spotted you grabbing another coke and gulping it down in a hurry. The younger boy pursed his lips, fearing for your health.

-

You didn’t know how, but you worked tirelessly through rush hour without any breaks. After drinking that can, you had a boost of energy that you haven’t had in a while. It felt so good to feel like you were on top of the world, even if it was temporary. Hopefully, this rush can last the whole night since you had to read an important article for a course.

Once you finished with your last table, for now, you stretched your limbs behind the counter, letting out a yawn. As you opened your mouth, a spring roll was shoved into it, leaving you bewildered as you spotted Kenji biting on another one. 

“You need to eat something.” He spoke with a full mouth. “I’ve had more breaks today than you ever did this past week.”

You bit into the roll and munched on it. “That’s because I don’t abuse my grandmother’s leniency like you.”

“But she’ll be more pissed if I don’t rest. Something you should do.” He voiced out, but you responded by rolling your eyes as you finished what was left of the roll. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m not!” You groaned before wiping your mouth with a napkin. “And I can rest at home.”

“You’re doing the most for no reason.”

“There’s always a reason for what I do.” You pushed forth as you passed by him.

The tarp opened and you looked in that direction, not surprised to see a smiling Taehyung with a Seojoon behind. You were unsure how to feel when you saw the idol’s face, but you can’t help but think about how it was when you were younger. No matter what you did, you’d see that ebony-haired boy with that boxy smile plastered on him every single day. It made your day before, but now…

“Hi, ___!” Taehyung smiled as he walked towards you. Though you stared at him, your mind was elsewhere. He observed your face, you looked weaker despite seeing you yesterday. Cheeks were hollow, the color in your eyes dimmed, and lips were chapped. As gentle as possible, he couldn’t help but raise his hand and pat your head. He grew concerned, especially while he was touching you and you didn’t even flinch, not even tense up once. “Blue, are you okay?” He whispered.

Your daydreaming came to an end when a dull ache pierced through your head. You hissed at the pain, resting your head in your palms and bending forward. You didn’t even realize someone was near you until you felt a hand on your back.

“___, are you in pain? How are you feeling?” The voice was sensed right away. You wanted to move away but you couldn’t. He rubbed your back and you hated that it soothed you.

“I’m fine.” You kneed your face before straightening your posture and stepping away from Taehyung. “Don’t worry about me.”

“But I a—”

“I’m not worried about you, so don’t worry about me.” You mumbled. The pain was still there but you tried repressing it. “Now go to your seat and don’t touch me again.”

Taehyung wanted to say something but he stopped and accepted it. He turned to his Hyung who also looked at you empathically before they went to a vacant table. You walked over to the counter to retrieve menus and a notepad. As you did so, you instantly felt lightheaded. 

You probably didn’t drink some water, so for a speedy recovery, you filled a glass of water for yourself and downed it in one go. You inhaled then exhaled, pacing your breathing. You felt a little better, but the headache was still there. You thought you’d be fine for now. But as you took a step, your vision got blurry even having three sets of Kenji walking by. You shook your head, trying to clear your head. You were fine, you were fine.

But you had to walk step by step instead of at your usual speed. You felt getting lighter, but at least your sight was still clear. Once you got to Taehyung’s table, you didn’t notice the concerned look on him as you asked them for their drink order. Seojoon talked for them, but for some reason, his voice muffled like he was underwater while a ringing pinched into your eardrums. You squirmed softly, catching Taehyung’s attention once more.

“___, you don’t look so good.” The idol frowned but you were quick to ignore him.

Not even getting their order, you hummed. “I’ll get them right away.” As you turned your back and walked methodically, Taehyung watched at a distance with growing panic.

“She doesn’t look right.” The idol informed and turned his head at his rather calm Hyung.

“Maybe she has an off day.” Seojoon simply said. “It’s concerning though, but I know she’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know her like I do though.” The idol spoke tensely. “I don’t buy anything she’s saying right now.”

“I guess so,” The older man snorted, shaking his head. “By the way, what’s up with you and her? I know you said she was your friend. Don’t tell me you’re trying to get with her.”

“I’m not cheating,” Taehyung emphasized. “___’s my friend, I grew up with her. Just trying to spend time with her.”

“At her working place?” Seojoon questioned, cocking his head to the side in wonder. “Can’t you just ask to hang out outside?”

“Well, the thing is…she doesn’t like me.”

“I can see that. It’s like you’re torturing her with your presence.” The actor brutally replied. “Why are you making so much effort if she doesn’t want you in her life?”

Taehyung sighed as he tapped his fingers on the table. ”It’s hard to explain, but…she was a big part of my life and I hate that we ended things.”

Seojoon nodded, understanding his youngest friend. “So she was only your friend?”

“Yeah.”

“Really? That’s all?”

“Yes? What do you mean ‘that’s all’?”

The older man was intrigued, only because Taehyung was the type to give up on things so easily, like how he did with playing the trumpet, film photography, working out, and the list went on. So for him to do the most, Seojoon wanted to dig deeper into who exactly you were and if there was more to what Taehyung was letting out.

You finally made it to the counter. That was so hard for no reason at all. You feebly gripped the edge of the table, trying to pull yourself together. You lifted your pounding head and blinked rapidly. Your eyes got hazy and felt a whole lot better and you cheered mentally. Maybe you needed more water.

You shifted your body and reached for a cup when unexpectedly, your legs gave out. Your headache stabbed your mind, your vision fogged up your surroundings, and your head leaned back as your eyes rolled back. You crashed onto the cold hard floor, your body curling in immense pain.

The last thing you saw was Taehyung running towards your body, calling your name before blacking out.

-

The second you opened your eyes, you gasped and snapped up. But the dulling pain in your cranium continued its presence, making you fold and hold your head. You winced at how badly it hurt, even feeling the tears forming in your eyes.

“Blue!” You weakly opened your eyes once you felt arms and a whole broad chest around your body. You felt him nosing into your hair while his thumbs rubbed circles on your back. “Thank goodness, you’re awake. You had me worried.”

You frowned and ripped him off of you. He was taken aback by your action, but he continued to stare at you with a worrisome look. You glared with a disturbed pout before scanning through your vicinity. The window showed the twilight of the firmament. Judging by the beeping monitor on the other side, a needle inserted into your skin, the bed, and the white cooling room, you were sent to the hospital. 

The last thing you remembered was getting a glass of water for yourself and nothing else. Your stress levels were through the roof. Your vision was blurry, you couldn’t move your body, and your mouth was dry. But as if he knew, on cue, Taehyung handed you a glass of water. You looked at the cup and then back to him. Without saying anything, you raised your hands to grasp it but you were trembling excessively which made the idol notice.

He took the effort to lift the brim of the glass to your lips. You weren’t in a position to complain about the gesture so you accepted it. You went forward as he tilted the cup, helping your drink. He didn’t stop until you finished the whole thing, which you did since you were very much dehydrated.

You respired, sitting properly on the hospital bed. Your irises watched Taehyung put the glass down on the bedside table, then sat down back at the table. Though you said nothing, you wanted answers to everything like why was he here.

Again as if he knew, he began speaking, “It’s currently three in the morning. We rushed you here and you were out for more than seven hours.” He scooted his chair toward you until you were within his reach. You could only gaze at him with tired eyes. He too looked like he didn’t sleep. “The doctor said you fainted from dehydration, starvation, and overworking your body. What led you to do that? We were so scared, Blue. I was worried sick.”

You blinked dizzily, not by your condition but by what he said. He was worried sick? Were you hearing that correctly? How fucking bold of him to tell that to you. What was he doing to you? Why was he being kind and sweet like the Taehyung you once knew? This was the same person who hurt you. Why did he do all of this? Why does he even fucking care for you at all?

Mindlessly, you slapped his shoulder to the best you can since you weren’t in the best shape. The smack made him jolt, gawking at you bug-eyed. But it wasn’t enough for you. Smack! He needed to feel pain. Smack! He needed to be hurt. Smack! He needed to feel what you felt all the years before. Smack! During those years. Smack! Now. Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Owww, Bl—Fuck!” Taehyung whined, trying to force your hands away from him. Your lips quaked as you slapped him again and again. “Blue, that hurts!”

“You asshole! Stop it!” You shouted, your skin heating up and your tear ducts swelling up. “No, stop! Stop calling me Blue! Stop coming to the shop. Stop telling people about our past! Stop begging! Stop, stop, stop! Just stop it already!” You hit him once more, but it came out helplessly when the walls in you broke down and the dam exploded. You let sobs as your stature shook, having no control anymore.

Taehyung saw you, shaking his head. He absolutely hated seeing you cry. He innately hugged your weeping form and nuzzled into your hair again. Only this time you gave up pushing him away and took it. “___, please. I’m sorry, I just really wanted you ba—”

“Why would you even? You hurt me, Taehyung!” You punched tiny fists onto his chest that made no real damage before shoving your dampened face to his front. His touch soothed you so familiarly that it pained you at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Blue. I’m sorry.” His body trembled around you. Your hair felt wet, finally being aware that he too was crying.

 “You called me a needy little bitch who had no other friends!” The throbbing memory was so vivid you remembered it like it was yesterday.

It has been over a year since Taehyung left Geochang for Seoul to pursue his dream of becoming an idol. His departure was a bittersweet “see you later.” This was the first time you and he would be physically apart, being kilometers and hours away from him.

If you had the chance to, you’d tag along and stay with him, but you had no money and you weren’t as talented as he was. So a simple choking hug, many farewells, reassurance of how much you’d miss and love one another, and a kiss on your temple would suffice.

Every night he’d called to update you on the process and ask how you were with school, which was tough considering your best friend in the whole world wasn’t there for support but you knew he was there for you in spirit. 

You astonishedly made a genuine friend to be your buddy throughout high school and you told him. He got jealous. He told you who his members were, even sending you a picture of who’s who and what were they like. Jimin seemed sweet especially since Taehyung talked about him all the time. You got envious, but the both of you knew no one can replace either of you.

However, recently the contact was stagnant. Of course, while he was busy with training and preparing for your debut, you were busy with school and helping your grandparents out. They were getting older, so you tried your best to help around the house and farm. You would call him every night, but it would go straight to voicemail. You texted him, but he wouldn’t reply until days later and the response would be ‘Sorry, been busy.’

You tried your best to understand he has been working hard on this and you were proud of him, but you worried if he was okay. You wanted to know how he was doing or what was happening in his personal life. You just wanted to know. But now texts were rare and phone calls were miracles yet short and under two minutes.

Maybe you were being too much but quickly remembered what Taehyung told you before. It was after that big fight you had. He told you honestly and with solace. Regardless, you decided to give him a little space to avoid being overbearing.

But that only lasted two days because the unexpected happened.

After finding out, you naturally ran to your safe haven—your room—and cried your heart out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The guilt consumed you, never even saying goodbye because you were at school and no one told you until after. You held onto your soaked pillow tightly. You felt vulnerable, and cold, and searched for comfort.

Then you remembered Taehyung.

You grabbed your phone and dialed his number. There was a ringing, but it went to voicemail. You dialed again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Again. Voi—

“What?!” Taehyung snarled. “Why are you calling me so much?”

“Hyun—Hyungie!” You cried. “I nee—”

“Blue, I’m so tired. I can’t right now.” He groaned and you can imagine him scratching his cranium.

“B—but, it’s import—important.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Hyungie ple—”

“___, call tomorrow!”

“No, you’re not un—”

“Ugh, seriously. Why are you being a needy little bitch?” He spat through the phone. “I know you have no friends and all, but I’m busy!”

This was the first time Taehyung yelled at you, the first time he was mad at you. He never was like that with you. Those words were hurting you, but you pushed them aside to reason. Your lower lips shuddered in denial, “No, no, Hyungie—”

“I swear, can’t you think about my needs for once other than yourself! Fuck.”

“I do and I’m sorry I upset you, but I need you ri—”

“___, I have to go. Namjoon Hyung is calling us to the living room. It’s important.”

“Hyungie, please. I nee—”

The call ended.

You tried calling back again and again, but he wasn’t answering so you left a voicemail. “Please, Hyungie. I’m sorry I made you mad, I’m sorry. I need you right now. I’m scared and lonely and I want my best friend. Please answer back. I love you. I miss you so much.”

Once you finished your message, you sat in the dark contemplating what he told you. Were you smothering him too much? Were you that needy? But Taehyung reassured you. He always has. But why was he saying it now? Did it finally get to him? No, no. Of course, not. He was your best friend of all time.

Every single day for the next week, you called him as much as possible. But there was no avail. You sent texts and phone calls until you found out that he blocked you. You stared at the screen for a good hour with the little pop-up saying a message cannot be sent.

It hurt so much for him to say that, to do that. It really was how he thought of you. You only ever had him, the person with so many friends, and he was gone. You were too needy, too much to handle. You caved into your body and pulled your knees to your chest as you bawled. His words always meant tremendously to you, and you didn’t realize you looked at yourself in that new light he showed you.

You came to a realization that you didn’t have a best friend. You lost him.

You lost your grandmother and him.

“___, I’m so sorry. They were lies, I never meant it!” Taehyung explained, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I never thought of you like that ever!”

Your reddened puffy eyes lifted to meet his equally swollen ones. “Taehyung, my grandma died that day.” You swore his face and heart dropped at the information. “She went into a cardiac arrest while picking crops and dropped dead.” You sobbed as more tears ran down your cheeks. “I found out after school because no one didn’t want to tell me while I was in.”

Taehyung cupped your cheeks with his hands, wiping the streaks away but it was pointless. “I’m so so—”

You grabbed onto his forearms, so he could look directly into your eyes. “When my grandma died, I needed my best friend. I needed you, Taehyung!” You screamed and squeezed him with your might. You observed him as he had his lips between his teeth and looked down in shame and remorse eating him alive. “You ignored my text and calls when I needed you the most. But I didn’t have that anymore. There was no one.” You whispered the last sentence, knowing the loneliness you felt for years.

“Blue, I’m sorry. I didn’t know!” His shaky voice was filled with regret and sorrow, not realizing what you’d gone through until now. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

“I tried telling you! But you pushed me away!! You didn’t give me a chance!” You slapped his chest faintly hard but it still wasn’t enough to break him. He lets you do so because he deserved it. He deserved every hit, every scream from you. He was a shitty best friend to you and he didn’t know the severity of it. “I lost you and grandma that day. It hurts, it hurts so much.”

Thinking you’d hit him again, you surprisingly encircled your arms around his torso and pulled him closer. On instinct, he did the same, tightening his hold. “I lost you. I needed you, Hyungie.” 

Streaks went down his face at how weak you sounded and it was all because of him. He hated himself for it, he hated the way he acted at you, you never deserved any of that, but he was an asshole. An asshole to his innocent and sweet best friend.

“You didn’t lose me, Blue. I’m here. I won’t leave, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He promised, then whispered all the apologies in the world to you. A critical promise that he will keep in his heart until the day he died.

-

You don’t know how long you were in this position, but dawn was soon arriving. The tiny peak of the tangerine shined among the skyline. You watched in tranquility with inflamed irises and dried stains on your features. Somewhere along the line, Taehyung climbed himself onto the elevated top bed and had you in his arms. 

At this point, you don’t bother because he wasn’t going to listen and you had to admit that the feeling of him alleviated you like how you recollected. You missed it so much and you maneuvered into his chest.

Taehyung wasn’t asleep. He was weary, but couldn’t sleep. In the meantime, he watched you while you stared out the window. He enjoyed it, acknowledging the yearning to have you back near him. He thought about it before but now, he wanted to beat himself up for ever letting you go. Though the crying stopped with a few sniffles here and there, the pounding in his heart didn’t stop. There was so much to be said, so much for him to ask and beg, all he hoped was that you accepted them.

“Blue—”

“Don’t call me that right now.” You muttered without even looking back.

“Sorry. Uhh, ___.” He called and you hummed in response. “I know I fucked up and hurt your feelings and I regret them. I swear, the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He gulped and exhaled unevenly. “I said the most fucked up things to you and took you for granted. You aren’t needy, you did nothing wrong. You’re innocent. It’s all my fault. I was a dumbass, obnoxious, and selfish. But I want you to know that you never lost me and I’m gonna keep reminding you of that. I promise I’ll never leave you again. I wanna make things right and rekindle our friendship. I wanna ask you for your forgiveness, please?”

Your irises shifted from the view outside to his nervous face. You sighed, then sat up. He followed you and waited patiently yet anxiously for your answer. “I forgave you a long time ago, Taehyung.”

His pupils dilated while his mouth parted, “You did?”

You nodded with pure honesty. “It took me three years, but I did.” You knew he was about to question it, so you quickly added. “I saw that BTS documentary and you talked about the struggles and adversity you all had to face, even with the early termination you avoided and personal life.”

He was shocked to find out that you followed him and the group, which melted his heart, and wanted to know more but now wasn’t the time. So he nodded. 

“I forgave, but I won’t forget it.” You stated. “Because, Kim Taehyung, you’ve hurt me so badly that it got me traumatized to opening back up to people.”

It was true. After your friendship broke, you shut down and avoided peers other than group projects. People tried but didn’t get very far. There was no effort due to your lingering fear of disappointment and your insecurity about being clingy. You went to school and then home, sometimes helping your grandfather out. You did have Taehyung’s siblings, but once his family moved, you really had no one.

Other relatives visited you and your grandfather, but that was basically it. It went like this from there until the end of your undergraduate years.

“You took our friendship for granted. Yes, we’ve changed and we’re strangers now…” You spoke like this was nothing but it tore Taehyung on the inside. He never wanted this to happen. “But there’s a scar in me, it’s still here and it’s a reminder.”

“___, you shouldn’t do that. It’s not good for you.” He approached. “The loneliness will continue.”

“But how can I not?” You whimpered with glossy eyes. “I’m afraid, because of you!”

Your words punched him in the gut, wincing at the emotional sting. “S-scars can heal over time, but it takes a while unless you get help.” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “Let me help you heal your scars.”

You leaned back as you fidget your fingers, hesitantly shaking your head. “N-n—I don’t know if I can.”

“I’ll help you! I’ll help you like I always did when we were together.”

“The past—”

“Please. You said it yourself, even if I hate it, but we’re strangers now. It’ll be different this time. We can start fresh, or back to where we left off before I moved to Seoul, I don’t care as long as I have you and our friendship back in my life. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“You know it’s really hard to start fresh when I think about how we were years back.” You pronounced, still uneasy about the tempting recommendation. 

“Then let’s go back where we left off!”

“Can’t help but also think about what you did.”

Taehyung was desperate and felt defeated by your hard and impenetrable stance. But he didn’t want to give it up when he was so close. “Please, ___. I miss you so much. Back then, you were the only person who understood me. You probably still are and I hope that.”

“Please you have your friends and members, your girlfriend, who know you much more than me.” You retorted at his ridiculousness.

“Never, and I know that deep in me.” He said in no laughing matter. You pursed your lips, remembering how serious he can get.

Your pupils moved away to look back at the rising sun. “It’s been years though…”

“Then there’s a lot of time to be made up.”

You sighed, “Taehyu—“

“Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Ple—”

“Fine, fuck! Jesus Christ, you’re annoying.” You burst out, making him flinch. “We’ll do it.“

The angels answered his prayers. The broken pieces of the bond twitched as they’re attempting to find their way back to each other. The flames were about to ablaze with hazard protection the second you agreed.

“R-really?” He asked dumbfoundedly.

You gave a swift nod, “But I will remind you.” You grasped his tendrils firmly and tugged him to you, causing him to squirm painfully. You glared daggers at him with pupils enlarged. “You fucking broke my trust and heart, and this is something you’ll have to earn back.” Your hold tightened harshly, letting him yelp. “I don’t care how many pouts, expressions, begs and pleas you give me. You earn it. Understood?”

“Ye—yes, ma’am.” He replied without missing a beat.

You released your grip and removed your hand away. He groaned at the blunt ache. He knew you were harsh when you wanted to but damn. He was about to touch it, but you yanked his head towards your chest.

You wrapped your arms around his neck before your fingers gently brushed through his raven locks. He flinched, but only because it stung. However, your digits carded through and lightly scratched his scalp. “Did I hurt you?”

The sides of his lips curved, absorbing the tenderness he knew you had even if it was only a small piece. He rested peacefully into you and shook his head. “You could never hurt me.”

Though he never saw that smile on you at that moment, it was going to be okay. Hopefully, there will be more with the reconnection. It was complicated and conflicting, there may be holes. If people found out, they may question it, but they would never fully understand unless they were in your shoes.

The bond was yet in the dark due to lost time. But the reminder of that gravitational pull between you two was consistently there and progressing to its liking. Maybe little by little or jumping through barrels, who knew? All that mattered was that you were separated for almost a decade—

You’d always find yourselves back to one another.

-

It has been over a week since you and Taehyung had that fight. It really disappointed you that he forgot your parents’ death anniversary, but it bothered you even more that this was your biggest fight yet. You’ve done so much for your best friend and always tried to do what he asked you despite it being uncomfortable sometimes. He knew, he knew you knew. Yet he would still ask.

Asking him this one thing, this one important thing and he forgot it like it was nothing. It wasn’t something you could let off easily with Taehyung’s apologies and his intricate pouts. You had to be a little more stubborn than usual, so here you were—in your room alone on a sunny Saturday morning.

Since then, you haven’t spoken to Taehyung no matter how much he tried. If he did, you’d ignore him like the wind. When he tried hugging you, you pushed him off of you even going as far as throwing him on the grass. It was one of the hardest things to do especially when he lived next door and invited himself over at all times. You hated the distance. You missed him and his presence, but it had to be done for your voice to be heard. An apology wasn’t going to cut it. 

He was an insistent pest, calling your name and begging for your forgiveness from every angle you could think of. If only he knew you already forgave him, your heart couldn’t reject your best friend like that.

Today was not like the rest. After your fight—well, even before—Taehyung was your human alarm clock. Right on the dot of six in the morning. But it was the weekend, so it would be nine o’clock. However, there were no sounds or sight of your social butterfly anywhere. It was too quiet for your liking.

It frightened you.

Nonetheless, you went about through your morning. After washing up, you went out on the porch to water the plants. While hosing the pots down, you spotted someone coming out next door in your peripheral vision. You didn’t think anything else of it as it could have been anyone from Taehyung’s family, but then you saw the hue of bold red from his big-ass backpack stuffed as usual.

You shook your head, wondering what he was up to before paying attention back to your foliages and flora. Once you were done, you turned the hose off. You were about to turn away and go back into your house until a certain person came into your vicinity and closed the door when you tried opening it.

“Good morning, my lovely Blue.” He sounded radiant and energized.

For the first time since the fight, you finally acknowledged your best friend by staring at him right in the eyes with your tired and hurt once. The smile on his face grew the second the contact was mutual.

Before either of you could say anything, you pried open your front door. You made it in, but you couldn’t slam it shut as he ducked down and his arms wrapped around your waist then lifting you in the air. You yelped at the sudden action and unfortunately, it came naturally to encircle yours around his nape for support.

You felt him letting go, slipping in his hold which made you grip tighter. But then you noticed him maneuvering his hands under your thighs, putting you in a comfortable position.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you go,” Taehyung reassured as he kicked the door closed. Though you were secured, you realized the position you were in and what he was doing. Suspicious of him, you wiggled to get out of his hold but he only gripped firmer. “Nuh uh, I got you now, so deal with it.”

You blew out of your nose and pulled a face of disgust. You glared at him intently, but he paid no attention as he walked you toward your room. His face remained smiley, but deep down, he was actually deathly afraid. He wanted you back and hated himself for what he did. He needed to truly make it up after he was a shitty best friend to his sweet true best friend in the whole universe.

Once in your room, he propped you down on your bed. You crossed your arms, avoiding his eyes by staring forward at the wall. There was no way he’d get to you this easily. You had to continue your stance.

You heard him sigh before walking towards you and kneeling in front. He laid his hands on your lap before gazing up, “Blue, please talk to me. I miss you.” You stayed silent, ignoring him. “I’m sorry for forgetting your parents’ anniversary. It wasn’t my intention to, but I did for some stupid party for friends who are no way near important compared to you.”

Your heart stung a little—friends. The same friends he’d go to have lunch with. The same ones who were in football with him. The same ones who invited him to parties and hangouts. The same ones he managed to forget your time with him.

You looked away and batted your eyes to keep the tears away. You didn’t want him to see you cry just yet. It was way too early in the morning for that.

“Blue, I know I can’t apologize enough for it. I’m stupid.” You really wanted to say “you are,” but bit your tongue to keep quiet. “So what I’m trying to say is…” He got up and reached out to hold your cheeks in his palms. “Let’s go have an adventure.”

His sentence threw you off to the point where you snorted and spoke for the first time. “I’m not going anywhere with you right now.” You retorted, slapping him away from you. “If you fucking think that a da—”

“Please, there’s a reason for it! But it’s a surprise.” He quickly countered. His eyes rapidly tried to find your agreement, but there was none…yet.

“Do you even deserve my time?” You spat back, making him internally bruise at your cruel words. You felt guilt roaming in you when you saw how hurt he looked, but you repressed it. “You should hang out with your other friends. I’m sure they’d want to hang out with your surprise. I’ll be fine alone.”

“___,” He spoke quietly. “Please, I miss you. I want my best friend back.”

“But do you even want me back?” His expression grew perplexed and had no response back. “Just forget what I said.” You shook your head. “Leav—”

“I’m not leaving you.” He protested. “This adventure is important, the reason is important, you are important, ___. Please.”

Your jaw clenched as you glared fiercely at Taehyung. He looked back with fear in his eyes. You were always the one in your friendship to get annoyed or angry very easily while Taehyung never did anything back. He was patient and usually the idiot to blame for his antics. He never was mad at you…at all.

Though you were still wary of him, you were curious about what exactly this adventure was. When he said these things, he would have reasons behind them and they were usually mindfully good. He knew he fucked up, so he should know not to do anything that would upset you even more.

“So what should I wear for this adventure?” You asked. Though you didn’t explicitly yes, he knew you were on board with this.

He smiled widely, forming his boxy structure at you that you missed so much. He grabbed your hands into his before sliding his nose on the back of them, just wanting to feel your skin. “Just change and be yourself.”

You nodded before kicking him out of your room. Sure, he has seen you bare (kinda) and vice versa but he was still on thin ice with you. By the time you were done, you had a small bag, fresh pair of going-out clothes on, and an unenthusiastic smile written on your face.

When you both went out of the house and down the front porch, he stopped you. You glanced at him, wondering what did he want. “Before we go, I want you to keep these on.” He grabbed something out of his bright backpack and presented it to you.

It was a blindfold.

You furrowed your brows, a bit disturbed and very confused. You opened your mouth to refuse, but closed it up when you reminded yourself that he wasn’t gonna give you a clear answer. With that, you nodded to let him put it on you. You were too nice to him for your own good.

“So am I just gonna walk blindly the entire time?” You asked once he tightened the fabric around your eyes.

“No, I’ll be your eyes,” Taehyung reassured. “As long as you trust me.” You gulped, staying quiet yet your face twisted at his words. That caused him to frown immediately before intertwining his fingers with yours. “Blue, you trust me right?”

“Of course.” There was no hesitation in your voice. “I always did, but…” You looked down despite seeing black in your vision. You knew he stayed right back at you, you could feel his eyes lingering. 

“I’ll make it up, I swear.” He promised, squeezing your hand. You could only hum, but it still wasn’t enough to convince you yet. “Just follow me, I’ll protect you.”

Somehow he managed to keep the blindfold on you for almost two and a half hours despite your begging and complaining. He told you to watch out and helped you step exactly where you should walk in and out of places.

Your other senses were heightened, eventually noticing how you went on a subway and then a bus ride through the sounds of the transportation. Yet you still didn’t know where you were exactly going. Halfway through you gave up and slept through the bus ride with the darkness around you, even cuddling to Taehyung’s side to which he accepted and laid his head on yours.

He woke you up to get off the stop. You were still in a daze, but you let him help you walk down the steps. But to your misfortune, there was still a long walk more to go and you were so tired and hungry. Taehyung linked his arm with yours, careful not to get you hurt. The distance felt so much longer with your eyes covered, you were getting annoyed again. 

“Taehyung, how much longer?” You whined, basically dragged yourself.

You heard him laugh, “Just this hill. I promise.”

You were about to complain again, but stop when you wafted the aroma of flowers near. Did he go through all this trouble for fucking flowers? Sure, you loved them but you didn’t think they were enough.

The environment was a soothing stillness though. You haven’t heard others around you for quite some time. Even the bus ride here felt empty. Where was he taking you?

It felt like climbing the hill was over because he finally lets go of you. He told you again to keep the fabric on, so you just waited. You heard rumbling and rummaging through his backpack and other things you couldn’t quite specify. 

You took a deep sigh, then you felt his presence near you, in front of you. You felt his hands going behind your head to loosen the blindfold off of you. He slowly removed them to help you adjust your eyes back to the light. You blinked rapidly, taking in a slightly blurred Taehyung before rubbing your pupils.

“You okay now, Blue?” He questioned, searching for any troubles. You nodded as you looked back at him, then turned your head to figure out where you were. In an instant, your irises widened with your mouth slightly apart.

You’ve been here before, exactly a week ago but this time, it was with your best friend instead of your grandparents. Right before your eyes rested the tombstones of your parents side by side. There was a green gingham picnic blanket placed down adjacent to the graves with packed meals and fruits laying on top of the fabric. Two glass bottles of flowers sat perfectly on each side of your parents.

You were completely mesmerized by the sight before you. Your tear ducts couldn’t be saved as tears fell down your cheeks and the sniffles started inflating your nose. Your body throbbed, releasing all the emotions you’ve bottled up until this point.

Taehyung wrapped his body around yours, immediately relaxing you and leaning into him. He kissed your hair as he swayed you both. He knew this would happen, feeling your emotions that he too cried with you as he finally was able to see your parents.

After what felt like forever, the two of you finally settled down and ate your lunch and snacks. You spent the entire afternoon with your parents, talking and reminiscing memories on your part. You explained to them who Taehyung was in your life and how much he meant to you. While you blabbered onto the tombstones, Taehyung’s eyes were only on you smiling at your teary smiles and giggles, enjoying every second of it.

“Thank you, Hyungie.” You told him with a loving smile and a warm hug to the side. “Thank you so much.”

He pulled you closer, bringing you to sit on his lap as he encircled his arms around your waist. You rested your hands over his, tilting your head back. “No need to thank me. I’ve been an idiot for letting you go through that.” He rested his chin on your shoulder as he gazed at the graves. “You’re my Blue; I’ll do anything for you.”

You sucked your lips into your mouth, wondering if it was time to tell him the truth. Maybe he’ll understand you much more, and be aware of how much you felt. “Taehyung…”

You never said his name unless you were serious or mad. He closed his eyes and scrunched his face in fear. “Am I in trouble again?”

You lightly chuckled and shook your head, “No.” You paused for a moment and let it out. “A-are-are you—do you even like that I’m your best friend?”

You turned back to face him, faces a few centimeters away but you didn’t care to dig deeper into that. His attention focused on you. You saw his hesitation, but it wasn’t because of what you expected. It wasn’t of regret or denial. It was something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. You’ve seen it before, but you could never figure it out.

“O—of course, why is that even a question, ___?” He finally replied.

You finally faced away from him and viewed your parents. “You’re a social butterfly, Hyungie. You’ve always been. You’re kind and sociable, and you put your heart into every single one of your friendships.” You began, but your eyes were reddening by the second. “You could have anyone as your best friend, but…you chose me.” The salty water flooded your tear ducts and your chest grew tighter.

Concern wasn’t enough to express how Taehyung felt when he saw you crying again. He never wanted to let go. He turned you around so that way you sat sideways as he made you lean yourself into his chest and neck, rubbing your back and letting you sob again.

“Why?” You wept softly, the whimpering breaking Taehyung’s heart. His face creased in puzzlement, still not understanding you. “Why did you choose me? I’m nothing like you. I’m quiet, it’s so hard for me to start a conversation! You’re so popular and fit into every group, and I feel like I’m so far behind you…and…I don’t deserve you!”

Taehyung lets out a sob, stubbornly shaking his head in denial. He pecked your forehead as he joined another crying session. “Never say that again. You deserve all of me as I do with you.” Words injected with sorrow and disappointment. The only disappointment in him was seeing another skin of you insecure about your ten-year friendship that he knew nothing about. He understood what others thought and did to you, but you never mentioned how you truly felt. “Why didn’t you tell me this is how you felt?”

“I never wanted you to feel bad about something you couldn’t control. You’re outgoing, Hyungie; I’m not. I didn’t want you to pity me just because I only rely on you.”

“I would only want you to rely on me.”

“And I’m also younger than you. It may be only by a year but it does make a difference since I don’t see you throughout the school day. Plus you have your football team.”

“I don’t care about that because right after school and practice, I’m excited to come back to you.”

“I’m a fucking hermit crab who likes to stay in and you love partying and enjoying the outside!”

“I love being with my little crab more than being outside.”

“Hyungie—”

“___, listen.” He hushed you, gently patting your hair as he watched you with teary warmness. Leaning into you, he rested his forehead onto yours. The both of you closed your eyes, breathing yourselves into one another. Muted weeping spilled out of you when you listened to him. “It was never, and I mean never my intention to let you hurt like that. I didn’t know how you felt about it. Other than forgetting, was that also why you were so angry and hurt?” 

You pouted and nodded. “I feel like I’m losing you as we get older. We’re getting our own values and interests apart from one another you’d want someone who fits more into you instead of this awkward needy recluse. I worry if I’m even a good best friend for you.”

He pulled back, making you open your puffy eyes. This was the most serious he presented himself to you. He breathed in and out before speaking, “You’re never going to lose me. If I do, which won’t happen, I’ll come back with a sword fight to have you again.” You grinned at how absurd he sounded but it all meant earnestly. “We’re getting older, sure, but I don’t want anyone like me. Have you met me?” You chuckled and moved into his chest. “I never thought about having another besides you. You’re more than a good best friend, ___. You’re my Blue and that will never change.”

Your lips quivered at his soft reassurance to you. You were so fearful and nervous about growing apart from him that all that was said overwhelmed you but in the best way possible.

“I’m sorry for forgetting again. Please forgive me.” Taehyung told you again.

“I will always forgive you.” You nodded before you laced your fingers with his. “Even if I’m mad or upset or hurt at you, I’ll always forgive you.”

He diverted his pupils toward the stones. “I’m sorry, auntie and uncle. I didn’t mean to miss meeting you. You have the most loving and tolerant daughter in the universe for being friends with this annoying bug.”

“You’re not a bug.” You cooed.

“Hey!”

You giggled then faded when you had to let something out, “I’m sorry for being so needy. It must be a lot for you.” 

“I love you being needy for me too.” He smiled pridefully. “It just means you want me all to yourself.”

You smacked his shoulder, blushing brightly. “That’s not what it means.”

“Yeah, sure, Blue.” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he wiped your stained features with his thumbs. “You better not be needy for anyone else.”

It was your turn to smile cockily. “Why, doesn’t seem a bit much? Maybe I should do it to someone else to take the load off.”

“It’s never too much for me. Give it to only me.” He pouted, tightening his hold to which you laughed. “Remember Blue, no one can replace you. Whether or not I have millions of friends, you’ll be my best friend, my Blue, the only one I want. No one else, I don’t care what others think. My Blue, okay?”

Your mouth curved shyly, then nodded sincerely. “Then you’re my Hyungie, okay?”

“That shouldn’t be a question. I’m the only Hyungie in your life.” He scoffed, baffled at your ask, letting you feel more at ease. “I love you, Blue.” He kissed your temple numerous times.

“I love you too, Hyungie.” 

You continued your time there in each other’s embrace, having so much weight lifted off. Solace and comfort remained, feeling alive once again in each other’s eyes. A promise being held so high and mighty to reassure the other that they were the only one in the world for one another.

A promise that may seem broken years later, yet still kept so eminent that no one could even see. Not even you and him.

Tagged: @manuosorioh @kaal-ee @thvxstf

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #matcha masterlist

[lizzie-is-here]

just got emotionally fucking annihilated by wakanda forever

but i also wanna talk about it! warning for spoilers and general rambling below 👇

ok, let’s start with parallels CAUSE THERE WERE SO MANY

first off, the comparison of shuri and killmonger 👀

it really does make sense, especially when you think ab how they both “go against” tradition, rejecting the standards. t’challa (rip ilysm) still wanted to please the elders, even if he had more progressive ideas (ie: sandals for his first day

also i’m so fucking glad they didn’t try to cgi chadwick in. it would’ve felt disrespectful and i think it was handled beautifully

her sparing namor the same way t’challa spared those he fought (saving zemo, helping bucky, trying to help killmonger)

the dialogue callbacks bro. fuckin “show him who you are,” had me sobbing. “vengeance is consuming us” babes, shuri, i’m crying.

her being angered by loss and snapping at nakia like t’challa snapped at zuri when he realized killmonger’s identity

also i absolutely love riri. i was a bit apprehensive going in, but i think they executed her well without just making her a replacement for tony. that being said, he would absolutely adore her

the parallel of her going too high and running out of oxygen and later turning it on namor in the same way mirrors tony’s suit frosting over and doing the same to stane 😭

the silent flashes of t’challa took my breath away. the silence really compounded just how empty and quiet their grief is.

seeing shuri try so hard in the opening and not even being able to say goodbye was so sad, and you can see her thoughts racing later on when she successfully synthesizes the heart-shaped herb. it’s a sort of “what if i’d thought of this earlier?” “who would still be alive?” “how could i have missed this?” sort of feeing

onto details!

the new black panther suit is stunning 🤩 the gold and silver details along with the dots that almost look like pearls, mirroring the ones she wears at the funerals? it shows that even if she is the leader of wakanda now, she’s still very young, still grieving her many losses

the tech and ai has really been amped up. shuri’s ai and her different interfaces looked amazing. also the ai (who i think is grio but i couldn’t tell) reminds me of jarvis. mainly in the orange blob department

the dora milaje looked stunning as ever, and seeing some new tech for them was exciting

THE VIBRANIUM THAT MELTED INTO THE CARS ALSKDKDKFKLDDK OBSESSED TONY WOULDVE LOVED THAT SHIT

talokan was gorgeous, even if it did violently trigger my thalassophobia

ummm everett and valentina being married (well, divorced) was a plot point i was not expecting. hope to see him in the thunderbolts tho he’s very slay

fucking 👏 t’challa 👏 junior 👏

i broke down right then and there

took me right out

i won’t lie the people of talokan gave me avatar vibes but i did like the touch of them having siren-like voices.

also namora was pretty so that’s a win

ok i get that it’s a movie. but realistically, i’d they’re fighting this massive underwater force, why not just call any other super powered avenger????

like for movie’s sake yeah it’s all fine but like if i were in the mcu living that shit i’d be like “let’s just call thor. have him like electrocute the water. or doctor strange. he did that cool water thing in endgame that had literally no purpose except to give him screen time. or wanda, we all know she ain’t really dead bffr”

AYO IS GENERAL NOW??? I LOVE OKOYE BUT THATS A SLAY

ALSO SHES GAY??????

I SAW THAT KISS AT THE END 👀👀👀👀

man i love m’baku so much. he’s just. ugh

ok in better terms, i think i like him so much because he is first presented as a chad, almost. he’s strong, a bit dumb, and leads the isolated tribe.

but then you interact w him and find out he’s incredibly emotionally empathetic and kind, and reaches out to shuri as a helping hand, a person to lean on.

i just really appreciate him okay 🥺😭

overall, stunning. 10/10, fifth time in a row that marvel’s made me cry at one of their movies.

aka black widow (bc yelena and the ending), shang-chi (bc gotdamn let me cry ab the chinese representation), no way home (cause duh), love and thunder (BC HE ADOPTED HER BITCH WHAT) and now this

stunning, showstopping, say what you will about marvel but damn they know how to make me cry

#marvel #avengers #wakanda forever #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #black panther: wakanda forever #shuri black panther #princess shuri #queen ramonda #mcu namor #nakia #t’challa #shuri udaku #chadwick boseman #rip chadwick boseman #letitia wright #lupita nyong'o #wakanda forever spoilers

[yandere-genji]

I loved your Cassidy fic with him keeping his pet up in the mountains….. it gave me IDEAS. This doesn’t have to be a request, just food for thought. I love a guilty yandere….. what if reader ended up getting really sick after their punishment? Like a high fever, bedridden for a week at least, always shivering and sniffling in that way that just tugs at his insides something fierce…. And then, for the cherry on top, maybe they end up revealing that they went through his things because they were scared something was coming from the woods to get them complete with the sniffling “I’m sorry daddy….” With those little coughs. I just think it would be so good for him to feel like the scum of the earth a little bit 😈

I think the really interesting thing that this idea really delves into is the question: how does guilt affect Cassidy? On the basis that he knows reader, he doesn’t hide his darkest side. To strangers who wouldn’t know any better, he’s that same charming and approachable man you had first met. But now that you really knew him, that shroud was unveiled and you saw his true colors. 

Hardly does he apologize for his harsh treatment of you, but he does go through efforts to make sure you’re alright afterward. Initially, he didn’t feel any guilt if you were in pain or troubled by his punishments or forced advances. He saw it as growing pains and the necessary evils that were a product of being with a man like him. But as he broke you in, that swiftly changed. You first became obedient out of fear to provoke him. That softened him up, made him want to reward you for being so good for him. And when you were receptive to that, you gradually melted into his commands and damn did that do things to him. He thought that having you by his side, straddling his thighs and planting soft lips on his prickly beard was a distant dream. But when it became real, you stole his heart, and that’s when he really started getting soft with you in a way he had never felt for someone before. 

Don’t get me wrong, that is not to say that Cassidy isn’t sympathetic. His charm isn’t superficial, either, he can read people well and present to them what they want to see. Besides being the fastest gun in the new west, it’s another reason why he was such a notorious gunslinger. He’s persuasive with a silver tongue. But he’s a killer and more prone to using his more empathetic sensibilities to suit his personal gains. The only person he could say he had truly loved was his mama, and those feelings had long since been forgotten after she passed. But he felt that same warmth and love in you. 

Still, he wasn’t always patient when you misbehaved, and that night when he caught you outside the cabin in the mountains and rummaging through his work equipment, he was already riled up. His blood was boiling and he abandoned his gentler nature in favor of getting something out of your disobedience. And the look on your face made it so much easier for him to seek his satisfaction from your pain. He loved holding you in his arms and making love to you in your shared bed just as much as he loved fucking you into oblivion in a dirty, freezing tool shed. He was ruthless either way, but he was a different man when he wanted you to be punished. You were bruised and sore everywhere afterwards, unsure if your condition was due to exposure to the freezing temperatures of the mountains or from Cassidy’s abuse. He had left early that morning, leaving you before you even woke, and he was still lingering in that domineering headspace. Unaware that you were catching a fever and coughing up your lungs at home. While he was gone for most of the day, you were usually expected to tidy up the house, but you had no energy to do anything but rest. You knew Cassidy would berate you about the state of the house, probably punish you when he got home, but your pounding headache made it impossible for you to think about any consequences. You just wanted to sleep.

And when Cassidy did came home, the first thing he saw was your sleeping body huddled close to the fireplace with a cup of tea beside you. He noticed the dirty plates in the sink, the floor littered with a few dust bunnies, and the bed still a mess from this morning. Everything you hoped he wouldn’t, but knew he would, notice. This wasn’t usual, though. Besides the mess, whenever he came home, you were always eager to greet him, sometimes with food and a beer in hand. It was what he looked forward to every day. And he had never caught you in a nap like this. Something was wrong, and he was feeling less inclined to punish you and more concerned for your well-being. He kneeled level to you, your body humming as you slept. Eyes closed shut, red around the edges and face wet with sweat. Without hesitation, he sat you up against the wall. Of course, it had woken you up and startled you, but Cassidy was far too occupied with figuring out what was wrong with you to care. You called his name, and he could tell just by the sound of your voice that you had come down with a nasty cold. He was relieved it was nothing too serious, but relief was quickly washed away by the harsh pang of guilt. And you panicked, expecting him to be pissed about the mess, and you poured a litany of explanations. Apologizing profusely for being so lazy.

Cassidy huffed, disappointed in himself for letting this happen to you, “Why the hell did you have to leave the damn house, huh? Wandering through my shit like it were you own…”

You had mistook his comment as a jab at you and not at the situation that you had found yourself in. Now you were nervous, he had that same tone of voice he took when he was upset with you but much less playful. Your mind spoke for you, without much thought about what you were saying, “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you sniffled and shook as a chill ran through you, “I feel terrible. I shouldn’t have gone outside, it was really bad. And it was really scary, it was so dark and I thought I saw something, maybe a bear or a wolf. I don’t know, maybe it was just a deer. But I didn’t know and I went through your work stuff because I wanted to find that journal you showed me with all the animals in it so I could figure out what the heck it was and I’m so sorry Daddy. Please don’t be mad at me…”

Your voice trailed off as tears rolled down your puffy eyes and onto your red cheeks. Jesse exhaled, wiping away the wetness from your face with a gloved hand. He wrapped his warm serape around your shivering body and softly kisses the top of your head. The air was silent, unreadable to you as Cassidy held you in his arms and continued to pamper you despite your bad behavior. But he was so comforting that it didn’t matter and you leaned into every touch. Looking up to meet his eyes, you tried to read him. He returned your gaze with his own, as soft as his sharp, whiskey eyes could be. 

Fuck, you hit him where it hurt. Looking up at him with those doe eyes and begging for his forgiveness. Poor thing, trapped all by your lonesome. To think you were frightened just by the fact he wasn’t with you, that you just needed him to take care of you. Now here you were, sick as a dog and still desperately in need of him while he was gone. He failed you, and punished you harshly for his own shortcomings. 

“Baby,” he almost hummed, combing his fingers through your hair, “I ain’t mad, ain’t even close.”

“Really?” you asked, delighted, “Even though the cabin’s a mess?”

He chucked, pulling you close and lifting your face close to his for a soft kiss, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head ‘bout that. Let’s get you to bed, Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.”

#lol i really wasn’t expecting this to be as long as it is oh well #can u tell i like this guy #dark overwatch #yandere overwatch #yandere #cole cassidy x reader #yandere cole cassidy #dark cole cassidy #cassidy #yandere cassidy #dark cassidy #yandere au #yandere!overwatch #yandere mccree

[onlyswan]

hi art 💓 so im rereading iw couples breakup drabble as one would do everytime shes on her period (its a canon event i think ppl would relate) and i have a few questions!!! 🥹🦋

1. what were the iw couple doing before they were in the car? like did they spend the day only to then break up? i rmb reading that jk was on tour, did he came back and break up w them right away? did he at least get them a present???!

2. what events led him to the decision? we know that prob he’s overwhelmed, the uncertainty of his career and the drabble from where he saw how draining it is on oc. but is there a bigger thing that happened?

3. u wrote that he “practiced” breaking up with oc. like is this true? how long has he thought of breaking up w oc before he actually did it? and how did oc not expect anything??? ☹️☹️

4. who is this “not married yet” girl that jk was teasing tae about? that sounds so saucYY a drabble for that would be super fun!! its gonna be super angsty too!!! hahahahhaha

5. we know jk regretted it right away after breaking up w oc, but why didn’t he backtrack and take it back? i know oc must’ve thought hes crazy but he didnt even call or text first? us reading is comforted by knowing that jk is also having the worst time, but oc doesn’t. yet theyre brave enough to be the one who reached out first, bc for all they know, jk could be with some other people right now, alr over them. did oc know that he’s not that kind of person or deep down they’re just being as brave as they can asking for what they wants which is him?

6. can we pleaseeeee have more drabbles where we can see how much the boys adore oc? or just their dynamic i would say. also do they have a special connection with each of the boys on different things? like maybe a drabble where jk & oc pack a homemade lunch to bring when visiting jin hobi or yoongi 🥹🥹

7. after the initial breakup, were things ever awkward? were there times when oc had to get used to him being in their life again or something less dramatic? did he ever see doubts or worry in oc’s eyes and is the even when he gave u reasons to drabble, the first time they had to address the traumatic event in their relationship? do they ever talk about it now? or laugh about it?

8. what happened with the “someone else i met in a bar turned out to be a jerk”??? when was this?! HAHAHHA jk must’ve lost his fucking mind after learning about this

9. kinda curious has there been a time when jk really needs quality time w oc and just brings her on tour? my dream is becoming a tour wifey so this would hit all the right spot:( esp w how easy he handled the situation from the last drabble of just inviting her to come w him. cutest ☹️

thank you so much for providing one of my comfort fics!! i hope ure having a great day🌷🥹

oh!! also!! i think we’ve never seen iw couple be on a date date, like fancy super dressed up date. is that just not them? can we see more of their date nights??

heyyy beloved i missed you 🥺🥺🥺 omg???

there are two types of onlyswan readers: one - those who reread the period drabbles then they’re on their period / two - those who reread the breakup drabble when they’re on their period 😭😭😭

ALRIGHT [cracks knuckles]

1. he broke up with oc as soon as he arrived back from tour 🥲 like literally. our guy was still jetlagged. he just wasn’t in his right mind at the time honestly. oc hopped in the car thinking they were going to spend time together someplace else but… yk what happened… ofc he got oc lotssss of presents though </3 including those gifts he talked about in the video oc watched before they called him :(

2. at the time they were already making plans about what will happen in the next few years of their career including the m word ehem ehem so. yeah he was overwhelmed and tired and he felt guilty of having to always leave oc + we know how oc is so empathetic so he also felt guilty that they have to carry his burdens as well ☹️

3. probably a month 🤨 but he didn’t actually want to break up with oc yk? it felt more like a thing that he had to do </3 so oc never suspected anything because the way he was acting towards them never changed. he wanted to hold on.

4. LMAOOOOO maybe in the future i’ll get around to that 🤞🏼 but tae was going through it for reaaaaal

5. he didn’t jump out the car to chase oc because him immediately changing his mind would’ve pissed oc off thinking that he was just playing a joke on their feelings and that would earn him a slap on the face 😭 he thought of that. and oc said they wanted to decide for theirself too :( so he wanted to respect that but he ended up becoming too much of a coward to reach out first after that bcs what if oc already decided that the breakup was for the best too 🥲 what if they hate him now 🥲 but he should’ve thought about it more from oc’s pov bcs they were suffering thinking that he alr gave up frfr </3

hmmm joon did talk to them about jk having a hard time, but during the breakup they did ask if he cheated so we know that they have this anxiety :( oc is just our bravest soldier who knows what they want and always tries their best to get it (him) 🫡

6. omg yessss more soon i’ve been thinking about one with jimin too specifically !! oc definitely bonds with each of the tannies about different things 🥺

7. yea, the even when he gave u reasons to drabble was the first time they brought it up again :( after they got back together jk really made efforts to reassure oc and that’s partly because he did see how they became kind of timid when he expresses affection. (i.e., jk saying “i didn’t love you any less and you know that.” and oc not saying anything and walking away instead) (this shit still kills me today sorry)

8. this was oc’s bf before jungkook aka guy with the dirty nails aka the ex who cursed them out like crazy when oc broke up with him (called them a slut) AND ALMOST made oc delete jungkook’s first ever texts to them bcs they lowkey started believing him. (he makes me mad sorry)

9. heeee wanted to but oc has only tried flying out for the ptd la and vegas shows bc the circumstances before then were different :( they were balancing school and multiple jobs. and we know how hard oc studied. they were so committed 😭 but now they live together and oc has a stable job and everything’s just more flexible overall so going with him overseas when he has work there is easy and not a problem at all 🥺

oh ofccc they’ve been on fancy dates esp that oc loves feeling pretty <3 but someone take me on a fancy date first so i can write about it 🤧

this is the first time someone called the giving up drabble a comfort fic lmaoooo this made my day i love you 😭 i hope i answered your questions and thank you soooo much for reading my works 🥺💕

#art’s post office ☁️ #heytherejjk <3

[devildomwriter]

Obey Me As Tumblr #13

Leviathan: Secondhand embarrassment is pure agony and I wish a lot of comedy didn’t rely on it

I cannot deal with it, I have to literally leave the room

Solomon: It’s a sign of being extremely empathetic

Leviathan: Thanks! I hate it. How do I uninstall?

•

Solomon:

Depression tips

• kill the gods and eat their flesh to rise above human chemicals into horrifying immortality

Raphael: We need to talk

•

Simeon: Still don’t really understand how some people have trouble just being nice

Mephistopheles: Oh my gosh you’re such a nice person. Hey everybody come look at how much of a good person this is.

Simeon: I literally cannot comprehend how you got offended by this but thanks for proving my point anyway

•

Belphegor: When I get comfortable with people I start using them as pillows and foot rests

Beelzebub: When I get used as a pillow or foot rest I feel loved

Simeon: I am both of these people

•

Satan:

You know how there’s a theory that no two people see color the same way.

Does that mean color is like

A pigment of your imagination

Mephistopheles: YOU FUCKING DIDNT

Simeon: Huehuehue

Leviathan: #even that fucking laugh is a pun #i hate you all

•

Asmodeus: I’M HOME ALONE AND MY FAMILY FORGOT TO TELL ME THAT THERE ARE PEOPLE PAINTING OUR HOUSE SO I’VE BEEN REENACTING LES MIS AND I JUST VIOLENTLY THREW OPEN THE WINDOW TO YELL ‘CANNONS’ AND THE POOR GUY NEARLY FELL OFF HIS STEPLADDER

Asmodeus: DONT YOU DARE REBLOG THIS I MIGHT GET SUED

•

Leviathan: Sometimes I wake up with a very urgent thought on my mind and it’s usually pretty dumb like ‘je suis un pomme’ or ‘root beer fairytales’ but this morning I woke up and sat there for a second and all I could think was

Tis I,

The frenchiest fry

•

Belphegor: I am decayed. My lungs are full of thorns and mildew, my bones are held together by vines. I am fragile, be gentle with my corpse.

Lucifer: Get out of bed you’re going to school whether you like it our not.

Belphegor: I refuse.

•

Mammon: OMG so I just figured out the word “hurt” is past, present, and future. You will be hurt. You are hurt. You were hurt.

BECAUSE IF SOMETHING TRULY HURT, IT NEVER REALLY STOPS

Belphegor: you poetic little shit

Satan: It’s because…. It’s an adjective….

Lucifer: You will be stupid.

You are stupid.

You were stupid.

•

Mammon: Therapy got a drive-thru or summ?

MC: Welcome to shrink in a box can I take your disorder?

•

Leviathan: Why the fuck does English have a word for the act of throwing someone out a window, defenestration, but not for the day after tomorrow

Satan: Because you’re not looking hard enough

Overmorrow = the day after tomorrow

Ereyesterday = the day before yesterday

Example: I defenestrated my younger brother yesterday. I shall defenestrate my older brother overmorrow! Because I hate my family and also windows!

•

Satan: Synonyms are weird because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest that just sounds nice and cozy, but if I invite you to my cabin in the woods you’re going to die.

Asmodeus: My favorite explaining the difference between a butt dial and a booty call

Lucifer: It’s called connotations

Asmodeus: Try this one on for size:

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

“Sorry, daddy, I’ve been naughty.”

Raphael: Great news! Language is now banned

•

Leviathan: Helpful grammar tip! Farther is for physical distance, further is for metaphorical distance, and father is for emotional distance!

Simeon: Who hurt you?

Leviathan: My father did you not read the post

•

Beelzebub: Isn’t it weird how you can actually feel pain in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings

Solomon: This is actually because it activates your vagus nerve! Basically your body goes “we are so upset! We must be injured! Where???? On the inside guts! Those are confusing and hard to differentiate!!! Confusing guts are hurt!”

Leviathan: Great! How do I uninstall it?

•

Satan: Part of new internet grammar. Using question marks not to denote questions but upturns in voice, so that a tentative statement gets a question mark but a flatly delivered question doesn’t.

Mammon: Why would you do this

Leviathan: It just seems right?

•

Mammon: In a constant state of ‘how dare you assume I know what I’m doing’ but also ‘don’t you dare question me or what I’m doing’

Leviathan: “I have no idea what I’m doing and you can’t stop me.”

Simeon: Artists and writers have a lot to say about this post

•

Mammon: Why my hand shaky?

Barbatos: Your Skelton is ready to hatch

Mammon: This is so fucking ominous thank you

•

Asmodeus: Life is a highway

Asmodeus: Explain

Asmodeus: Wanna ride it all night long

Lucifer: Why did you reply to yourself?

Asmodeus: I refuse to share the spotlight but I like the meme format

•

Beelzebub: I haven’t ate anything since 11 bruh I’m starving

Thirteen: Damn an u how old now?

#obey me shall we date #funny obey me #obey me as tumblr #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me raphael #obey me mephistopheles #obey me thirteen

[maggie4thewin]

Can I see everyone's (koopalings,boom,and pom) personality traits (like a bio)

Ooh, okay! Let's see what I can come up with...

Lemmy (7) is very sweet and polite towards everyone he meets. He can be a bit too trusting at times, though. He has no control over what direction his eyes point, making him pretty much blind. He struggles to walk and read and do other basic tasks. He wants, more than anything, to be a "normal" kid. Lemmy is also very quick to tears and has bed-wetting issues that keep him from always getting enough sleep; Needing to get up and change sheets instead of getting that extra needed hour of rest. One of his biggest interests is circuses. It seems impossible that he'd ever become a clown given his vision, but somehow, circus stunts seem to be the only thing his eyesight doesn't get in the way of.

Larry (9) is a mostly self-sufficient and independent kid who likes spending his time either playing online video games, practicing sports by himself, working on ventriloquism/shadow puppetry, or doing magic (Like a birthday party/black top hat magician--Not wizardy like Kamek) When he isn't doing those hobbies by himself and is forced to "integrate with society," Larry usually spends that time annoying people by info-dumping about his aforementioned hobbies. He is considered the "annoying one" of his siblings, but really isn't that bad. He's just awkward. And a teeeeeeny bit insufferable.

Wendy (11) is pretty chill and can be agreeable and nice if she wants to be, but can also be manipulative, psychotic, and downright evil just 'cuz she's bored. Gatekeep. Gaslight. Girlboss. Despite being a "girlboss," Wendy doesn't consider herself a feminist. She thinks all genders are equally annoying. She absolutely does NOT struggle to survive in a house with seven brothers*. She fucking runs the place! With the bros* and her dad all wrapped around her finger, plus her own raw strength, this little lady practically has the whole castle under her control! She doesn't do much with that control, though. Most days, she can be seen chilling, watching TV in bed with fast food and a sketchbook by her side, like any, lazy normal tween. She, for whatever reason, really likes Mexican food! Wendy is one of the only characters without some food allergy/limitation so she can and WILL eat just about anything. Most people assume Morton is the snacker who eats all the food 'cuz of his size (Which he does still eat lots of snacks and whatnot!) But Wendy needs to not be overlooked when it comes to mysterious food disappearances.

Iggy (13) is still semi in the closet over being genderfluid and switches between using he and her pronouns, but is fine with they/them. They are very sweet to just about everyone, being very well-mannered and apologetic. Iggy used to be very emotional, and although is still super empathetic towards others, has been somewhat desensitized to their own emotions due to constantly being put into uncomfortable situations (Thanks to Pom-Pom). They don't cry as often, nor do they "blow up" at people. But you can clearly see the visible annoyance on their face build up when stress becomes present. If pushed over the edge, Iggy will usually step into another room and just, exhale aggressively. Iggy struggles with social situations and maintaining hobbies. This is mostly due to the fact that they have the bladder capacity of a literal shot glass. It is really hard to keep focused when you need to stop what you're doing to go pee every three minutes. They are probably one of the only Iggies in the Mario Multiverse who isn't into experimenting. They just can't.

Morton (14) is... How do I say this... A weeb. He owns WAY TOO MANY body pillows, maid outfits, anime/hentai DVDs, and more. He also has tons of MLP merchandise. Like Larry, when he isn't by himself, enjoying his hobbies alone, he's usually talking to his siblings about them. When he grows up, he wants to do anime art commissions. And seeing how his art skills are now, it is very likely that could become a full-time career option for him in a few years. Morton is pretty dorky and calm. A bit of a dummy sometimes, but very well-intentioned. He truly cares about his friends and family and would never intentionally upset them. Morton is also surprisingly well-spoken and good with advice, even in stressful situations. (He happens to read/eat a lot of fortune cookies), so he always happens to have little words of wisdom to share. Even if they don't really fit/help the situation.

Roy (15) is considered a real "player" and has been through several relationships with many different women. His body count is well into the hundreds and he is proud of that fact. Roy is proud of lots involving himself--He takes great pride in his muscular, manly body. Ever since a very young age, he decided "Shells are for wussies!" And now only wears shorts. Despite not being the oldest, Roy tends to act as the alpha male of the house, ordering his siblings and telling them what to do every now and then. That includes Ludwig, who IS the oldest and often gets tired of Roy taking charge and bossing him around. Especially when it comes to him and Boom-Boom's relationship, which shouldn't be any of Roy's business. Roy thinks he knows what's best for everyone. He usually has good intentions, just doesn't like it when his peers don't listen to what he thinks they need.

Ludwig (17) is going through a lot. He has a huge list of allergies, gets many UTIs, is going through puberty, almost got raped as a child, has an eating disorder, etc. But still, he is able to power through with his life and be a good parental figure to his siblings. He can be quite bossy and rude but also very polite and charming, depending on his mood. Ludwig, like Roy, takes great pride in his appearance. Although, he is very insecure about the fact that, because one of his horns got broken off, he will forever be "asymmetrical." Ludwig is extremely germaphobic and is quite the perfectionist, so having an asymmetrical face is a big deal to him. Oh yeah, and the horn that got broken off? Well, the base is super sensitive to touch. Ludwig would like it a lot if you kept your grubby hands far away from his face and especially away from his hair and horns.

Jr (5) is a demon. No other way to describe it. A little monster. Literally. He may look like an unassuming child, but he holds the ability to kill anyone and destroy everything in a matter of seconds. He seems to have no thoughts or conscience. Just. Evilness. He is also SUPER heavy for no reason.

Motley (6) is Lemmy's best friend. [And partner?] She is pretty chaotic and can be very scary, although she is an absolute angel around the people she loves, like her family and Lemmy. She likes spending all her time with Lemmy, helping him, playing with him, and more. If somebody were to hurt Lemmy, they would not live to see the next day. Motley is a proud mom to two pet snakes, Mr. & Mrs. Hisstocrat.

Pom-Pom (12) is a super weird, hyper young lady with a love for many CN shows. She is Iggy's girlfriend and just can't seem to leave them alone. Constantly following them around, giving unwanted hugs and kisses out of nowhere, and generally just giving many "stalker vibes," which go unchecked by almost everyone around her.

Boom-Boom (16) is a young gentleman with a love for old Western films and his pet race yoshi. He loves every aspect of his life, minus the fact that his dad is almost always drunk and abusive to him. (Never his sisters, though). Boom-Boom can often be seen with covered up injuries that he hides, not wanting people to worry for him. Even though he's so sweet and hard-working, nothing he ever does can get his dad to be kind to him.

Topper (19) is one of the Broodals, who work around the castle. He and his siblings came from Europe, meaning that they have accents that nobody else here can quite understand. But that doesn't stop him from constant yelling at people, being seen as nothing but a big ball of rage most days. He's been known to pull guns on people out of nowhere and is generally not fun to be around. Some brave people enjoy antagonizing him just to see what happens. Topper has minor interests in cards, tea, and golf. Being near him if he's losing a game of cards or golf can be quite dangerous, though. And it's pretty easy to get some scalding hot tea splashed on you if you're too close. So... Always be cautious. You don't have to take the warning too seriously, though. After all, his siblings don't!

Harriette (19) is the best of the Broodals at her job, getting work finished in minutes, so she has plenty of time to goof around. She can be very focused and diligent but is often seen as rather loony and hyper. Her behavior can get annoying VERY quickly. While goofing off, she will either go bother her brothers or talk to random workers around the castle, sometimes flirting with them out of nowhere. She has a thing for big, buff, masculine men and has plenty of pictures of random attractive people she saw in public in her room. Her favorite thing to do in her free time is watch cheesy romcoms. And her brothers all know when they hear that saxophone music it means leave Harriette tf alone.

Rango (19) is the most showy and arrogant member of the Broodals, really enjoying talking about himself and his interests. He can be quite cocky when it comes to things he's good at. Of course, he isn't always like that. Rango (Usually called "Vango" by the Koopalings due to not understanding his accent) is also one of the nicer bunnies, always having time to sit and chat with someone. He really likes affection (And attention). Giving him a gentle hug would make his whole day. Rango's favorite hobby is chess, which he gets teased about by Topper very often for. One of his favorite things to talk about is Mimi--His girlfriend from when he and his family still lived in Europe. He isn't really into romance stuff like Harriette, but is still very much in love with Mimi, even after all these years of never communicating.

Spewart (19) is the sweetest Broodal and is very easy to mistake for being condescending or trying to manipulate. Nope! His dorky little head only has nice thoughts floating around, making him scarily optimistic at all times. He can be quite shy and nervous, often relying on his siblings to stick up for him. He enjoys knitting and cuddles, although not hugs due to some stomach-related issues; Hug him, and he might puke on you. (Unintentionally, of course!) In more recent times, Spewart has become a bit distant from his siblings. He's had his eyes on and is slowly forming a crush on one of the other workers around the castle... But the worker happens to be male. And he's afraid of how his siblings will react to finding out he might be into dudes. (Given how himbo-hungry Harriette is and the fact that Rango is still madly in love with a girl he was with several years ago, Spewart believes that his siblings think and want him to be straight like them).

[dadddybangtan]

Suck Torture | Interlude: Taehyun

Back Table of Contents Next

cw: mentions of d3@th threats

word count: 2.1k

a.n… this chapter kicks off the next act of the story. if you thought the first half was complicated, it only gets more complicated from here. a slue of new tags will be added that i didn’t intend when i first started writing this three months ago. but i couldn’t be happier with where this story is going. please enjoy <3

Taehyun heard the lock on the door creek open at about two a.m. Beomgyu was home from his meeting with Hyunjin. He sprung out of bed to greet him, but he was met with an expressionless, emotionless human. On contact, he started to worry.

"How did it go?" Taehyun asked softly, careful not to provoke any negative reactions.

"Fine. He wants me to present a proposal with him or whatever."

His head hung low in his chest. Something was bothering him, something else. Taehyun knew that.

"Nothing tried to hurt you on the way back, right?"

"No." Said Beomgyu.

But he's lied about that before. There was nothing stopping him from lying about it again.

He silently made his way to Taehyun's room and he followed. He wasn't used to seeing Kai's bed so empty. Even so, Beomgyu didn't take advantage of that. He sat on Taehyun's bed.

"It was a vampire-demon hybrid that killed Kai," He started, "What's worse is that he didn't even remember it. It was instinctual."

"How is that worse?"

"Because I can't be mad at him. I just feel bad. The kid broke down crying and apologizing. For something he doesn't even remember doing."

"I see." Taehyun tried to understand.

"I feel worse for Hyunjin. He's stuck having to fix it all."

Beomgyu looked up at Kai's lone bed. He looked at the plushies that encompassed most of it.

"Why did it have to be him," He cried, "He was innocent. He was so fucking innocent."

That last word was muffled in Taehyun's chest. He cradled the floppy haired man. He questioned how Beomgyu, someone who's only known Kai for a few weeks, could feel so deeply about his passing. That was the thing about Kai, if they knew him, they loved him. His innocence and purity was so rare that people remembered him.

Taehyun also noted how empathetic Beomgyu was. How his anger dissolved after seeing the other side. How he pitied the monsters who killed their friend. His brain was wired in a way that thinks about everything. It seemed exhausting even from the outside looking in.

"Do you wanna sleep with me again tonight?"

Beomgyu shook his head, still buried in Taehyun. He didn't believe him until he said, "I don't wanna wake up and see his empty bed."

"It's empty, Beomgyu. That's how it is now." Taehyun was blunt because he knew sugar coating would only make Beomgyu feel worse.

"How are you so cool about this?" Beomgyu asked as he lifted his head up and wiped his tears.

"Because I have to be. Even though it hurts like hell, I can't let it show."

But Taehyun knew he could let that show if he wanted to. Yeonjun and Soobin weren't going to judge him for showing a little bit of weakness. Beomgyu wouldn't dare to either. He couldn't trust himself to be strong enough to show weakness.

Beomgyu slid into the sheets, moving closest to the wall so Taehyun wouldn't have to crawl over him to get to his workout. Taehyun reached over and pet his head.

"One day you'll get tired of being cool."

"I won't." He told himself more than Beomgyu.

"You will, and I'll be here for you when you do," He said, "I'll hold you and pet you. I'll be right here."

Taehyun huffed under his breath in disbelief. He saw himself as strong and cold. He took life as it came. Beomgyu didn't know him long enough to make an inference like that.

"Taehyun, do you think Kai would forgive someone who didn't mean to kill him?"

He huffed at that too. Until he looked at the little black eyes in the plushies on Kai's bed. Those eyes looked soulless to him but they meant everything to Kai. Then his heart started to ache. And the tears started to fall.

"He would." Taehyun whispered, letting out a shaky breath and falling into Beomgyu's chest.

As Beomgyu said, he was there. He held him safely in his arms as he sobbed. He kept him steady as his cries hiccuped throughout his small body. The tears soaked through his shirt, but he didn't care. He was there for him like he promised.

The next morning, as usual, Taehyun was up early for his workout. He ran down the stairwell of the apartment building as a warmup and down the street to the local gym. He had his earbuds in, blasting his fifteen-hour playlist on shuffle.

Going in to the gym, he went straight to the treadmill. He started off with a walk that gradually grew into a jog. He paced himself well and breathed accordingly.

He felt a presence on the treadmill next to him and glanced over a bit without breaking his focus too much. He faintly heard a few words spoken outside of his music, so he took out the earbud closest to the other.

"Oh sweet, I didn't know you gym here, bro. We could've been gym buddies."

When he looked over again, he saw who it was. Chan was his classmate last semester in music theory. In school, he dressed modestly, but at the gym he showed off a lot more skin. It made Taehyun question why he was grinding at the gym to begin with. He's ripped.

"I guess." He muttered, beginning to put his earbud back in.

"Hey, you like parties?"

"Sure?" He wasn't in the mood to talk.

"I'm throwing a new year's party, you should come, bring a friend."

"What about curfew?"

"Eh, that's only for public places. Can't put a curfew on my house, bro."

Just then, Taehyun noticed the speed on Chan's treadmill. He was pushing twenty miles an hour, about twelve more miles than Taehyun. He was insanely fast while still being able to hold a casual conversation. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. Can a treadmill even run that fast?

"Right. Well," Taehyun panted, "Just text me the address or whatever."

Completely unfocused, he stopped the machine and hopped off. Suddenly, he didn't feel like finishing his workout.

Instead he went for a walk, earbuds in and strolling along the city streets. Until he spotted a familiar silhouette across the street. He was the only one wearing all black, so it could be one person; Hyunjin.

He watched him slip into the library that Beomgyu worked at. He quickly jogged across the mildly empty street and followed him in discreetly, pulling the collar of his jacket over his mouth and keeping his head low. He watched Hyunjin from the corner of his eye.

He watched his careful and curated walk as he strutted the same aisle he and Beomgyu scaled the night before. It seemed like he was trying to find the empty space in which the book they grabbed was. Then Hyunjin's pale hand reached into his jacket and pulled out the small book. He snuck it back into the slot without any bookkeepers noticing.

The only one who noticed was Taehyun. That's probably why Hyunjin looked over his shoulder and made direct, daring eye contact with him. Taehyun shivered. The vampire slowly made his way to the man and Taehyun removed an earbud in case he decided to speak.

"Can we talk?"

He only nodded.

Hyunjin gestured toward the door and Taehyun walked after him.

"I'm sure you're wondering what I want. Or why I'd want to talk to you," Hyunjin clearly read his mind, "Especially after I shut you out last night."

"Yeah..."

"Firstly, I want to apologize. There's a lot going on with my family right now and we're trying to minimize the amount of people who know our situation. I was cold to you in favor of Beomgyu and I'm sorry." His voice was calm and mature. It was obvious that he was centuries older than Taehyun and his friends.

"It's okay, I get it."

"Secondly, I wanted to ask if Beomgyu was okay. I was too wrapped up in all this drama that I forgot to make sure Beomgyu got home safely so late at night."

"He's fine."

"Thirdly, are you okay," He asked sincerely, "Surely things have been hard since the loss of your friend."

Don't you mean the murder that happened to be strictly instinctual?

"So you're aware that it was instinctual as I am aware that it was a murder," He answered in a full mumble, "Excuse me for trying to censor those trigger words in public. I'm not exactly safe to be out right now."

"Look, I accept your apology and thanks for checking on Beomgyu but I don't see why you'd need to ask how I'm doing. We aren't friends and we aren't going to be."

"Beomgyu trusts you and you care a lot about him, right," Taehyun nodded, "Then you should know that a vampire is planning to kill him."

"What?" His heart sank.

"He's obsessive, jealous... He's just trying to make certain that I'll never see him again," He said, "I'll do my best to prevent it, but you see him more than I do."

Taehyun took in a sharp breath. He couldn't believe what was being said to him. First it was Kai, then Beomgyu was being threatened too. There was nothing he could do to save Kai. He was afraid that there was nothing he could do to save Beomgyu either.

"I- I can't fight a vampire. I'm only a man," Taehyun panicked, "Why can't you just kill him first."

Hyunjin sighed, cocking an eyebrow at the seemingly simple solution.

"That would only complicate things."

"So we have no choice but to sit and wait for him to pounce? I'm not doing that."

"Fine. I'll try to spend as much time with him as I can. That way I can keep my eye on him and away from Beomgyu. You do the same, make sure he doesn't go anywhere alone."

Hyunjin opened the door to a breakfast shop they were passing. He silently told Taehyun to come in as well. He glanced over the menu aimlessly.

"What does Beomgyu like?"

"Oh, um, a breakfast sandwich would be good for him. Proteins, carbs."

Hyunjin approached the counter.

"One breakfast sandwich, please," He said before looking over at Taehyun, "And a breakfast burrito, extra meat."

"Is that all?" The cashier asked, leading Hyunjin to nod.

He swiped his card effortlessly, But Taehyun was still in shock. He looked up at Hyunjin's lifelessly pale face, imagined how cold his skin was. And he questioned how someone so cold could have such a warm heart.

He cared about Beomgyu, maybe even a little more than Taehyun. He cared for his family, protecting their privacy. And, surprisingly, he cared for Taehyun.

People cared about Taehyun like his roommates, Soobin, Yeonjun, Kai, and Beomgyu. But with Taehyun's persona being so isolated and withdrawn, it was hard for them to show it. There was a wall that made it even harder for him to feel it.

There was something in the way Hyunjin so easily penetrated through that wall without breaking the person behind it. Sure, it was with the help of his vampiric powers, but Taehyun didn't care. Hyunjin saw him in a way that no one else could.

Before they knew it, their order was ready. Hyunjin retrieved it and handed it off to Taehyun.

"Take this home to him, okay? Make sure he eats well."

"Thank you."

Hyunjin gave him a gentle smile before bidding him goodbye and leaving the shop. Taehyun wanted to say more, but he couldn't. There were no words left.

He was happy to see Beomgyu sleeping in comfortably in his bed. He didn't care that he pitched in a good amount of money for that pull out couch in the living room, Beomgyu looked better there.

"Beomgyu," Taehyun said softly, sitting on the bed, "Wake up."

"Hm?" He hummed as he slowly opened his groggy eyes.

"Got you breakfast."

A kind, full smile graced his face, filling Taehyun's stomach with butterflies.

"You didn't have to do that. There's stuff here."

"I know," Taehyun chuckled, "I got something too, so it's okay. We can eat together."

He sat up in bed to match Taehyun. Once he was stable, Taehyun pulled him in for a hug. He nuzzled his nose in his bed head, taking in the comforting woody scent. He held him so tightly, almost trembling.

He wondered what he would say if he knew Hyunjin bought that breakfast for him. Taehyun was completely unaware of Hyunjin's presence in Beomgyu's life. All he knew was that they're close enough to make another jealous.

However, Taehyun wasn't jealous. He only saw the ways that Beomgyu and Hyunjin were more compatible. They were both empathetic and expressive, a lot more than him.

"Thank you, Tae."

But he should be thanking Hyunjin, not me.

And with that, Taehyun became afraid of two things: losing Beomgyu to an early, painful death and losing Beomgyu to Hyunjin.

#kpop fanfiction #kpop angst #boy x boy fanfiction #wattpad #dadddybangtan #hyunjin fanfic #kpop vampire au #vampire fanfiction #kpop smut #hyunjin x beomgyu #hyunlix #txt fanfic #taegyu #taehyun x beomgyu #taehyun x beomgyu x hyunjin #polyam fan fiction

[pullingheavendown]

Having a fucking day. Having a fucking day trying not to compulsively apologize for having one.

I have not been here long, it's- I guess more like it's been a very long time. I remember Easter in seventh grade. I remember Easter in tenth grade. The first Easter was the family trip to Disneyland for spring break. The trip nobody remembers. The second was the Easter weekend that mom moved us out of our stepdad's place. I don't really remember much of the move. Just a postcard of a memory from someone else, looking at the house while we drove away for the last time, feeling like we were going to die. Like we were leaving someone behind to die.

I think some sliver of me was split off then. That little fraction of awareness that we'd left someone or something behind. Buried them, or buried it. There was so much wailing fear and a canyoning ache in that moment, so deep it felt like the entire void or cosmos wouldn't fill it. And then I got put away. Buried me. So I'm one of those parts from the trauma side of the barrier that's been nudged over a bit, maybe.

Therapy has been so hard the last two weeks. There is a once-massive barrier in our system. We are... I suppose one of "those" systems, the stereotypical ones where the blackouts can be 100%, span days, and we were living a double life. The barrier between those sides seems still so leviathan in size, but there have been little ruptures. Little connections. We're finding ways to communicate.

Our architecture is complex because we were moved from one trafficking ring to another, in addition to the issues at home, and had to cut off so many intricate connections in our memory to live. We are many fragments in a jar. There was programming. What's been happening in therapy I might loosely but with great seriousness call deprogramming. "They" (our higher-ups) don't let the programmed alters front but we've been managing to have a cluster of us present during sessions. We can bridge enough that one of our trauma holders can speak with the therapist about the brainwashing and what he remembers, basically.

But the rage. Our therapist told this alter, in that way most therapists probably have to?, that he would have put himself in the psych ward for homicidal intent, too, if he had been in our position. It's not the first time he's really directly validated our anger that way. But he also said at the end of the session prior to that, after meeting that alter for the first time, that he was angry for us. That he'd been sitting on a lot of anger personally the whole time, and...

Somehow that helped. The fact our therapist would want to murder our traffickers too really helped bring that alter closer to the rest of us. The fact he realized that our therapist could be boiling with rage but still be composed and kind and empathetic did something. I can't really articulate it, but something good - it was like a lone, feral wolf finally recognizing itself in someone else. A pack animal seeing it might not be alone for once.

And I think THAT is what the usual group fronting from "this side" of that massive barrier between us never really grasped. That "embracing your anger" means more than knowing it's there. That it needed a mirror to see itself in. That it needs to know its existence is acceptable and it won't be treated like a burden (or worse) just for living, or be buried again.

I'm also working this out as I type because it's like... Pulling teeth. We think in words on this side, and so much from this alter is images or visual. We've done this before, had much smaller subsystems have to figure out each other's mental metaphor to merge/communicate more. But this feels fundamentally different. Less easy to integrate with, like an ingrained computability issue (which I know makes sense when that kind of divide was needed and all that).

It's so exhausting, though. And so totalizing when the amnesia snaps back after. Stephan won't remember writing this. (But will see it when we don't currently have a journal to write in instead, so, here you go.) I may not even remember writing this. The cost of talking more is that the flashbacks are endless. Less of a flash, more of a flood. And there is so much, and so much of it is confetti, and pain, and betrayal. There is so much betrayal.

And the more we learn, the more mystifying it is that this barrier worked. Stephan got us out, with that move that Easter weekend. He got us out of our stepdad's hellhome. He doesn't remember doing it much, and his subsystem is still very dissociated, and the cost was steep. But I'm struggling not to be grateful when he got us out of there with that sacrifice.

Hence all the horned god imagery with this alter, I think. Some level of awareness of that, and the whole Easter weekend thing overlapping in our memories, and our at the time obsession with wicca all probably. Pitched in there.

This went places! Sorry.

#Bracken's #do we have a system tag or is he too lowkey for that #??? tag me later I guess!

[thestobingirlie]

Hey!! So I was scrolling through your blog and I completely agree with your opinion of Nancy. I can not tolerate Nancy in the show at all and I acknowledge some of that is due to the fact that the show writers and the some of the fandom paint her as perfect. (The other part is that she reminds of people who didn’t treat me well in school.)  She's not. She has flaws. She's selfish. I don't know if that's the right word, but it's the one I have. And that’s fine to start out with but the second they started making it seem Nancy was in the right all the time, they doomed her character. Like when Steve apologizes for being a bad boyfriend, there just isn’t any evidence for that? He goes to dinner with Barb’s parents with Nancy, and it’s clear that he adores her. And also, do people really think Nancy didn’t cheat? She makes it quite clear to Murray that she’s in a relationship with Steve and then later that day she sleeps with Jonathan. She strings along Steve for a year only because she was waiting for Jonathan to be ready. And Nancy never apologizes! For any of her mistakes. She makes them! But no one treats them like problems! I just can’t like her character, the Duffers intend on writing her as this perfect character and everyone treats her as such in the media, which feels unnatural and just makes me so mad. And that has trailed over into the way I perceive material about her. And maybe her character is still redeemable, but with the way the Duffer Brothers are taking this, I don’t it will be. I think Nancy could have been a compelling character, like the way Steve is, but the Duffers messed it up.  ~@thestrangerthingsmeadow

the sad thing about nancy is that i think i totally would’ve liked her if she’d been written better. as it stands, she’s never even actually had a character arc (because no, giving a girl guns doesn’t count).

and yes, though the show doesn’t want you to think it, nancy does have flaws. she’s very single minded, once she’s gotten her mind set on something, nothing can dissuade her, which means that she isn’t particularly empathetic, and she hurts people without thinking. and she’s been this way since the very beginning.

now, like you said, this wouldn’t actually be an issue, if she’d ever learnt from it. as it stands, she’s never had to apologise when she makes mistakes, in fact, the show doesn’t even present them as mistakes!

it is very clear that nancy cheats on steve, she literally says she loves him like an hour before she sleeps with jonathan. but because nancy can do no wrong, the show pretends it doesn’t happen. steve has to take the cheating graciously to show how much he’s grown (he’s not even allowed to be mad he got cheated on!) and no consequences for nancy. and yes, we have to believe steve is a bad boyfriend, because otherwise what nancy did was out of line, and fucked up. steve deserved better than to be someone’s back up. to be used so nancy didn’t have to wait alone until jonathan finally asked her out.

but one example that really annoys me is nancy and jonathan’s argument in s3.

so, first, this argument happens because nancy put the blinkers on, and refused to consider anyone else’s opinion. they’re both in the wrong in the fight, both say things they shouldn’t. but we see nancy talk it out with her mum, who totally supports her. and yet we never see anything similar for jonathan. he gets no opportunity to have someone on his side, to back him up. and this is a key example where the show so obviously wants us to side with nancy. to ignore her faults, and support her wholeheartedly. we aren’t supposed to think she’s done anything wrong.

and that’s why i can’t like canon nancy. a character making mistake and having flaws isn’t a bad thing, but it is when those mistakes are never acknowledged. when the show actively pretends they don’t exist, that makes a character intolerable.

obviously nancy has her good sides, and there are parts to her character that i like. but i’d like her a hell of a lot more if the show acknowledged her faults, and gave her the space to grow and change as a person, rather than stagnating.

i don’t think the duffers will be able to totally save nancy’s character by the end of the show (especially after s4. i had hoped them bringing up barb would mean we’d get something, but no. it seems her dead body was just used to scare nancy) but i do hope we get at least a little development.

#stranger things #nancy wheeler critical #asks #thestrangerthingsmeadow

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 80

Cw: mentions of anxiety, death, the Storming of the Dragonpit

Taglist: @stargaryenx @mercedesdecorazon @arrthurpendragon

@ocappreciationtag

Gif by @fireandbloodsource

Instead of a raven, they get Stark.

Cregan Stark had come to deliver his answer in person.

Aemma is dangerously close to biting her sleeve to alleviate her anxiety as they sit there waiting for the Warden of the North to speak.

Should he accept their terms, he will be the first of the great houses to join her.

Just asking everyone to disregard the Great Council and the precedent of an exclusively male succession set by votes they still believe to have been real.

Just calling Jaehaerys the Conciliator a fraud.

Gods she wants to throw up.

She vomited the morning of her wedding from the nerves. So much so that she worried about vomiting on Aemond during the ceremony.

“If he meant to kill us, he would have done so already.” Aemond says and she chooses to believe him.

He could be wrong.

Like two days ago when he thought his men wouldn’t desert him only for Roddy the Ruin to present them their heads at dinner.

Bread and salt are to be offered as ale.

Common things that are as old as the tradition of the Guest Right.

If he takes them, he is their ally.

If he doesn’t, they are all dead.

Cregan Starks nods his head in thanks and takes the bread and salt, eating them and washing it down with the ale.

There is a collective sigh of relief from those with them and Aemma feels the stone on her chest ease up.

“What is your answer, Lord Stark?” Aemond cuts to the chase, reminding Stark and all those gathered that he functions as her Hand and Consort.

Just as Rogar Baratheon was regent and Hand to Jaehaerys all those years ago.

Hopefully he doesn’t mistreat her or butcher her open like Baratheon did to Alyssa Velaryon.

“My grandfather gave his word to Princess Rhaenys to defend her claim and that of her son, as his grandson I am here to renew my oath to House Targaryen’s rightful heir.”

Cregan Stark unsheathes his sword and kneels in submission, “I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to Queen Aemma and her named heir, Aemon Targaryen. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“Rise, Lord Stark.” Aemma bid him to rise just as she was taught. “I, Aemma Velaryon, firstborn child of Ser Laenor Velaryon, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, accept your oath.”

They have the North.

They have the support of one of the great houses.

And where Stark goes, everyone follows.

“I am sorry to hear about your brother, he was a good man.” Cregan gives his condolences and does not give anything away.

He could ask for a dragon egg for Jace’s bastard, to have him legitimized or worse, to declare the sham marriage true.

“He was, Jacaerys will be dearly missed, by his wife and children most of all.” Aemma regrets her choice of words immediately.

Fuck.

She did not include his sister in that sentence. Insulting as it is, it is more insulting for Baela’s child to be spoken of in the same sentence as her half-brother.

Not that anyone knows that baby Laena isn't Jace’s child anyways.

Perhaps, he will understand.

“My sister, Sara, fell ill and died a moon ago along with the babe she carried.” The lord remained stone faced but Aemma knew this was a mere façade, it was frowned upon for men to show grief or love for a baseborn sister who dishonored their family by having a bastard of her own even if said bastard was a dragonseed. “The news of Prince Jacaerys’ demise affected her deeply.”

“I, we are very sorry for your loss, Lord Stark.” Aemma tries to remain passive and serene showing just the right amount of compassion for the man. “May our dead rest in blessed peace.”

A queen cannot be too free with their displays of emotions, if you are too empathetic, they will see you as weak and foolish, if you are too reserved, they will see you as unfeeling and cruel.

Live in moderation, grandmother had taught her after visiting the poor houses in Hull.

A lesson she could never seem to follow until now.

“My thanks, your grace.” He says with a nod.

They cannot begin the council meeting following this because then a rider comes bearing news from Kingslanding.

“Kingslanding has fallen.”

It is a good omen when Vermithor flees riderless at dusk.

Hugh the Hammer had declared himself king only to be killed by the Greens, Ulf White had been poisoned by Hobert Hightower and Daeron the Daring and his Blue Queen.

Addam has a meager army and knowing his death will come today, but he knows one thing: the world will remember that he, a bastard, was loyal to the end.

Loyal to who, he asks himself.

Rhaenyra who raised him up only to sentence him and everyone else to death?

Aemma who ran for her life and back into the arms of the man who killed their brother and grandmother?

Loyal to who?

Loyal to your word, to yourself, he hears his mother say.

“For Driftmark!” Addam shouts his battle cry and meets Daeron the Daring in the sky over Tumbleton.

Helaena feels herself die from the agony in her sleep as bloodthirsty mobs descend on her and the hatchlings and eggs she tries so hard to protect.

She is Dreamfyre, Dreamfyre is her.

She is the Beast Beneath the Floorboards, and in her dreams she bursts through her chains as she brings Fire and Blood onto those who wish to kill her and her offspring.

Her golden daughter comes to her side, Syrax and for a brief moment they have the upperhand.

But then bolts bring down the last of her children and one finds purchase in her shimmering silver eyes.

They hated her when Rhaena claimed her, they hated her when Helaena did as well.

‘Witch!’ they had called both girls.

‘Demon!’ they called Dreamfyre from the moment she hatched.

The pale blue dragon queen, blind and strengthened from her wrath, flies into the ceiling until her home and prison becomes their grave.

“What did you see?” Maris Baratheon, her bedmate and fellow novitiate, asks when she finally wakes.

“Sister against brother, daughter against mother, flea against shepherd, the Moon of Madness is upon us.”

#aemma velaryon #someone will remember us fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #asoiaf fanfic #ocappreciationtag #fyeahhotdocs

[writing-for-life]

Today, I’m hurting, and I just need to get it out somewhere (might delete later).

My kid is kind, empathetic, sensitive. She hardly ever asks for anything and is grateful. Yesterday, she cried out of nowhere. It was because she has never been on a holiday abroad. She never bothered until now. And she only bothered because her friends asked her why she’s never going abroad, and if she is “poor”.

“Mum, are we poor?”

My heart broke into a million pieces. We don’t have the funds to go abroad. We always try to do other stuff with her, we are emotionally present parents (at least that’s what I hope), I have a really close relationship with her. We talk for hours every night at bedtime, to the extent that I’m sometimes not out of her bedroom until 11 at night. I try so fucking hard, but I can’t give her the one thing she would really love right now—a holiday abroad.

And you can’t imagine the pain you feel as a mother when your child is hurting because she gets old enough to begin to feel what peer pressure is, and because people judge you for the stuff you can or cannot afford, and that kids obviously learn this from somewhere/someone.

Logically speaking, I know I shouldn’t feel like this. But feelings aren’t rational. All I feel like now is a failure who still lives in a small flat like a student because she and her partner made life choices that were grounded in being artists (even though I left part of that life behind, the financial implications are still what they are).

She is bright, articulate and has so much going for her. But yesterday, I saw a glimpse of sadness in her that honestly destroyed me, and I felt unable to do anything about it.

We are probably the most (over)educated, intellectual parents in her class. But financially, we have nothing to show for it, and today is one of those days it really sucks.

I don’t care about this stuff because I’m just the type of person who is happy sitting somewhere with a book. But I care about *her*, and I remember a time when I got the same shit from my classmates.

History repeats itself, and I feel really useless for making my child unhappy…

#personal rant #personal #capitalism sucks #I’m hurting #parenting #parental guilt

[emilemily]

My interview went so well, almost unbelievably well. My stuttering was at a minimum, I was relaxed, I spoke professionally, and I did my hair and makeup so I know I looked great.

I feel extremely confident about this, but am also very aware that I might not get the position given the amount of people who are vying for it. I’m going to remain cautiously optimistic.

I usually interview extremely well in person, but virtual interviews are difficult for me. This one just wasn’t the same. Can’t quite place my finger on it, but I felt such genuine warmth from the woman who may be my boss. She was incredibly kind, empathetic , and stressed the importance of mental health and work life balance when working on her team.

I think the culture of this company would be perfect for me, and I couldn’t imagine a better opportunity at this moment. But like I said, I’ll remain realistic albeit optimistic and hopeful.

This medication is really helping me. My mindset has shifted so much in these last two weeks. I no longer feel weighed down by my thousand pound past. I no longer feel the need to dwell in it any longer. I used to sit and agonize over certain situations that arose in years passed, wishing things could be different. I’d ruminate in an almost torturous way.

But now I’m feeling mentally present, self aware of my emotions and I’m able to deal with them. I don’t worry about what has happened, what could happen, what simply cannot be. I embrace each day eagerly. Every morning I wake up with a smile and talk to my dogs. I kiss their faces and tell them I love them before taking them for a walk and feeding them.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always taken care of my dogs because they’re, in a strange way, my children. I adore them with every fiber of my being. But when I was so depressed, those tasks became such a chore that I’d have to peel myself out of bed to do.

Coming back from such a dark, lonely, depressed place is my biggest flex. I fought taking this medication for months before finally doing so and I’m so glad I powered through the initial adjustment phase. It’s working… it’s actually WORKING.

Is this how normal people feel all the time? I used to look around at people enjoying their lives and would wonder how they were so happy. Now I feel that myself.

Medication doesn’t solve it all. You can’t take a pill and expect it to change your entire life right away. Change requires (in my case) medication and a surplus of effort. Sticking with it through the initial unsavory side effects, going to therapy, getting up every day and being productive. It requires a lot of work. And nobody who is still a passenger on the boat I am getting off of will fully experience those benefits until they’re ready.

I still have some unpleasant side effects from time to time, but I’m so much happier. This is my comeback. If I don’t get this job after all, then at least I know I tried and I REALLY tried. I’ll give that same effort as many times as it takes to secure the best position for myself.

Let’s fucking do this.

#personal #viibryd

[nina1329]

when i found myself

it seems that what people say about being in your thirties is actually true. in your twenties you're all over the place, searching for your purpose in life, a job, a career, a partner, your point of view, your convictions or just searching in general ... it mostly isn't even clear what it is you are looking for. and then there is a shift ... or at least there was one for me.

it didn't happen immediately when i turned thirty, and it obviously didn't happen over night. it happened slowly and gradually until one day i felt that it had happened and that something was completed. it's hard to describe this feeling i am experiencing at the moment but i'll try. it feels like i have found myself but not on a surface level, rather, this is very deep and profound, it's like i can see my soul and can acknowledge that i am human. i feel as if i have arrived at my destination - for now - and i see myself for who i am.

at 31 years old, i FINALLY don't give a fuck what people think about me. my perfectionism is a beautiful creature accompanying me - and i think it'll always be there - but i have domesticated it. my people pleasing is still present, too, but i have accepted it and it doesn't overwhelm me anymore. it is just part of who i am.

i am empathetic to a fault. i love with my whole heart - and fast. i try to see the good in everything and everyone. i give people second, third and hundredth and too many chances - but it is because i see their humanity, their imperfections, their struggles and their demons. cause i have demons, too. the darkness is strong sometimes but i have found that i am supposed to be the light. the light in people's lives. cause i love to make them feel seen, i love to make them laugh, i love to make them feel understood and i love to make them feel loved. and that is okay, that is who i am. however, not at the cost of my own happiness and well-being - that's the lesson here.

especially as women, we have to learn that it is okay to put yourself first, put your accomplishments in the spotlight, voice your opinions and stand up for what you believe in. i did that in the past couple of years and now i get to harvest what i have planted. i am not afraid anymore to say what i need to say because i know what i bring to the table, know my skills, emotional intelligence and wits. and suddenly people know exactly what you stand for and even if they don't agree they always remember. maybe you are going to offend someone but - believe me - they will get over it faster than you need to stop thinking about if you have offended them.

will imposter syndrome come to visit you sometimes and try to tell you that you don't deserve anything - duh. but i have reached a point where i'm just annoyed by it right now and ignore it until it goes away.

i have also learned that you should just do whatever the hell you want. NOBODY CARES. people are so invested in their own lives, are occupied with their own problems and issues. so just do what makes you happy and have fun. sad times will come inevitably, so enjoy the days that are bright and full of color and light.

another thing i have learned is that you are going to meet people in your life that you assign a certain role to: best friend, love interest, companion, etc. however, sometimes you might assign them the wrong role and only learn later on that the reason they came into your life is a different one than you thought. it may be hard at first to accept that and that they perhaps don't want you the same way or see you as fully as you see them but it is possible. nonetheless, those people that don't see your worth (and i don't mean in a capitalist way - do you even know me at all? ;)) - those people can just leave. you don't have to make place for them in your life anymore. byeeee.

however, it is the people! it's the people you decide to surround yourself with that make your life - not the money, not the job, not your boss applauding you. so be sure to remember that. i know this sounds like a cliché but it's true - i swear.

i have never been so sure of myself as i am right now. my place in this world. my purpose. my light. and that is a nice feeling for a change. so i'm gonna try to hold on to it as long as i can. and put it down into words so i can remember it - all too well.

it's wonderful if you have someone that loves every fiber of your being, all your weird quirks and peculiar patterns. but it can never be another person's job to make you feel whole and happy. it's so fucking hard but we have to find happiness on our own.

after a devastating break-up i had to re-learn who i am outside this seven-year-relationship and i could do it. that means so can you! did i take some weird turns? yep. did i act a little unhinged? uhmmm ... sure. but as i've already said: NO ONE CARES. and now this love came back to me but so much healthier and still in progress ... but you come back to what you need eventually, right?!

#thirties #finding yourself #find your happiness #find your voice

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once, part two [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: Muahahahaha. IT’S HERE!I know, it’s been over a month. And I’m really sorry for that. But HOLY SHIT, the traction “loved you once’ got was way more than anything I could ever have imagined or expected. I am just so grateful to everyone for reading. For the people I’ve met and gotten to know since engaging in the Mayans fandom and posting fic. Honestly, this wouldn’t exist without you.

For this part, as before I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit and added some elements from season three in here. You’ll know them when you see them. Also, if you can tell me where Frida’s date comes from, you win a cookie, and maybe a hug from me.

Part one was based on "Loved You Once" by Clara Mae, this part was definitely moreso based on "You Broke Me First" by Tate McRae. And "After Hours" by the Weeknd. Honestly, the playlist for this fic is a sad, horny mess. You wanna cry, but feel confusedly turned on by it? I may drop the link.

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile).

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (aka Frida -- as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.); also slight Frida x other, and slight Coco x Frida.

Word Count: 23.4K (I KNOW, OKAY?) of ANGST! Half-baked simile and overbaked metaphor. Heartbreak swathed in honey-sweetness, and biting frustration. But maybe, ultimately, the balm of peace?

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, descriptions of sex, fingering, oral (female receiving) so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry). This honestly feels just like a compendium of heartbreak.

Summary: You and Angel have been broken up for a while. After the ill-fated run-in at the patch party, will you continue on as you have? Or is it the push you both needed to reconnect? Angel loved you once; will you love him again?

Read part one here.

---

It doesn't snow in Santo Padre.

It's not that you enjoyed being cold, or particularly wanted snow. But a part of you had always romanticized the concept of a “classic” winter -- the feeling of crystalline fluff tumbling from the heavens to dust your cheeks and lashes, bathing your surroundings in an ocean of chilly silver-white. Of retreating from the exterior world's glacial crispness and  into the warmth of your home, bathed in an orange-golden glow, the cinnamon-y scent of something baking. 

Of falling into the arms of your beloved, someone who would seep the chill from your bones with his warm embrace, kissing the tip of your cold nose. Who would admire the snowflakes caught in your lashes before they melted away as he presses his lips to yours. Cherishing you and cradling your cheeks as he does so, like you're the snowflake he's afraid will melt away.

But it doesn't snow in Santo Padre. Your idyllic winter fantasy is not to be. No snowflakes, no cinnamon; even the man of your reality is, in truth, much harsher than that of any winter chill you could’ve dreamt up on your own. 

In the real world, your romance with Angel bloomed, despite the dying light of mid-January. And nearly a year later, it felt like the true harshness of winter had come to your doorstep when you were, quite literally, left out in the cold. Not exactly the stuff of dreams. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. This frigid winter was inhospitable, and worse than you could have ever imagined. 

The stinging numbness of Angel’s harsh treatment of you and subsequent departure left you with frostbitten limbs and an icy heart. 

The chill had subsided, had melted away from your bones some in the passing months... 

Until a few weeks ago. At that damned patch party that you were foolish enough to attend, despite knowing full well who would be in attendance. 

That had gone famously. 

Aneesa had come by the next day to drop off your gear, your books, and a wad of cash you’d tried to push off, but that she’d insisted was from Bishop for the night’s work. 

“So you are alive,” she’d snipped, her annoyed expression melting into one of sympathy when she’d taken in the shadowed look in your eyes, the sunken nature of your shoulders. How you’d shed your party clothes for one of Angel’s old t-shirts he’d left at your place and never come by to reclaim, something you hadn’t done in a while. And if you were honest with yourself (something you were a little afraid to be in this moment of weakness), you knew it was wildly unhealthy to still have it-- let alone to take comfort in wearing it. To want to take comfort in anything to do with Angel.

Though Aneesa hadn’t been in the room when it had all gone down, otherwise occupied with Gilly, she’d heard more than enough from Coco and EZ, Gaby standing to the side with an empathetic expression as EZ recounted how Angel had basically run you off the property in his insistence to speak to you. How you’d looked ready to burst.

You’d apologized, of course, for not responding to her texts and calls. For worrying her. She’d waved the apologies away, opting to scoop you into her signature warm embrace. But it wasn’t just Aneesa. 

The texts from that night went unanswered, despite the near-constant buzzing of your phone. 

It had nothing on the buzzing of the thoughts in your own head, replaying just what-the-fuck had happened at that party. 

“I care, Frida.”

“... and if I wanted you back?”

“Please, querida.”

Frida, this. Querida, that. Honestly, it was too much. 

You were smart to get out of there. You were right to get out of there. You’d said what you’d needed to say in that moment, even if it didn’t scratch the surface of everything you’d wanted to say to Angel since he tossed your shit in a box all those months ago.

You’d almost thought you were back in mid-winter, with the chill that had resided in your bones after you’d gone home, hands shaking and clammy with the nerves from confronting Angel. Your skin felt like it was vibrating on a different frequency. Nauseous. And as you’d slid into bed that night, all you could feel was the cavernously empty side of your bed, threatening to swallow you whole. And not for the first time did you wish it would snow. It would be warmer than the perpetual bleak chill you felt everywhere since Angel had left you.

Now, in the sweltering heat of late summer, the season’s defiant final push before it shunts away into cooler autumn, you find yourself back in your shop. Ever-grateful for central air as you watch the waxy sunshine and passersby through the glass door. 

You were  leaned over the counter, idly sketching, when the telltale ding signalled the shop’s door opening.

As you looked up and saw just who was making his way in, ever-present gentle thunk and squeak of his boots meeting the linoleum, you were struck with visions of your life a year and a half ago, when this very sight had been what started it all. 

A sight that should have been a welcome one -- your man walking into your workplace to greet you on a break with a kiss on the cheek; or, at the very least, what should have been a cherished memory -- the ineluctable meeting with the person you’d thought you’d spend the rest of your life with … all of it was tainted now by the actual sight of him walking to the counter for the first time in a long time (but not nearly long enough, given everything), hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were fixed on his feet as he put them one in front of the other on his way to where you stood. 

There was no easy lean on the counter. No self-confident rapping of his ringed knuckles against the hardwood. No smirking grin. 

The Angel before you was a sulking shell of the man who had blown into your life a year and a half ago with his practiced flirtation and his warm, ochre eyes. Maybe 'Clara Forever' should have been more of a red flag than you'd originally lent it. But you weren't reading between the lines then, content with perusing the beauty of the surface poetry that was the man you'd met. 

The man now? Between the lines was all you were reading. How could you trust the surface? After everything. This man was mussed hair and tired eyes, overgrown scruff and rumpled jeans you were sure he’d rolled out of bed in. Despite his disheveled appearance, your guard was still up. You knew how easily Angel slipped beneath your skin, like pin-pricking bolts of easy silk gliding seamlessly into your bloodstream, taking you over before you even knew he was wrapping you up, away, and into himself.  

To say you were grateful for the buffer the counter provided between the two of you would be a massive understatement. It may as well be Everest, because there was no damned way you were going to let him scale it and press his way even further into your day, let alone back into your life.

You were silent as you watched Angel unstuff his large hands from the pockets of his kutte and shift a little from foot to foot. You crossed your arms over your chest, flexing in your impatience, and waited for him to speak.

He looked up at you, sullen eyes meeting your shrewd ones for the first time since that night on the clubhouse porch. 

Oh. And Angel’s eyes had always held so much emotion. You knew you’d said it before, thought it before -- Angel’s feelings were his worst-kept secret, ever bubbling beneath the surface but inevitably bursting through like greenery through the cracks of stone. Spilling molten lava.

Bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve.

Today, they were glistening; but not with rage or definitive humor. You saw shame. You saw remorse. You had half a mind to tell Angel just where he could shove those feelings, and then he spoke, cracking the brittle, tense silence between the two of you with the gravelly timbre of his voice 

“You, uhhhh, got any space for me today?” You had to hand it to him, Angel’s question was unexpected; his eyes left yours to take in the  empty chairs at the back of the shop. 

You shuddered a little with your exhaling sigh, internally bemoaning the fact that you were alone to face this as you chewed over just how you could answer. Olí had gone to the bakery a few blocks down to procure some late-morning cafecito. You immediately thought of texting him, begging him to come back and save you from the inherent awkwardness of this situation. But you knew he was likely caught in the line of the belated rush. And eager to flirt with the barista.

On your own again, then. Left to battle with your own emotions, and to face the minefield that were Angel’s. To face the consequences your admittedly-childish and flippant exit the night of the party had wrought. And if you were honest with yourself, you were not ready for this. Not quite ready to face the music (music that, to you, sounded like every clichéd, sad song you’d played ad nauseum since Angel had pushed you aside, causing you to unintentionally meet the quotient of every breakup truism). 

What was it they said? Clichés are clichés for a reason? 

You pulled yourself from the mire of your own thoughts with the sluggish carefulness of a child unsticking their boots from thick mud, hating the way Angel’s eyes shone now with hopefulness as he awaited your answer. 

Was he fucking serious? 

You uncrossed your arms, sighing loudly now before you answered him.

"My books are full," you said simply, shrugging. “Sorry.” Though you clearly weren’t, your clipped words plinking through the tense air like chips of ice.

Angel looked around the empty shop, eyebrows lifting as he took in the underlying meaning to your statement. 

“You got no one in here,” he responded, trying to keep his instant and rushing frustration at the situation at bay. He’d come here to try to talk to you. To hopefully appease your mood by coming to your turf to do so. Make something easy for you. Couldn’t you see that?

You stood unmoving, studying him keenly, almost like you were wagering with yourself on just how long it would take his frustrations to boil over. 

You weren’t about to cave so easily.

“Dunno what to tell you, Angel,” he’d quirked up at the way you said his name, almost like a little puppy, and you tried not to let yet another icy shard wedge its way into your heart at his behest, slightly disgusted with yourself for how you defaulted to the desire to smooth the wrinkle from his brow, to cup his cheeks and kiss away the worry you saw behind his eyes. Even after everything, your first instinct -- your first desire -- was to nurture him. But you told yourself since the patch party that you would be resolute. 

Even if on the inside your heart was frozen, but your resolve was melting.

“My books are full,” you repeated, holding up the datebook where you kept your schedule and making a show of flipping through the obviously-sparsely scheduled pages. “No room for you here.”

The line across Angel’s quizzical brow deepend, ochre eyes hardening into a slate frown. His upper lip curled slightly in annoyance, and as he caught his breath on the inhale, you could see him physically resist the urge to snap at you. 

“A lotta white on those pages, querida,” he bit out, starting to lean forward in the direction of the counter, weight on the balls of his feet. 

You closed the pages to your datebook primly, placing it on the counter and folding your hands over where the book rested. 

“No sé a qué te refieres.” I don’t know what you mean. You gestured at the empty chair behind you. “Business is booming. Now, if you want something done, Olí has openings next week. Or I can have him call you if he has a cancellation. Other than that, I surely can’t help you,” you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. 

You may have sounded tough -- cold and distant to your own ears, even. Angel may have been convinced. But you knew that if you looked him in the eye now, he would see the cracks in the already thin veneer that was your display of disinterest. Better to keep your head down, so to speak. Lest he see just how false your sense of bravado truly was.  

“Frida …” Angel slowly reached across the counter, holding out an arm to touch yours. 

You took a deliberate step back, just out of his arm’s reach, your eyes blazing now as he curled his fingers back and dropped his hand once more to his side. You shook your head. 

“Am I speaking something you don’t? I already said I can’t help you." You pointed to the door, “That’s your cue to go. I have a client waiting.” 

You'd had to hand it to yourself. Despite the depression-gymnastics your insides were doing, you were putting up a good front.

With that, you jabbed the finger pointing at the door, now over your shoulder at your empty chair. 

You were nothing if not adamant. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. At the very least, he’d deserved that.

Angel exhaled, rolling his eyes a little at your unwillingness to engage with him, before holding his hands up in surrender, retreating. 

Your heart was pounding in time with his steps to the exit. Were you really going to let him walk away -- keep walking away -- from you? Was he really going to say nothing else?

Angel gave you one last look before turning on his heel and making his way toward the exit of the shop. 

You don’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe your inner masochist wasn’t done playing “Operation” with your feelings -- perhaps it was the gnarling, twisting fear you felt at seeing him walk away again, and maybe this time for good. But, as Angel reached the door, you called out,

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Fuck. And you were doing so well. 

Angel glanced over his shoulder at you, full brows raised in mild surprise at your flimsy olive branch, wrapped in reference to your first meeting. He nodded mildly to acknowledge he’d heard what you’d said, his shoulders shifting beneath his kutte as he pushed the door open and walked back out into the hazy heat. 

Huh. Guess you had more to say to him, after all.  

----

"¿Flores, Angelito? ¿Para mi?" You asked in mild surprise, a little giggle bubbling from your lips as you took in the man before you with his short-sleeved flannel beneath the kutte, his thick, ringed fingers clutched around the bunched stems of an impressive-looking bouquet. 

The few dates you had been on with Angel at this point were all sweet. You’d never had much of a sweet tooth, but … there was a first time for everything. And Angel Reyes made you want to indulge. 

He had texted you the night before, asking if you'd like to meet him at the park the next day for some coffee, and maybe a walk. 

 "A walk?" You'd teased. "So old-fashioned, Angelito. Will we be supervised on this walk?" You drummed your nails against your thigh while you awaited his response, the bubbles in the corner of your screen popping up to indicate Angel was answering.

"Not the first time I've been told I needed adult supervision. But I think you're up to the task," he'd answered. Followed by a "winking" emoji.

Before you could type a similarly-cheeky response, he was typing again. A double-text.

"No need to involve anyone else in our business."

You chuckled at that. You'd give Angel Reyes that one. He certainly was charming. 

He'd met you as planned the next morning, proffering you the cluster of blooms. An unexpected gift. 

"¡Que bonita!" You accepted the bouquet, admiring the starshine sprigs of queen Anne's lace that were nestled between the soft pink pastel peonies and crisp swaths of greenery. You stood, rocking up to your tiptoes to press a kiss to Angel's cheek. "Gracias, guapo."

As you dropped back onto your feet, you took in the mildly flustered expression on Angel's face, rewarding him with another light giggle.

"Yeah, well…" Angel scrubbed his hand along the back of his neck. He had a habit of that, you noted. Was he nervous? "Seemed right, right? Since I've got flowers from you, and all.." he trailed. 

"I love them, Angel," you assured. "You didn't have to get me anything. I was just happy to have coffee with you."

On that note, you turned to the bench you had been waiting on, two cups of still-piping coffee in the little corrugated to-go carrier. You plucked one from its nest and handed it to Angel, popping the little plastic flip-top on the lip of the cup, blowing on it a tad to cool it, before handing it to Angel. 

You’d done it so seamlessly, he wondered if you truly realized what you had done, a cute little gesture of caring that -- the more he thought about in hindsight, the more he realized -- were the kind of gestures that exemplified and embodied you. He couldn’t help but stare down from his height in admiration of you.

“I assume you take it black?” you chirped. “If not, I grabbed packets,” you gestured at the little four-cup carrier, packets of cream and sweetener stuffed into one of the empty holders. 

He chuckled a bit at that, taking a small moment to admire you the moment you turned back toward the bench, your beauty in the late-morning sun as it streaked solar beams making your hair shine like a resplendent halo, the aura of it soft and reflective against the apples of your cheeks, ethereal. 

He appreciatively noted your own tattoos, streaks of ink awash against your skin and flashing beneath the ridden-up sleeves of your hoodie as you reached forward to grab your own cup from the carrier. 

You deposited the empty holder and packets into the trash, bringing your own cup to your lips and turning back toward Angel,

“Shall we?” You tilted your head toward the path encircling the park.

Angel took deep sips of his coffee, seemingly immune to the heat, and savoring the rich flavor as you walked by his side. 

Asbestos mouth, you thought, amused with yourself and your thought at Angel’s ability to slug the piping hot liquid without even flinching. 

For his part, Angel appreciated that you didn’t feel the need to compulsively fill the silence-- content to sip your respective “wake-up” cups, walking side-by-side and enjoying the sun’s tender, teasing warmth while basking in the other’s company. 

Angel didn’t know what made him say it, but in this moment, with you looking so perfect as you did, it felt like the moment to share a little piece of himself, 

“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid, ya know?” 

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes, not breaking your stride, “That’s sweet,” you acknowledged. “I can just imagine you and Ezekiel running her ragged while you play. Do you and she ever come back here together?" 

Angel balked at your question. It struck him in moments like these, just how truly new you were to the self-contained corner of the universe that was Santo Padre, a vacuous and arid black hole that the rest of space and time forgot. It didn’t occur to him that there was anyone in town who didn’t know what had happened to Marisol Reyes. 

He stopped walking, unsure how to answer your question. You caught on to the change in pace, turning to meet him where he stood. 

“She, uh… she’s dead,” he said, softly and simply. He couldn’t deny the truth, and certainly didn’t see the point in being dishonest about it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Shit, Angel, I-- I’m so sorry,” you quickly wrapped your arms around him, mindful not to spill your coffee on him as you brought your hands around his waist. “I didn’t -- I didn’t mean to ask … I didn’t know.”

At first, Angel’s body had stiffened when you made contact with his torso. But he quickly relaxed into the hug, tilting his chin down to rest atop your head, bringing one arm around to gently pat your back, to reassure you that your innocent question hadn’t done any harm.

“S'okay, querida, it happened a while ago. Like you said, you didn’t know.” 

The two of you gently parted from your embrace, you leaning forward to run a reassuring hand over his bicep, genuine empathy emanating in the gesture.

“Well, this isn’t heavy at all,” as you withdrew from Angel, you hunched your shoulders at the mild discomfort you felt having brought up something painful for him. “Nothing like some light conversation on a casual coffee date,” you chuckled nervously. 

Angel had the good grace to smile at that, his easy expression a gesture of mercy on your flip-flopping conscience. 

“I mean,” you carried on, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but… if you ever want to talk, ever need anything, I’m here. I didn’t mean to dig at any old wounds,” you murmured, sincerely, but sheepishly.

“Really, querida, it’s OK,” he reassured. “I didn’t bring it up to be … depressing, or nothing... I have nothing but good memories with her here,” Angel took a long sip of his coffee, nodding at you slightly and resuming his previous pace. 

He pointed over to the swings on the other side of the large lawn, “She used to push me and EZ. Would cheer for us when we got higher. And ... if Pop was working late, and we wanted to play, she’d grab his glove and bring it to play catch with us, even if the damn thing was too big for her hands,” Angel smiled as he looked over at the lawn. “She woulda liked you, you know?” 

He nodded to himself in assurance at his own words, confident in his assessment of your character through the lens of his mother’s memory. 

Your breath caught at that, taken with the compliment. You smiled gently when Angel turned to face you again.

“It would have been an honor to know her,” you said, sincerely. “Sounds like she was a wonderful woman.”  

“She was,” Angel agreed, easily slipping his hand into yours as the two of you continued to walk, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. “I just hope I never lose that. Never forget her.”

Angel’s words gave you pause, struck with your default instinct to nurture. You were no stranger to loss. Who was, really? Not wishing that pain upon anybody, you imparted wisdom that had, in turn, been impressed upon you in your own similarly-sad moments: 

“You won’t,” you assured, taking your hand from his, trailing your fingers up his wrist and to his forearm, tracing your thumb over the sprig of rosemary you had etched into his skin a few weeks prior. “¿Por recuerdo, sí? For remembrance? You remember her in moments like these, where you share her with others. That’s not something you’ll lose, Angelito. Because she lives on in you. And your brother.” 

Angel was silent for a moment. 

Worried you had somehow overstepped -- when weren’t you feeling that way with Angel? Could you ever just mind your own business without spilling clichés like some kind of poetic dimestore vending machine, or a stale-ass fortune cookie? He hadn’t asked for you to  --

But Angel hadn’t said anything to put you down. As a matter of fact, he was just standing there… looking at you with that face again. What did that face mean?

Angel regarded you with a peachy-hued gaze of adoration, your words stirring something in him. But when weren’t they? Would everything you said always make him feel this way?  He had learned from the day you’d met, and your first date, that you were thoughtful. Generous with your thoughts and your empathy. Willing to give to others, but reserved with your own heart. 

And as he held your gaze, he was lightning-struck with the desire to make you feel safe enough to share your everything with him; wanted to kiss your pretty mouth and share every story from his life with you. Wanted to leech any pain from your pretty bones and replace it with the security of his affection. 

The thought might have scared him, if he had given them a second longer in that moment. Never before had he truly desired to share these things with another. 

You were dangerous that way, Angel decided. A real sleeper hit.

He tilted his head down, bringing his free hand to gently graze the high part of your waist with his fingertips, pressing his lips softly to yours. 

Every kiss with Angel was a novel experience, a lesson buried in a newly-cracked book you couldn't wait to turn every page of. He kissed fully, sweetly. At times, he kissed like the languid, steady pour of warm, thick syrup over waffles, overwhelming your every pore. Other times, he kissed like a bonfire -- passionate, smoky, hazy and stuttering in its fervor to reach the height of its burn. 

Now, he kissed you like honey, spliced with a crisp zing of orange zest, all sweetness and light. His hand on your waist a grounding reminder of your place on this earth beside him. But the longer you tasted it -- the heavier it became, filling you with a rush of sugary affectations, awash with your desire. 

You break the kiss to cut the cloying taste, just as much as you'd needed air.

Angel’s gaze upon you as you broke apart was heavy-lidded and weighted with some emotion you couldn’t (or wouldn’t dare, just yet) to name… his full lips dragged into a low, lazy smirk, watching as you giggled lightly, nervously. 

“So …” you trailed, making a vague gesture toward your stomach. “The butterflies. Not just a first date thing with you. Good to know,” you nodded, more to yourself than to him. 

A genuine little barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips at that, his amusement and rush of adoration for you compelling him to bend down once more and press a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

“You are something, Frida.” 

The two of you resumed your walk, you teasingly bumped your hips into Angel’s as you spoke again, 

“Since we’re sharing about when we were kids -- I always wanted to be a dancer, you know? My dad used to take me to classes. But I was… fucking awful,” you giggled. “I was better with my hands than on my feet.”

"I'm sure you are," Angel snickered, quicker than you were...

Your eyes widened when you realized what you’d said,

“I -- not like that. You know damn well what I mean,” you made a vague gesture in the air like you were holding a pen and sketching.  "You know I'm good with my hands. I freehanded that, didn't I?"

You nodded toward Angel’s arm once more.  

“Sí, sí, you’re Frida, after all,” Angel decided not to make a joke at your accidental double-entendre. “It's your hand, but it's also your eye. Your spirit.” 

And if Angel was more honest with himself -- and with you -- in that moment, he could have gone on -- “And in your heart, something inscrutable.” Not that he was one for too much, too soon with any woman.

"--But I'm sure you can dance Frida," Angel continued, gently knocking your shoulder with his own as the two of you continued to walk. 

"And how would you know that?" You teased. "I'm only left feet." As if to demonstrate your own self-deprecating point, you swung one foot behind yourself in a reverse-kick as you walked, an attempt to softly, jokingly kick Angel’s behind. But you’d woefully miscalculated the height differential between the two of you, your leg not extending high enough to reach its target, causing you to stumble and pitch off-balance. 

Angel scooped you in one arm before you could even begin to fall.

“Already tryna kick my ass? Damn, mama, I try to compliment you and this is what I get?”

Angel’s arm was warm around your waist, the result of his successful rescue to keep you from falling. Maybe you were glad with the stunt you’d pulled, if it resulted in him scooping you into his arms like something out of an old movie. 

“Yeah, well I may not be able to kick your ass now. But give me time,” your voice had taken on a breathy quality, overwhelmed by Angel’s proximity to you. “But I did tell you I couldn't dance.”

“Whatever that was aside,” Angel shrugged before replying, as simply and matter-of-factly as though he was telling you the sky was blue, “I know you’d be a hell of a dancer.” He gazed down at where you were held against him before continuing, 

"How could something about you not be beautiful?"

---

Now, you were squirming in your seat as you sat in one of your favorite restaurants in town, the familiar ambience not enough to assuage your nerves. Not only were you unused to the feeling  of the summer dress and heeled wedges you had donned for the first time in your post-Angel months, you were similarly unused to the company. 

Even if the man across from you had been the perfect gentleman thus far.

Christopher was suave, sleek in his black button-up and expensive-looking dress pants, tattoo peeking from the buttoned collar of his shirt, adorning his throat in a way you found regal. He was far too overdressed for this mid-level, casual dining. But you figured that on the first few dates, you should keep it light. A cup of coffee here, a quick lunch at a food truck there. 

The two of you had met when you were perusing your options, mulling over your selection of the perfect avocado at the supermarket. You didn’t see the man on the other side of the display, reaching for the same fruit as you, and you brushed hands. The two of you chuckled and made light conversation, and then went on your merry errand-running ways. Perhaps it would have ended there if you didn’t see him two days later at the bookstore. 

At that point, you had to say something. You took note of the novel in his hands, and by the end of the encounter, he had smoothly asked you to coffee on your next day off. You had liked his firm handshake when he had introduced himself, and the warmth behind his eyes. His smooth voice that sounded like a crime, too suave and beautiful to be legal. 

Had the whole thing been a little rom-com for your taste? Sure. 

Were you a little afraid to get out there again after the absolute shitshow the last few months had been? No shit, Sherlock. 

Were you keenly aware of the way Christopher’s dark eyes danced with mischief the same way Angel’s did? That he had the same keeled, low-pitch to his voice?

Fuck that. You weren’t going to shoot yourself (and someone else) in the foot because you were too busy lugging around heavy, distinctly Angel-shaped baggage. You resolved to give Chistopher an actual chance. 

And this was the first time you had sat down indoors together for a prolonged period. The first date-date. 

To say Aneesa was ecstatic when you told her about your plans with Christopher would be an understatement. 

“Girl, you know he’s gonna treat you. That man is smooth as hell, darling,” she called from the depths of your closet, mocking Christopher’s deep voice that you had relayed to her in your recap of the encounter, while she tossed out dress after dress in her mission to dress you in what she dubbed “the date ‘fit to end all date ‘fits.” 

She had outdone herself. You felt gorgeous.

And while there were no homemade sandwiches, and your favorite worn jeans were tucked away at home, you had to admit that Christopher was doing one hell of a job at making you feel wooed. And maybe Aneesa was right when she said that maybe “new” was a good thing.

You and Christopher had laughed your way through dinner. He didn’t talk much about his work, but was very interested in hearing about your job, and seeing photos of finished pieces from your ‘gram.

“Damn, mama, you drew that?” He asked appreciatively. “You got an eye for the beautiful things.” 

You felt heat rush through your cheeks and down across your collarbones at his words, preening beneath his smoky praises. 

"Well, I'm out with you, aren't I?" You flirted back gently, smiling into your glass of wine.

The easy smirk Christopher rewarded you with was swoon-worthy to say the least.

Who was she? You were impressed with yourself. Gone was the fumbling girl rife with awkward, unintentional double entendre that you were with Angel. This Frida was a smooth motherfucker, making a man like Chris smile.

He, in turn, showed you photos of his son, beaming with pride while he talked about his son’s winning science fair project. 

He had confided in you that, normally, talk of a kid on the first date could be a deal-breaker. 

“But you seem like the kinda woman who ain’t afraid of an up-front man,” he had said. 

If he only knew. 

As the date was winding down, Christopher gave you a kiss on the cheek as he departed the table to use the restroom while awaiting the check. 

You smiled to yourself, using the moment alone to glance down at your phone, basking in the champagne-warm, fizzy feeling of a date gone well. Of mutual attraction and reciprocal attention. When you looked up and out of the glass doors of the restaurant you saw him. The champagne feeling gone, dousing you like ice-water; as quickly and sharply as it had come, it was gone. 

And he saw you, too.

Oh fuck. 

Through the glass, Angel appraised your sundress, your makeup, your styled hair. You saw the decision on his face the moment it was made.

He fucking wouldn’t. 

Oh, but he fucking would. Ever one to place his heart before his own head, Angel reached for the handle, entering the restaurant and making a beeline for you, past the hostess stand. Until his biker boots carried him to your table, where he noted the napkin tossed on Christopher’s side of the table, the companion chair slightly pulled back.

He glanced at the empty plates on the table before raking his eyes up your crossed legs beneath the table, and up to yours, taking in the blaze resonant in your gaze. 

Fuck, you were hot when you were mad.  

Not giving him a chance to speak, you piped up first, voice hard and laced with boxcutter edges and vinegar,

“You need to leave, Angel,” you seethed. 

It was apparent to Angel, even in his slightly-tipsy haze (you hadn’t caught onto his mild impairment, thank God) just what you were trying to get him away from. You were on a date. And it wasn’t beneath Angel, he would admit, to make you sweat a little. Especially after you had brushed him off a few days ago in the tattoo parlour. Petty as fuck, and he knew it. Coco would certainly have told him so.

He pulled Christopher’s chair back even further from the table, lowering himself and spreading his legs out comfortably, leaning back in his chair, head tilted back obnoxiously to appraise you further. 

“You look good, dulce. What’s got you so dressed up and out and about on a Friday night?” He lilted his voice in a crudely teasing way, like he was mocking you for making yourself feel pretty. 

You would not let him have this one, too. Not after the shitshow of a patch party. Isn’t it funny how you could barely bring yourselves to look the other in the eyes then? Too afraid to broach feelings, content to instead skate around them with all the grace of Bambi on ice. But  this town was too small for you to hide from him for the rest of your life. And you were well-past sheepish aches and pains and trying to spare Angel's feelings; no, you were on the road to well and truly pissed.

The pulse and magnetism between you and Angel was always strong, a source of perpetual warmth for you. But it was you he had left behind, in the whispering grip of a ghost. And you? You refused to be that girl on the clubhouse porch forever. 

Now, your blazing eyes met his slightly-glazed, blasé ones.

Was he … drunk? 

Fuck this. 

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Angel,” you warned. “That isn’t your chair. You can go.”

“‘You can go,'" Angel mimicked your words, echoing what you had said to him just now, and of when he dropped by your shop. He giggled. “Bit of a broken record, Frida. Maybe I’m just here to get dinner?” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, tired of Angel’s games, and thinking that Christopher was likely due to return at any moment. 

“Then get your food. If that’s what you're here for, it has nothing to do with me. No reason for you to sit here.” 

Your usually patient nature was fading fast, the ice Angel had bestowed you with in his departure hardening your demeanor into someone he barely recognized. If he had been more himself, maybe that would have been cause for distress. But he was in petty, childish, drunk-Angel mode. The Angel his brother had often chastised him for being. The Angel his brother had laid into him for being after his behavior at the patch party, leaving you to the proverbial wolves while Andres had insulted you. The Angel who was hurt. Who tended to lash out.

That Angel ever-so-delicately chose to ignore your just-left-of-polite plea for him to leave. 

“So, you dressin’ up for dinner with Aneesa? Or … wait… is this a date, amor? You dating? Maybe I’m just tryna to talk to you?” 

A cool hand met your shoulder, a protective arm sweeping over you from behind where you sat. Christopher had reappeared, standing protectively over the back of your chair. 

“And if it is?” Christopher’s voice was smooth, even and deadly-cool in a way that made you shudder a little. 

This was all getting a little “West Side Story” for you. And you had to break it up before something worse could happen. You would not let Angel ruin the first date you had been on since him. Let alone the first decent date. 

“It’s OK, Christopher. Angel was just leaving,” you nodded at him in what you’d hoped was a reassuring manner. For his part, Christopher didn’t flinch at Angel’s antics, and didn’t remove his arm from the back of your chair. 

“C’mon, Frida. I told you, I just wanted to talk. You can’t give me a few minutes?” Angel’s voice had lost its teasing demeanor, bald and glaring. 

You glanced between Angel and Christopher, now thoroughly uncomfortable with the trajectory this night had taken. If Aneesa ever asked, this would be one of the top reasons you’d choose not to date in a small town. Who's dick didn't you step on when you left your house?

You opened your mouth to answer, to politely brush Angel off and resume your date with Christopher, when Christopher surprised you by speaking first. 

“Do you want to talk to him, mama?” Christopher’s arm was still resting reassuringly on your shoulder. You glanced between the two again, unsure of what to say. 

Your pause seemed to be enough for Christopher, taking in the raw emotion behind your eyes as you looked at the slick, kutte-wearing man that was in his seat. Your hesitation and apparent emotion filling in the gaps about just who this person must be to you. 

“Tell you what, darling,” Christopher said, sharp eyes never leaving Angel’s as he spoke to you, “I gotta take a quick call,” Christopher gestured to the sidewalk beyond the glass doors. “I’ll be right out there, give you a few minutes. But if he doesn't leave when you want him to,” he looked directly in Angel’s eyes now, “I’ll be back. I owe you dessert, anyway.” 

You swallowed heavily at Christopher’s words, a kind of sick relief washing over you as you nodded. Was he just that understanding? The demeanour around him had an air of what you would describe as … deadly. While his words were a balm to you, they were clearly a threat to Angel. But maybe that was just you being too dramatic. He was a smooth-talker, is all. 

Christopher took your nod as acquiescence to his compromise, pecking a quick, light kiss to your cheek and striding casually toward the door. The absence of his warm arm now rendering you unpleasantly naked beneath Angel’s gaze. 

“Weeeeeell,” Angel drawled, turning to look over his shoulder, eyes following Christopher as he strode just to the other side of the glass. “That’s who you’re going out with? He. Seems. Nice. Cheerful, too. You sure know how to pick ‘em, querida.”

“Is that really a joke you wanna be making, Angelito?” You sneered. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“I told you,” Angel said lightly. “To talk.” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples, carelessly dropping the napkin that had been resting on your lap on the table, a not-so-subtle white flag. You looked pointedly at Angel, urging him to continue. 

“I meant what I said at the party,” Angel started.

Strike one, Angelito. Mentioning the party was not the way to go. 

“Which part did you mean?” You asked, voice taking on a tinge of faux-sweetness. “The part where your hand practically up some girl’s ass the entire night? Or the part where you let that guy shit-talk my work? Or maybe it was the part where after all that, you cornered me with nobody around to tell me you loved me?”

Angel flinched. 

“I deserve that,” he said. 

Strike two. Too little, too late. 

“You deserve more than that, Angel,” you chastised. “And now you’re still trying to take from me. Date-crashing? You tryna fuck this up for me, too? Haven’t you done enough fucking? So, what is it about me that says you can walk all over me? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone?” 

Shit. You’d said it at the party, and you were telling yourself again now -- you would not cry in front of Angel. So, why were there hot little slivers poking the corners of your eyes? Your heart felt heavy, sick. It was getting to be a familiar sensation -- like a friend who showed up to crash at the worst possible time. 

The appearance of your tears was sobering to Angel. He reached toward your side of the table in an attempt to brush your hand, to offer you some kind of comfort, even though he was the one you wanted to be comforted from. 

“No, Angel,” you wiped your cheeks and placed your hands in your lap, out of his reach.  “Why aren’t you listening to me? You tell me. How much more could you possibly take from me? There's nothing left,” you shuddered, sucking uneven air between your teeth before gesturing at his state. “I don’t care if you’re drunk, I don’t care if you’re broken. You can’t just walk in here like nothing, trying to tell me the same shit that didn’t land the first time. To what?  To give you my heart back when y-you broke it -- broke me -- first? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

Angel was stunned. But, as is the default, Angel deflected. His genuine remorse at your words buried beneath his childish need to lash out, like a child buries toys in a sandbox to spite the friend he won’t share with. 

“That's why you're out with that … What was his name? Chad? Tim? Awfully shiny duds that dude had on,” Angel continued, “He's so… not me."

Strike. Fucking. Three. 

"Possibly one of his best qualities," you snipped, venomously. “But this isn’t about him, and don’t act like it is. You keep trying this thing where you just want me to hear your broken record bullshit about how you want me back, how you wanna talk. But then you don’t say any shit of substance  And you certainly don’t hear a goddamn word I say back to you. That tells me you aren’t really ready to talk. And you don’t give a shit if I’m ready, either,” you bit. “I tried, Angel. To tell you a little bit of what I’m feeling? You don’t wanna hear it. You just want me to hear you -- even if you say nothing.”  

A little flurry of movement caught the corner of your eye, turning your head to see the waiter hovering awkwardly, clearly confused that the man sitting across from you was not the man he had seen you with all evening. 

You pushed back from your seat, standing and beckoning for the waiter to come over. 

"He's got the check," you gestured at Angel. 

You patted Angel’s leather-clad shoulder as you walked past him, toward the door. “Thanks, amor. Real classy of you, paying for a girl’s date, and all.”

Ice cold. 

You walked out of the restaurant as Christopher hung up his phone, turning to see the door swinging shut behind you, and you walking toward him. His sharp brow arched questioningly at your sudden appearance, opening his mouth to ask about the bill. 

“It’s taken care of,” you breezed before he could ask, “Let’s go. You said something about ice cream?” You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way down the block. 

Inside the restaurant, Angel’s phone buzzed with a text from Coco asking him where the fuck he was, and what the fuck he was doing. 

But his mind was swimming. The verbal truths you’d laid into him wriggling beneath his skin to take residence in the part of his brain that kept him up at night. 

He looked down at his texts again. He honestly didn’t know how to answer. 

---

Then, after a bad night, there was nothing more you wanted than to see Angel, his presence always a balm to your frazzled nerves. His easy, (at times) childlike demeanor was refreshing, and brought a light into your day that you now realized had been long missing before you had moved down here. 

You were sitting on the couch in your living room, feet up on your coffee table, wearing your favorite joggers and oversized tee, the epitome of comfort. 

You had a crappy reality TV show on in the background while you tilted your head back, sheetmask on, the cooling gel seeping into your pores. Cleansing your face and your soul.  

You had texted Angel to come over. After this shit-show of a day, you could use the company. You understood it was late. You understood he may not be able to come over right away -- club shit. And wasn’t there always?

“Hasta pronto, Frida,” his last text had read. See you soon. 

That was over 45 minutes ago. You were antsy. You’d had a long day. Some dude at a consultation had rubbed you the wrong way -- the two of you not communicating your respective ideas together well. The idea that your artist’s brain couldn’t match his vision to deliver something itched at you, wrinkled your brain. You’d had no choice but to refer him to Oli. On top of that, he’d been leery with you. 

Your hands were tired, the fine bones in your fingers aching. And you sure as shit didn’t want to answer any more emails or DMs. You just wanted to lie here, sheetmask on. Unbothered. Your boyfriend’s presence would be a bonus, but he was late.  

Somewhere between your next episode of “90 Day Fiancee” and your umpteenth sigh, you heard it -- the telltale rumble of Angel’s bike making its way down your otherwise quiet street. 

At the gentle rap on your door, you solidified your puddle of comfortable bones long enough to slip off of your couch and make your way down the hall, unlatching it and opening the door, only to be greeted with the rapidly-horrified face of your boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck!” Angel yelped. 

Your body jolted at the shock of his shout, hand coming to your chest. 

“Sorry, Frida, didn’t mean to scare you, but…” he gestured at your face. “What the fuck is that?”

Oh. 

You brought your hand up to where the silvery-grey sheetmask was still resting atop your skin. You sighed, peeling the mask from your face slowly, revealing your dewy skin beneath. 

“Sorry about that,” you chuckled, your heartbeat returning to normal.

You turned and made your way back down the hall, beckoning for Angel to follow, which he did, shutting the door of your place behind him. 

“Sorry about that,” you called over your shoulder as you tossed the mask in the trash beneath your sink. “I kinda forgot it was there.”

“Not for nothing, Frida, but that’s a hell of a home defense system.”

At the question in your eyes, Angel continued, kicking his boots off and shuffling his way into your living room. 

“If any serial killer ever shows up to fuck with you? All you gotta do is answer the door like that. He’ll think another murderer is already here,” at that he sucked air thorugh his teeth like Hannibal Lecter. “Hellooooo, Clarice,” he mimicked, laughing at his own joke and popping the button on his jeans to make himself comfortable as he slouched on the couch. 

“Bien,” you agreed, between a flurry of giggles. “Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all that. Brilliant, Angelito.” 

You popped open your freezer to grab your jade roller, subsequently grabbing Angel a beer from the fridge. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Angel called from the other room. “Club shit ran long. Plus, you sounded kinda down when you messaged me. So I had to make a stop.” 

You peeked into the living room in time to see Angel pull a crinkling plastic bag of mini peanut butter cups from the deep pocket of his kutte, plopping the bag onto the coffee table. “I come bearing gifts.” 

You smiled to yourself in the kitchen, pleased as punch with Angel’s thoughtful gesture. You popped the cap on Angel’s beer, turning to bring the drink to him, simultaneously rolling the jade over your face in your other hand. 

“Gracias, amor,” he accepted the beer from you. “What’s this now?” He beckoned at the roller in your hands.

“It’s to help rub the product from the mask into my skin, plus it’s nice and cold -- keeps my face from getting puffy,” you explained. 

“I don’t understand why you females think you need alla that shit,” he said, taking a sip of your beer, turning his attention to your TV. Not that he would ever admit it, but he was following along the trainwreck of season six of “90 Day Fiancee” with you. Had his own couples he loved to hate. 

“We females,” you emphasized, “just aren’t afraid to prioritize self care, unlike you big, bad bikers. Seriously, Angelito, when was the last time you washed your face with something other than hand soap, or --” you gave an exaggerated shudder to drive home your point, “that shitty 16-in-one body wash/engine oil I know you keep in your shower.” 

Angel gave your shoulder a teasing little shove, ”Man, shut up. I bring you chocolate, and this is how you treat me?” 

Flirtation and sexual chemistry come easy to Angel. He was always blessed with an easy social grace, and women seemed to eat up the flirtatious attention. But anything more serious, and he becomes a blushing little boy, all shuffling feet, nervous smiles and awkward stuttering. There was some of that with you, he wouldn’t lie. But with you? Everything had a way of feeling so natural. 

“Oh, gracias, beautiful, generous, benevolent Angelito, god among men,” your voice was dramatic, teasing, you mocked bowing to him. 

“Okay, that’s enough outta you,” you grabbed your wrist, tugging you into his lap, tracing tickling fingers up your sides, causing you to writhe, shrieking through chiming laughter.  

Angel’s beer long-abandoned on the coffee table, your jade roller now dropped somewhere on the floor, you gazed into Angel’s face from your place reclining across his lap, chest heaving with the exertion of being tickled and laughing too much. 

For his part, Angel was looking down at you, brow softened in fondness for the woman before him, lightly trailing his hand along your cheeks. 

No one was laughing now, and the noise of the TV became an unimportant, staticky hum somewhere in the background to the moment you and Angel found yourselves in. 

You don’t know how you ended up beneath Angel on your couch. You were even less certain just when the two of you had absconded with your clothes. 

All you knew was that the heavy drag of him inside of you was resplendent, beyond words. Was it always like this with him?

And you? You were a brazen little thing, all gasping moans and dragging fingernails, urging Angel on with pleas and fluttering lashes. Your dedication to marking Angel’s back was admirable, and it’s not like he could honestly say he minded. He’d bear the battlescars of a night with you for eternity, if he could. 

As Angel thrust into you, all you could think about -- beyond the heated urgency of the way he was making you feel, was that he was perfect. 

The two of you basked in the after, awash in the blue-white glow of the TV screen still playing before you, skin now slightly sweaty and glistening in its own right, catching your breath together. The synchronicity of it all … music to you. 

You were both unfocused in your respective gaze’s on the television, just content to lie next to one another. Angel was stretched out on the couch behind you, unwrapping peanut butter cups, handing them to you piece by piece. This last one, he had pressed directly to your lips, which you had wrapped around the tips of his fingers, tongue following, as you accepted the candy. 

“Don’t start, Frida. I don’t know that I have the strength,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Just once more, Angelito? You know I’ve had a hard day,” you hmm’d. 

“Evil woman,” he chuckled, reaching for you again. 

“You love it,” you gasped at the feeling of his fingers making their way once more to your center. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, eyes trained on your face as he played your body. “I fuckin’ do.”

Somewhere between rounds two and three, you had managed to talk Angel into wearing a face mask of his own, promising that he would “feel so much better for it.” 

He had acquiesced, of course, never able to tell you no. But made you promise under pain of death that you would never reveal that he had done something so girly to any one of his brothers.

You had agreed, but taken out your phone to snap a quick pic. Angel shirtless, tattoos illuminated against his skin in the ambient lighting of your living room, with a sheet mask on his face was too good not to capture.

“I swear, Frida,” he began, mock-threateningly, “If that ends up on the ‘gram…”

You shook your head. 

“Don’t worry, Angelito. This one’s just for me. And… maybe for Coco, if I’ve had enough tequila.” 

So, the butterflies… Always gonna be there with you, huh?

---

A few days after your date, Coco had texted you. 

“Leti needs a ride to work on Tuesday, and I have a yard shift. I hate to ask, but can you take her?”

“Sure,” you’d agreed. Following up with another message, “Do I pick her up from your place?” 

“She’s coming with me to the yard. She likes to hang in the office with Chucky,” he’d responded. 

Well, shit. 

If you’d known that this favor had come with the condition that you return to the yard -- to anywhere within the vicinity of that god-forsaken clubhouse, you probably would have refused. But you knew Coco was struggling to balance his club life with his relationship with his daughter. And you liked Leti. 

“You got it,” you responded. Cringing to yourself at just how you were going to pull this off and get out of there without anyone else talking to you. But texting Coco back to ask who else was on the yard shift with him would be too obvious. And kinda rude. He knew who you were hoping to avoid. 

Not much got past Johnny “Coco” Cruz.

So, Tuesday afternoon found you rolling over to the yard, hoping to swoop Leti and make a quick getaway. 

Luck, like time, was a bitch of a woman. And never seemed to be on your side in the keen moments you’d hoped she would be. Because as you pulled your car into the dusty lot abutting the scrapyard, who do you see?

Coco, in his snapback and yard uniform, was laboring with a large piece of metal. Ezekiel appeared to be fluttering in and out of the clubhouse, the clinking of glasses from inside reaching your ears when the door opened. 

Angel and … of fucking course … Andres were across the yard from Coco, standing over a junker and exchanging words. 

You sighed, rolling your shoulders and steeling yourself for whatever this was about to be as you got out of your car. 

The sound of your door opening and shutting was enough to draw nearly every eye in the yard to you, Angel freezing in his spot from the other side of the lot

As you began to stride over to where Coco was standing, EZ bound down from the clubhouse steps, intercepting you and greeting you with a warm hug. You smiled easily at the younger Reyes brother, holding your hand up to your eyes to shade your face as you looked up at his smiling face, him already talking to you a mile-a-minute.

From across the yard, Angel observed the interaction. After you’d met the club initially, and met EZ, Angel was content to say that he could appreciate how well you got along with everyone. How well-liked you were by each of the men, especially his brother. 

You two discussed literature, art, and liked to talk shit to each other, friendship in its purest form. Somewhere between Faust and the floodgates, Angel had watched on as you spilled over in your excitement speaking to EZ. Faust and Proust. Did Angel know what -- or was it who?? -- the fuck a "Faust" was? No. But he'd drown himself in literary references that already made him feel over his head if it meant he got to sit back and just take in how well you'd gelled with his family, with Ezekiel. In another life he supposed he'd be jealous that you had so much in common with his brother. But you didn't look at Ezekiel the way you looked at him. 

Even Angel could see it. And if he couldn’t, Coco was quick to remind him. 

“She only got eyes for you, mano,” Coco had told him, quietly, resolutely. 

EZ had left you now, gone back to the clubhouse for something. As you made your way to Coco, hugging him in spite of his obvious hesitance. 

Angel heard him protest against your attentions -- “I’m covered in grease, ma.” 

You’d hugged him anyway. He’d melted into your embrace, smiling softly. Angel had confided to Coco that he had seen you a few days ago on a date. Coco’s eyes had clouded over with something as Angel spoke, but passed through his features quickly, like a summer storm, before clearing. Resuming listening to Angel. The conversation… hadn’t gone well. 

“Back again, huh?” Andres had said from Angel’s side, gesturing lightly to where you stood with Coco. He nudged Angel’s side. “You taking another crack at that?” 

Angel ignored his question. 

“I think she’s here to pick up Coco’s kid,” he said simply, turning his attention back to the junker. Choosing to stay out of the situation, as Andres had left the car and was now striding across the lot to you.

“No hug for me, jaina?” 

You’d frozen in place at the voice behind you, Coco’s quicksilver eyes darting to over your shoulder, where Andres now stood, narrowing at the man’s question. 

You recovered quickly.

“Sorry,” you breezed, turning to face Andres. Noting the way his panther tattoo peeked out from the tank the man was wearing. You would never say you hated any piece you did, per se. But you weren’t about to post this one, wanting no association with it, or the man who bore it. Even if it was perfectly fine work. “Coco really was covered in grease. It’s pretty gross. I think I’m good,” you diverted, nudging Coco’s ribs and smiling to ease the tension. 

Andres shrugged, the blow to his pride obvious in the way his face twisted and his eyes narrowed at how closely you stood to the lithe ex-military man next to you. 

Coco eased through the conversation, patting your arm comfortingly, his eyes finding yours as he spoke, “I’mma go get Leti, OK? I’ll be right back.” 

You were a little distraught at the idea that Coco would leave you with this man, knowing how he had spoken to you before. But you supposed if he could hurry this interaction along and go get his daughter, it might not be so bad. 

“So,” you turned, schooling your facial features into a mask of cool indifference as you faced Andres, who was now addressing you. “We didn’t get to finish what we started the other night,” was all he said.

“Didn’t we?” You asked, tilting your head, nodding toward Andres’s tattoo. “I think we finished. It healed nicely.”

Andres rolled his eyes a little at you, as though you were slow. 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He took a step toward you. 

Was this guy for real? Was he not getting it, or did he just not care?

You took a step in kind back from Andres, your anger flaring. “So what did you mean?” you asked. “You mean the bit before I gave you free ink, where you insulted my work? Or the bit after I gave you free ink, where you just insulted me?”

You could see the faint twitch in Andres’s face as you called him out. His patience clearly wearing thin. A man not used to hearing no when it was told to him. 

“That’s what I always liked about you,” he gritted out, smiling fakely, “you got that reaaaal fiery attitude. Not just any guy would put up with it,” he said, as though he was trying to give you advice.

“I dunno what you mean by ‘always,’” you said, politely, your own fake smile screwed into place. “If you excuse me, I’m gonna go find Leti.” 

As you made to leave, Andres lunged forward, gripping your wrist. 

"You really don't remember me?" Andres pressed, "C'mon, chiquita, don't be like that."

"I really don't," you snipped, whipping your wrist out of his grip. You were a little shorter with him than you usually were with people, even in your more frustrated moments. But he really was pissing you off. "Sorry if that's a blow to the ego, or whatever, but I didn't really make it a habit of looking at other guys when I was with someone else."

Andres snorted, tone no longer teasing, eyes dark and flat. You turned to face him again at the undignified sound he had made, noting his cool, angry features. 

"If only that 'someone else' had shown you the same courtesy," he snarled, swatting at your wrist now instead of reaching for it. 

"Hey, man, leave her the fuck alone." You turned to see EZ and Coco striding across the yard with Leti in tow, making their way toward you. Out of the corner of your eye, Angel was also making his way over, shoulders tense. 

EZ turned to you, taking in your crestfallen expression and the way you were suddenly very interested in your shoes. 

"You okay, hermanita?" EZ asked, large hand gentle on your shoulder. 

You nodded, sheepishly. Hating the way you seemed so small in that moment. This man was nothing, to you, or otherwise. And he’d managed to make you feel like you were nothing, too. 

You tried to find your voice again as you spoke, quiet at first, “Andres was just apologizing to me for the way he was rude at the patch party,” you turned to look at him, your eyes blazing now, “weren’t you?” 

Coco snorted. 

Andres narrowed his eyes, glaring at Coco, who held up his hands as if to say, “what can ya do?” 

“Best apologize,” Coco rasped, now pulling on a cigarette that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. “One does not fuck with Frida,” Coco exhaled. “Unwise, mano.” He gestured to you, “She’s got that scary tia energy.” 

EZ’s hand was still resting protectively on your shoulder as you crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for Andres’s apology, now that you’d put him on the spot in front of his brother. Angel watched the entire exchange like a snake coiled to strike.

He knew he had fucked up by not saying shit as Andres dug at you at the patch party. It had been roiling beneath his skin, his blood bubbling and waiting to burst forth. Waiting for a chance to put the fucker in his place.  

“Yeah,” Andres gritted through his teeth, fake smile ready to crack at any moment. “Sorry about that. Too much to drink, and all.” His voice was flat. Devoid of any real remorse, as you knew it would be. 

“It’s alright,” you shrugged. “I hope you enjoy the ink. It’s the last you’ll be getting from me.”

Andres’s eye twitched before the dam broke on his childish rage, “Why you gotta be such a fuckin’ bitch? No wonder Angel fucked around on you -- that smart-ass mouth is gonna get you slapped.” 

He made to step toward you again, EZ and Coco stood before you, protectively, blocking you from Andres’s approach.

But Andres could reach you, Angel had gripped his shoulder, turning him around and landing a punch square to his jaw.

“Man, what the fuck,” Andres swore, spitting a wad of blood at the toe of Angel’s boot. “What the fuck did you hit me for?” 

Angel cracked his knuckles, shaking his wrist and his hand out from the impact of his hit to Andres’s face, readying himself to strike again if he needed to.

“You don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that,” he squared up, shoving Andres in the shoulder. “Listen to me, new patch. I’ll explain the rules -- you don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even think about her.” 

Angel’s shoulders were heaving as he worked himself up more, stalking toward Andres, like a jungle cat, coiled muscle beneath his skin ready to unleash. 

“Nod so I know you understand,” he bellowed in Andres’s direction, pointing a thick finger accusingly into his face, rewarded with Andres's curt nod.

EZ gently removed himself from your side, coming to grab Angel and whisper into his ear, calming him.

“Hey, man,” EZ reasoned, “Now’s not the time. You guys can settle this later. Cage.” 

Angel nodded, breathing heavily through his nostrils and willing himself to calm down as he turned to you, locking eyes with you again, only to be met with an imperceptible look on your face. Had he fucked this up even further now? You had never looked at him like that.

You shook your head, breaking the moment and stepping from behind Coco to go meet Leti where she was standing a comfortable distance away from the whole scene. 

“We gotta go,” you said, hurriedly grabbing Leti’s hand and marching off toward your car with the girl in tow. 

You buckled yourselves in and drove away from the lot in a cloud of dust. Hoping you could just leave it all behind. The further you got from the gates, the easier you could breathe. You drove in silence, as Leti watched you, assessing. Before she broke the silence. 

"We all miss you, you know," Leti said, softly, from her place in the passenger seat. "Just because Angel let you go doesn't mean we wanted to lose you, too. And fuck Andres. He’s a fuckin’ clown."

Leti's words were a wave of molten-hot guilt washing over you, burning your synapses and hardening over any residual anger and sadness you'd felt over the confrontation that had just happened. You knew some of what Leti had been through. How she, so like yourself, was reticent to form bonds with new people. How she'd routinely felt abandoned by those she let herself care about -- and you felt you'd now done the same.

"I'm so sorry, Leti," you implored, looking into the girl’s doe eyes, flecked with amber-gold and layered with wisdom and emotion. Her gaze heavy and so like her father’s. Nothing slipped past them. "I never meant to hurt you, to leave you."

"I-it's just … I miss you, is all," she murmured, twisting her long hair around her finger. "I know EZ misses you. He talks about you all the time. And … and my dad, too. Coco doesn't talk about it alot, but I think that says more than if he tried to put it in words. I know for a fact he misses you. Was pretty pissy with Angel for a while after everything went down." 

You smiled gently, leaning forward across the console to give Leti a soft hug.

“I really am sorry, Leti. I promise I’ll be around more,” you broke the hug, rubbing her arm as you pulled away. “You and Coco are welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I’ll cook for you. Just tell Coco no smoking in the house, cierto? And don’t tell Coco I said so, but you can come hang with me in the shop, if you want. Been slow lately. You can come do homework someplace quiet..” 

She chuckled lightly, nodding and promising to text you about coffee plans as she got out of the car.

You mulled over Leti’s words as you drove away. Maybe cutting everyone other than Aneesa out flatly wasn't the way to go. It's possible you had made a mistake there, though it's not like Leti hadn't confirmed that she understood why you did what you did. And it's not like other people wouldn't have done the same in your shoes. Even still, perhaps re-cracking open the "Angel" chapter of your life had its benefits, if only to once more let in the friends you had made along the way. 

Your departing words to Leti ringing in your ears long after you’d parked at home,

"I'll reach out to the guys more, too," you confirmed. "I didn't mean to leave everyone hanging."

I know you, you're like this. When shit don't go your way, you needed me to fix it.

And like me, I did, but I ran out of every reason.

---

The cracks of the next morning’s light streaming through the slats on his window were barely perceptible to Angel in his haze. The kind of stupor that comes when you’ve effectively straddled the line between two worlds -- Angel reluctantly bids farewell to the gentle caress of sleep, even if it was imperfect and restless; and begrudgingly greets the world of the waking, frowning beneath a heavily-furrowed brow at the grey-orange sun. 

Through the warming beams of light that streamed in isolated splashes across his skin and the bedspread, he could still imagine, half in dreams, that the warmth was you curled beside him, all soft curves, your thigh slotted between his, your sleep-mussed hair, his shirt riding up your form just so as you snoozed, and oh, your sweet, half-awake smiles. But the alternating cool spots of shade from the slats were the chilly reminder of your absence, of the ghost of your touch long gone cold. And as Angel shook himself more evermore awake and into the latter world, he wished he could return to the amorphous and hazy, staticky embrace of his dreams. 

Where life was a little more kind. Where there was a little more you. You were haunting him. Did memories, both experienced in your past together and the hypothetical potential “memories” of an unmet future, plague you, as well? Never to be? Did you dream of him? Or was he your nightmare? He supposed he’d never know, and knew had given up the right to ask. 

Put myself to sleep, just so I can get closer to you inside my dreams ...

It was a truth that was bitter, acrid, and hard to swallow. Or was that just his morning breath? Angel licked his lips, tasting the post-sleep stale dryness on his tongue, pushing himself out his side of the bed and toward the door -- for coffee or his toothbrush, he hadn’t decided. But the need to make a decision was cut short with an unexpected event-- 

A pounding at his door. Three raps from a heavy fist on the other side of his shitty apartment’s excuse for a door.

“Angel!” The shout through the wooden barrier that followed the persistent banging was unmistakably his obnoxious younger brother, come to pester him about what had gone down yesterday. Likely with a peace offering of some sort, as was EZ’s way. 

Angel sighed, rolling his neck to both sides until he was satisfied with the resulting crack, not bothering to tug on a shirt or socks as he padded his way through the cool, empty apartment. 

He fixed his signature scowling look of annoyance that EZ was so accustomed to to his face before swinging open the door. 

One of EZ’s bearpaw-like fists was still raised, fixed to rap against the door again if necessary. The other clutched a carrier with two to-go cups of coffee from EZ’s favorite shop. The one down the street from yours. The one with the cute barista. 

EZ, for his part, looked a little sheepish at the exaggeratedly grumpy look on his older brother’s face, his gilded, mossy eyes widening in a show of good-natured surprise. He recovered quickly, shouldering his way into Angel’s apartment, placing the to-go carrier with Angel’s coffee on his coffee table and flopping on one end of Angel’s couch, the leather giving a groan beneath his weight.

“By all means, bro, make yourself at fuckin’ home,” Angel groused, smacking his lips and turning to swipe the cup of coffee off of the table. 

“You’re welcome,” EZ smarted, eyebrows raised at Angel guzzling the fresh coffee like the heat was nothing. What was it you had called it?

Ah, asbestos mouth. EZ had heard the moniker pass through your lips on more than one occasion and found it to be apt as applied to his taciturn older brother. 

“So,” Angel said between sips of nuclear caffeine. “What? Any particular reason you’re banging on my door at ...” Angel trailed off, clearly unsure what time it actually was. 

“At 11:00 a.m.?” EZ supplied, sarcastically, “You’re right, Angel. It’s practically dawn.” 

“Man, shut up,” Angel groused, “What do you want?” 

“Who says I want anything,” EZ asked?

“This coffee’s got a string attached to it,” Angel shrugged, shuffling over to the couch and sitting a respectable distance from his annoying younger brother.

“We gotta talk about yesterday,” EZ supplied, finishing his sentence over Angel’s exaggerated groan and eye-rolling. 

“Wasn’t the point of yesterday that it’s done, little brother?” 

“Between you and Andres, maybe,” EZ said. “But not between you and me. After that shit you pulled at brunch with Gaby a few days ago, and now this, with Frida...” 

Angel took another sip of his coffee, his annoyance doubling at the increasingly lighter weight of the cup in his hands and at his brother’s pestering. 

“So, what? You wanna try and beat the shit outta me, too?” Angel asked. “Didn’t work out so well for Andres, did it?” 

“Look, Angel, I’m not trying to say I understand why you did what you did, fucking with Frida and Adelita. Because I don’t. And I gotta be honest -- after how yesterday went down, I understand it even less. And Coco agrees with me --”

“Oh, great,” Angel rolled his eyes, cutting his brother off. “You gotta stop going to the Church of Coco, man. What’d he tell you this time?” 

“That you’re fucking your way through your pain,” EZ parroted, mimicking Coco’s signature throaty breeze, “and you won’t stop until you feel something,” he shrugged, resuming his normal voice as he continued. “I don’t know about alla that, but --”

"It was too … domestic," Angel cut EZ off, shaking his head, more at himself than his brother. "Can you really see me with all that shit? Drinking coffee in bed together on a Sunday morning until we're old? Nah, bro … that ain't me. Adelita, the chaos. That's me." 

"It could be you, Angel," EZ protested. "The only person saying you can't have the Sunday coffee life is you."

“I'd just… I'd just fuck it up,” Angel sighed, dropping his forehead into his palm, his elbow on his knee. 

EZ continued drinking his coffee, pausing before delivering the blow. 

“I got news for you, bro,” he said between his prim little sips. “You did fuck it up.” 

Angel tch’d in annoyance at his brother, carding his hands through his hair and smoothing the thick strand that seemed to always threaten to fall over his eyes. For good measure, he tossed EZ that wicked side-eye only that only Angel and his mother had ever been able to truly perfect. 

“You think I don’t know that? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

Angel takes another pull of his coffee, now just the overly-concentrated dregs at the bottom of the cup, lightly grimacing at the beverage’s bitterness. EZ knew Angel took his coffee black, of course it would be the kind of thing his little brother would remember. But, in truth, given the way this conversation was turning, the literal sensation of bitterness on his tongue was almost too much for Angel to bear. He’d almost preferred it if EZ had forgotten his order -- watered the drink down with cream and (dare he say it?) sugar, and called it a day. Because at least it would be easier to swallow than the harsh truths and bile that were currently stewing inside of Angel, waiting to be given a voice. And it didn’t seem that EZ was in any kind of charitable mood when it came to pulling punches, either. 

Angel took in his brother’s profile from his perched place at the end of the couch: EZ’s legs were spread in a show of comfort, but shoulders tensed, like he was waiting to fight Angel every step of the way, no matter where this conversation was headed. Angel supposed he’d deserved that. 

For as fiercely protective as little Ezekiel was of his big brother, he was -- annoyingly so -- protective of the woman he’d dubbed his hermanita. A soft spot for you, the artsy girl with ink-stained fingers who would press lent books into his baby brother’s hands insistently, all the books you could bear to part with. Always there for Ezekiel with a patient ear and arms that would do their best to wrap around his broad shoulders. 

 Angel was struck again with the heavy weight-- the sinking stone in his gut that -- in theory-- should pull him to the bottom of the river he found himself awash in. Drowning is a sort of grounding, yes? But no… he just drifted further and further down the bank, carried in the foaming rapids by the pressing weight of his choices. In addition to that weight, his guilt prickled. Once again with the realization that his decisions had affected not only his love with you, but your relationship with Ezekiel, as well. How incredibly short-sighted he'd been with it all, playing fast and loose with the lives of everyone he'd loved.

Angel sighed before he spoke again, 

“No one ever tells you, do they?” EZ perked up at that, looking at his brother with his brows furrowed in puppylike-confusion. 

“No one ever tells you just how insecure it all makes you feel,” Angel supplied. “Love. They write a million songs about how perfect it all is -- how it’s supposed to be some kind of divine answer. Birds singing, an’ shit. Or they talk about how it rips your fuckin’ heart out, but they…” Angel pauses to chuckle, “They never tell you how when you’ve got it, you feel both so… happy it’s yours. But terrified at the same time that it never. Really. Belongs to you.” 

He shook his head, meeting his brother’s eyes again, his own swimming with the glimmer of emotion long-kept down. EZ leaned across the couch, placing a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, nodding at him in acquiescence, encouragement to keep going. 

“I-I know what I did, and I know everyone wants an answer… Why did I do it? Why-why did I let it all go down like that? But what answer would ever be good enough? I hurt her, and that’s the end of it. I was fuckin’ stupid, all because I was scared. I had her, and I knew I shouldn’t have had her at all. And I’m just so fuckin’ … sorry.” 

He sighed, breath shuddering. Opting to fill the now-still air in his apartment with another bitter slug of shitty coffee while EZ pondered what to say in response. 

EZ shifted on the couch, leather creaking beneath him as he weighed what to tell his brother. 

“I- I don’t know what the answer here is, Angel,” EZ finally admitted. “I get that it’s scary. Fuck yeah, it is. But that’s no excuse --”

“I know that,” Angel snapped. 

EZ held his hands up in surrender, placating the red dragon-heat that was his brother’s quick temper before it could rise. 

“I know you do,” EZ spoke softly, “I know, man. But it’s not that simple. You should probably tell her, ya know? What you just told me. But even if you did, she’d be within her right not to hear it. Or not to want to fix shit with you, or take your apology. And you? Gotta accept it.” 

EZ brushed imaginary dirt from the thigh of his jeans before speaking again, 

“Sucks,” he sighed through his nose. “I dunno if I’d be madder at her for taking you back or for not taking you back. But, uh, even if she doesn’t, that doesn’t mean you won’t find it again, Angel. You just gotta decide whether you wanna try here -- and accept the outcome no matter what she decides. You owe her that. But one thing’s for sure … you should actually try talkin’ to her.”

Angel had the faraway look in his eye of a man either deep in thought, or someone not listening entirely, staring through the far wall as EZ had spoken to him. Maybe he didn’t look it, but he’d heard every word, turning them over again in his mind before swallowing them somewhere deep in his gut, internalizing wisdom from someone who was younger than him, but who’d undoubtedly lived through more than most people. EZ was good for that kind of bereft wisdom -- disconnected in its logic coming from someone like EZ, but completely sensical when you understood the depth of the boy’s character and empathy. Not for the first time in his life, Angel was grateful for Ezekiel. 

He smiled weakly at his little brother, acceptance cracking through the little cracked crescent grin, “Mom would’ve liked her, huh?” 

EZ smiled at his brother in return, facile and genuine, as only Ezekiel’s grins could be.

---

I swear, for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name, but now that it's there, I don't really know what to say…

Across town, EZ had left Angel’s, and the latter, now alone in his apartment and buzzing with EZ's words, was typing a text to you. And here you are … looking down at your phone between gathering your laundry and stacking clean dishes. You saw Angel’s name pop up next to the little text bubble on your homescreen, causing you to pause in your chores.

Huh. Unexpected  Should you open it? 

After everything that had gone down yesterday at the scrapyard, and the shitty attempt a few days prior to fuck up your date-- were you ready now to have the conversation you knew you and Angel were dancing around for the better part of several months? Ready to breach the seemingly impenetrable wall of silence? Feelings like the ones you held for Angel had a way of not being able to stay buried for too long. And you knew you could never truly move on, never would be able to give the icy shards wedged between your ribs and into your heart a chance to heal. Not unless you and Angel got it all out into the open.

And with the circumstances the way they were, with everything that had gone down -- how many women in your position could say they'd had the same opportunity?

How did the old saying go? What three things cannot long be hidden? The sun. The moon. And the truth. 

The truth was, to you, the sun and moon rose and set on Angel. 

The truth was, you had bitten off a few barbs and spat them at Angel in the few moments you’d shared with him since he tossed you from his apartment all those months ago. You weren't a perfect person. But it’s damn well what he deserved, after what he did. You weren’t wrong about that. The fact that everyone, and Angel’s father, were angry at him for the way things had gone down told you that you were not the one in the wrong.

The truth was, Angel had fucked up. Not only with his infidelity and the way he had tipped you from his life, with blunt hands tearing haphazardly at the roots… but he had insulted you, your work, and stood idly by and allowed others to do the same. 

He knew it, and you knew it. And you had both been petty.

But now that the wound was open, and the skin around it raw and heated, pulsing with its own heartbeat -- how could you ever give it a chance to heal if you didn't try to close it?

There was nothing saying that if you read Angel’s message, if you heard him out, and you got the chance to say your own piece, that you had to forgive him. And if it meant moving on? Maybe it was the step you needed to take. 

Like burning a candle to the end. Or, yes, wrapping a wound. Or perhaps like covering an old tattoo. Clara Forever? 

You unlocked your phone, sliding open your texts, taking a deep breath as you did so.

“I just wanted you to know I heard what you said,” Angel’s text read. “I do wanna talk to you, Frida. But only when you’re ready to talk to me. If you ever are. I just want to hear you out. Even if I know you never have to accept my apology.” 

Well. 

You looked down at your phone. You read Angel's text. Re-read it.

You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't acknowledge that everything that had gone down hadn't been building to this. 

 You brought your thumbs to the glass, beginning to type,

"I'm off tomorrow at six. You can come by after."

There. Short, sweet, and to the point.

Your phone pinged in your hand. Glancing down at it, you saw two words in response,

"Gracias, Frida."

"Don't thank me yet."

You put your phone down flat on the counter. 

The truth was, you still loved Angel Reyes. And you weren't sure whether your rage outweighed your ardor. And this scared the shit out of you.

When Angel rolled up the next day at ten after six, you were slightly annoyed. In the beginning of your relationship, he had been incredibly punctual, likely borne out of eagerness to see you. As time wore on, Angel's timeliness waned. At the time, you had assumed it had everything to do with his commitments to the club, and had remained understanding. With the benefit of hindsight, however, you now knew that it likely wasn't always the club. 

You didn't know anything about Adelita, save for her relationship to Angel. And you intended to keep it that way. But a nastier part of your brain was intensely curious. 

Did she make Angel laugh? Was she smarter than you? Prettier than you? She had to be beautiful, just like Angel was beautiful. The thought made your heart ache. 

When she kissed Angel, did she taste your lips on his? Did she know about you now? Did she hold more of Angel's heart than you had? 

If you were more like her, would Angel have chosen you?

You knew you wouldn't ask Angel any of these questions -- what did they always say? Don't ask something you don't really want the answers to? 

You slept easier at night keeping the idea of Adelita just that -- an amorphous, question mark-shaped idea. Knowing Angel's part in it all was more than enough.

Easier. You said you slept easier. Not well. You dreamt of Angel far too often to say you slept well. You dreamt of the feel of his hair between your fingers, both in a gentle and comforting pass, and in the harsh tugging borne of passion. You dreamt of the feel of his warm skin against yours. You dreamt of days spent swimming in the ocean, him lifting you up to twirl you through the water, like a sea sprite, a deity meant to be worshipped. Perhaps most cruelly, you sometimes dreamt of a future. Your memories blended with your dreams at the cruel, twisting hands of hazy sleep. Never to be.

And when Angel arrived at your place shortly after you had returned home from closing the shop, your gut, your brain, and your heart were all writhing in their own respective dances, never in sync with one another, and rendering your nerves completely fried. 

You opened the door, beckoning Angel in. You stopped yourself from moving to help remove the kutte from his shoulders and hanging it by the door, freezing your hands in the middle of raising to do just that, dropping them awkwardly by your sides again.

If Angel noticed, he hadn't said anything.

He shuffled into your place, likely surveying what had changed since he had last been there. To his surprise? Not much. You still had candles everywhere, casting everything in a warm glow. Your overstuffed chairs were still draped in cozy blankets and piled with brightly-patterned throw pillows. The bookcase in the corner of your living room was still packed to the edges, stacks of additional books on the floor at the foot. Your potted green plants made the room look simultaneously larger and smaller. Your dedication to maximalism was admirable. 

You loved what you loved, even if you didn't have the space. In your heart, or otherwise.

Angel breathed in the familiar cinnamon-orange scent that was your place, its permanent residence in his mind sending a zip through his heart. 

You shuffled past Angel, into your living room and making your way toward the kitchen, offering Angel a drink, which he declined.

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

You made your way into the kitchen, opening a cabinet that Angel knew contained a precarious tower of stacked coffee mugs. Like a personal game of Jenga only you could win, you plucked your desired mug, and closed the cabinet before the dangerous clinking of the remaining mugs could turn disastrous. 

You prepared a cup of tea while Angel stood at the carpeted edge of your living room, unsure of just how comfortable he was allowed to make himself in this space that -- while just as chaotically orderly and distinctly you as he remembered it -- seemed to be purged of any remembrance of him.

Stirring honey into your mug of tea and blowing on it, you watched Angel over the rim of your mug. Watched him observe your space, and waited for him to speak. 

You tilted your head toward the open door of your bedroom, breaking the silence first,

“I, uhhh, I’ve been working all day. I’m just gonna change real fast.” You shuffled your feet into the carpet, padding softly into your room and pushing the door softly shut. 

You slipped out of your jeans and into soft sweats and an oversized tee. Maybe if you felt more comfortable, you could stave off some of the awkwardness. Maybe letting Angel back into your space wasn’t the best idea. 

After changing, you took a moment -- sat on your bed, elbows balanced on your knees and head in your hands … you took a few deep breaths, lit a candle. Your palms felt clammier by the second, knowing that Angel was out there waiting for your re-emergence.

You don’t know how long you were sitting on the edge of your bed, just breathing. Preparing yourself. 

A soft knock on your bedroom door broke your dazed thoughts. You looked up, seeing Angel through the widening crack in the door, fist raised, his knuckle rapping softly on your bedroom door. 

You locked eyes for moment before Angel chuckled sheepishly to himself, shuffling his feet in your doorway,

“I, uh, thought you might’ve jumped out the window,” he chuckled lightly. 

Leave it to Angel to find a way to lighten the heavy mood that had descended upon your space. You managed to crack a small smile, corner of your mouth tilting up just-so in that way he had always found endearing. 

“The thought had crossed my mind,” you shrugged, patting the space next to you, acquiescing to allow Angel to sit. 

He crossed your room, exhaling heavily as he took a seat next to you on the bed. 

Now that you were seated so closely to Angel in the low light of your bedroom, you looked at his face, taking him in. Really looking at him for the first time in months. Trying to ignore the pricking feelings of trauma that were doing their best to bubble beneath the surface and consume you --- had Angel not broken your heart in a manner so like this? Seated next to one another on the end of his bed while he told you, in no uncertain terms, that he was done with you? The thought made a sick wave of nausea wash through you. You wiped your perpetually-sweaty hands along the thighs of your sweats. 

You had survived the last encounter like this, hadn't you? Honestly, what more could he do to you? 

For his part, Angel was silent next to you, surveying the space of your room as he had in your living room. The familiar clutter greeted him -- a stack of books and a coffee mug on your bedside. A sketchbook never too far from reach. The comforter beneath him as pillowy as he remembered. He shuddered a sigh. 

You decided to take conversational mercy on him, 

"Go ahead,” you beckoned. “Say what you have to. But just know I meant what I said at the party. I don't need shit from you. You telling me what you want to say is for you. And when it's done, you're going to give me what I deserve and listen to me. We need to put this behind us. I’m not going to be looking over my shoulder for you for the rest of my life, Angel.” What had started as a murmur grew fiercer with each word.

"That's fair, querida," was all he offered. Your words to him each time you had spoken since the party were evermore forceful. He was used to gentle Frida. It wasn't often that the turn of your tide was leveled against him. Not often he was forced to bear the brunt of your storm when you were upset.

He could see what Coco meant. It was unwise to make you angry 

He turned his body slightly to face yours, looking down at your hands as though he was contemplating attempting to hold one. His fingers twitched where his hands rested along his thighs. Better just to crack the ice, become submerged in frozen water. Take the shock out of it now, even if he wasn't sure where to begin, now that he faced you.

“I”m not really sure what I can tell you that’ll make it better,” he admitted.

You sighed. 

“I’m not looking for you to make it better, Angel. There is no more better. Whatever you want to say, you say it,” you pressed. “We’re past better. We’re not together. you were clear about that. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I’m not your girl.”

Angel flinched, almost imperceptibly, at your last statement.  He knew you weren’t together, knew you weren’t his. Hell, he’d been busy in the months since you’d been broken up. Busy chasing Adelita. Busy with other women when it didn’t work out with Adelita. Busy acting like a jackass with Andres. Busy with club nonsense. But hearing you say that you weren’t his girl? 

It made Angel’s heart ache in a way he wasn’t expecting. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said. At your scoff, he shook his head. “Really. After Adelita told me she was pregnant … I thought it was easier just to let you go. I needed to be there for her, for the kid. Even if it meant -- even if it meant losing you.” 

“Easier for who? For you?” Your voice was soft. You hated that, once again, you felt like the crystalline girl Angel’s heartbreak had rendered you. Worried that the slightest thing would shatter you once more. 

Angel chucked again, but there was no humor behind it. His eyes looked flat, as though he wasn’t really focusing on anything. 

“For both of us, I guess. It’s stupid. I thought if I just -- cut you out … we would both be better. But … that ain’t what happened. I just made us both miserable. I made you hate me. And now ...  She's gone. And so are you,” Angel’s voice was low, cracked. 

The weight of his words, coupled with the gravelly pitch of his voice was making you feel restless, itchy. Grit like pebbly grains of sand you would roll between your fingers on days at the beach, palpable and pronounced.

“A-and,” you interjected, “how did you meet her? When did you meet her?” 

Angel’s eyes darted to meet yours again, finding a swimming emotion he was getting better at putting his finger on. You only looked like that when you were getting lost in negative thoughts, awash in a sad song. Or when he was breaking your heart. He hated that look on your face. Hate that it marred your beautiful features into baleful melancholy. 

“Club shit,” was all he’d said. “We were mixed up in some shit with the rebels. We were helping each other. W-we connected. It just … happened.” 

You whipped your head at that last bit, eyes hardening. Angel’s hands came up, defensively.

“I know. Everyone says that, don’t they? It’s true… and I -- I really didn’t mean to hurt you. When I found out she was pregnant, I thought I was doing the right thing. By her. And by you,” he sucked air in through his teeth before releasing the breath in a huff of air. “I was wrong, Frida. I made every wrong choice, and I’m sorry.”

Angel carded his hands through his hair, tugging the ends lightly in his frustration. “I-- I just been going through some shit lately. And then ... Ezekiel tried to serve us brunch, and I was an asshole.” 

He looked at you, only to meet your puzzled gaze.

“Brunch?” You queried, wrinkling your nose lightly. “Since when are you a brunch kinda guy, Angelito?” 

“I really ain’t,” he said. “And you?”

“I like brunch just fine,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“That’s not what I mean, Frida, and you know it,” he said. “But we can get back to that later.” He took in your loose sweats, the way you had been picking your nails, the bags beneath your eyes. You had looked so beautiful, so perfect and untouchable,  at the patch party the other night. And now -- in your room, all pretense stripped away, Angel could see the real you … behind the professional and put-together front. The tired girl with a broken heart. And he felt the residual ache in his chest that had taken residence left of his heart ever since the day he had put your stuff in a box and left it outside of his door. 

“I know you have something you want to say to me, too, Frida. Your turn. How are you feeling?”

You laughed hollowly, your eyes fixed on the doorway to your room, half expecting Angel to get up and go.

“I’ve been better, Angel,” you deadpanned, swiveling to look at him, and finding him still seated next to you. “Ya know? It’s been a tough couple of days? Between that disaster of a party and whatever the hell went down the other day… but this town is too small for us to just try to ignore each other, and I do like it here.” You rubbed your eyes, the air between the two of you filling with silence that never used to be so awkward.  

“That can’t be all you gotta say,” Angel pressed. “C’mon, Frida. Tell me how you’re feeling. I was… I was awful to you.”

The candle in the corner of the room sputtered, causing momentary, flickering shadows to dance along the walls of your room. Your safe, homey space felt full of shadows and ghosts, words unspoken between the two of you threatening to burst forth, your closet brimming with proverbial skeletons. 

And you were just so tired. And now Angel was pressing you? You weren’t sure if the heat was from your sweats, the proximity of the man next to you, that you had turned up the thermostat too high. Or the fact that you were still so fucking angry. 

“You want to know how I’m feeling, Angel?” You tugged on the ends of your hair, running your hands down the thighs of your sweats once more. Were you always so sweaty? “I appreciate you telling me the truth. Finally. And for apologizing, I guess.”

Tears were pricking at your eyes, the heat blazing in your cheeks matching the heat in the room.  

"But you made me look stupid. Like someone in need of pity," you sucked air in through your teeth. "I fucking hate pity, Angel. It's just misplaced empathy. A useless emotion. And you’d think I’d just wear that mess? For everyone to see? At the party. At the yard. Everyone just feeling sorry for me. For months. Because of you.”

The ache in Angel’s chest intensified. Awash in a wave of hot shame. Was it always so hot in this room? You were right. And weren’t you always? You never were that girl, and he had sent you down the river like you meant nothing, your artist’s hands crushed beneath the washed stones of his choices. He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done, apparently --

“And after everything? The way it went down? You made me feel like … I don’t know … Like you were punishing me,” your voice cracked, sobs and tears imminent through the dam you had erected. “Like I loved you more than you loved me, and you knew it… like you wanted to make me pay for that.” 

“Frida …” Angel turned his body toward yours fully now, closing the space between the two fo you and cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the silvery hot tears that were slipping down your face, sick that he had caused them. Sick that he had even made you think that what you were saying was true. “It wasn’t like that,” he assured. 

“And the shittiest part is,” you hiccuped around your words, “you can’t even tell me give me the comfort of a cliche -- you can’t honestly tell me ‘it meant nothing,’ or that it was a ‘one-time thing,’ because none of that is true, is it? You care about her -- you had a child with her. You love her. And here I thought I could take what you did, take you, fold you up and tuck you away, like a note you pass in school. And I can’t. I just can’t.”

You tilted your face downward now as your tears fell, allowing your face to be fully cupped by Angel’s warm, calloused hands. Even now, you were still amazed at how tender his touch was, despite his rough exterior. All he wanted now was to comfort you, to touch you and bring your eyes to his again. To remind you of his love for you. Once. Now. Always?

“Frida, it wasn’t like that. They were my selfish, stupid choices. Mine. And I was scared. Scared of how much I wanted … everything with you. And it wasn’t right. I told you -- I … been going through some shit.” 

“Scared,” you murmured. Turning your face in Angel’s hands, causing your lips to brush over his fingers. You leaned back, effectively releasing your face from the trace of his touch. 

“Isn’t it remarkable how secure and insecure you can simultaneously feel when you’ve found someone worth loving? I felt it, too. With you  it's now I knew you were the one,” You said. Angel straightened in shock, at how, though you weren’t present for his conversation yesterday with Ezekiel, you parroted his feelings he had confided in his brother back to him. Always on the same page. His full lips pursed as you continued. 

“We can’t keep using what happened to hurt each other. I’m done with that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry you felt the way you did. I’m sorry you felt like you needed to look elsewhere. And I hope you find what you're looking for,” you hated how soft your voice sounded to your own ears. Hadn't you meant to be forceful, angry? You sniffled. “Because, despite everything that’s happened...  You are someone worth loving, Angelito.” 

"No, Frida," he shook his head softly before looking at you again, eyes glittering. "You are. Someone deserving of more.”

Your breath caught in your chest at his words, taking this moment to look into his ochre eyes once more. You wanted to commit to your memory just how they swirl like melting chocolate and promises in low candlelight.

And, oh. Angel was made to be seen like this, you’d thought. The dim candlelight giving everything in your room a pleasant glow and slightly-blurry edges. He looked like his namesake. And how ironic was that, really? Considering the context of your conversation. 

It's easy these days, you thought, for you to get carried away by your own feelings... While you searched desperately in the emotional rubble for your muse, Angel, the truth of it tore you to shreds with blunt fingernails -- knowing he was  out in the world -- running freely and carelessly. Running away with your imagination. With your hope. With the pieces of your heart that had survived the blitzing storm he had put you through. With the pieces of your heart that had belonged to him. That you feared may always belong to him.  

Looking at Angel now, in the low-lit steadfast luminescence of your room, shadows flickering agreeably across his angular cheekbones. He was sculpted. Made to be admired in perpetuity. Artist that you were, it ached. It stung. The knowledge that your hands were not the ones that had molded him into the man sat beside you. A man molded, instead, by his own choices. 

All you could do was watch as those wrong decisions drifted lazily down the river, only to become a torrent, Angel caught in the current. The waves lapped loudly, sloppily against riverbanks of better judgment, but Angel is never quite washed ashore. No, as you watched, he slipped down the river, out of your fingertips and toward something you're too fearful to quantify. Away from you. 

You want the river to carry him back to you. To home. But you know it never will. 

Angel has two choices now: To drown under the weight of his path this river has wrought; or to swim. 

As you sit beside him in the growing heat of your room, you hope he chooses to swim. Even if it’s not to where you stand. 

"So, is that what’s next?” You asked, wiping your eyes. 

At Angel’s puzzled look, you carried on,

"You're asking for it back," you whispered. “Or you’re going to. My heart? You may not have said it like that, exactly, but it's what you want. Like you don't know how bad it all hurt me, even if you say you know, I don't think you ever will. And even if I wanted to give it to you, I don't know if there's enough of it left."

You wrung your hands together, awaiting Angel’s response. You looked up at him through your lashes, clumped together with the tears that had escaped during your confessional. 

His molten eyes were soft on your form, swallowing before he spoke again. 

“I was such an asshole… to you. And at that stupid brunch … to Gaby. But it was all just … too much. I mean, she was wearing mom’s apron…” Angel shook his head. “And all I could think of … Even with Adelita out there, with her and my boy gone, outta my life… all I could think of was how it should be you wearing the stupid apron. It should be me giving you my mother’s ring. And I was so angry at Ezekiel for having all of that. For having what I wanted … wanted with you.” 

If there was any air left in the room, it was certainly all gone now. All that was left was heat, no air or space between the two of you. Just stagnant air and the weight of words, both said and unsaid. And if Angel had said these words to you more than a year ago? Maybe they would sound different to your ears. Melodious, even. 

Now, all you could think to do was comfort. Ever the nurturer. What else could you do, really, after he'd said that? You shook your head gently, lacing your fingers through Angel’s and squeezing. 

“It’s not that he has something you don’t, or that you can’t have, Angel… What EZ and Gabriela have is what they have. It’s theirs. You’ll have yours. Someday.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. The warm scent of orange-cinnamon from your candle permeated the room, the ever-present heat between you and Angel banishing all thoughts of romantic winter from your mind. 

“I just wanna say, again, Frida… how sorry I am for what happened at the party. For what happened with Andres. It was fucked up of me,” Angel’s tongue passed over his lips. “Did I answer all of your burning questions?” 

You reached over, trailing your fingers over the tattoo you had given Angel what felt like a lifetime ago.  His eyes followed the trajectory of your fingers, his nerves alight at the feeling of your starlit, feathery touch on his skin once more.

"Just one left.” Your eyes locked with his, unwavering. “Who am I to you, really?" You ask, the edge your silken voice had taken on slides beneath Angel's skin clumsily, like crumbling shards of glass. "What did I mean?"

Angel tries not to look at you now. Tries, but fails. His dark eyes meet your downcast ones once more, hates that they are once more glimmering with unshed tears waiting to fall. Hating that once again, he's the cause of the dreary blue tinge shading what should have been your sunny, hopeful worldview. Awash with the sunsets he would take you to see. 

And if there was any time for blossoming truth, for a sprig of rosemary remembrance of sacred feeling, it was now. 

"You're the love of my life," he finally admits, exhaling heavily. "That's just it, ain't it? Always you. And not that I have any right to ask you now -- But I need to know, Frida. Am I yours?"

Any air left was sucked from the room in one fell swoop, leaving you with the stuffy and sticky discomfort of Angel's question and the weight of his heated gaze on you, waiting for something, anything to fall from your pretty lips.

And what a question it was. 

You knew the answer, of course. You reach up to brush your thumb tenderly across Angel’s sculpted cheek, as though you could be the one molding it, nodding before verbalizing your answer,

"You've always been the love of my life. Had my heart. I'm yours, But, I think I know now… that  you were never truly mine. Even if you say it now. You have a heart that's not so easily won, Angelito. That's something I wish I'd learned sooner, wish I could've taken from you… from all of this." 

All Angel could do was shake his head, the crease in his brow deepening at your words. 

"Ever the poet, Frida."

"I thought I was a 'shit' poet?" You teased gently, recalling his words to you when he’d texted you to ask you out for the first time. 

Angel chuckled, the grit and honey in his voice washing over you, a wave of silken heat, his eyes are fixed upon yours intently, leaning forward and bringing his hands to trace along your neck, your jaw, dragging his thumb over the full, pillowy part of your bottom lip. 

“You did win it, Frida,” was all he said. 

The rush of warm, fluttery feeling swam through your body, prickling you like sparkling, popping champagne. Angel’s eyes tracked yours, down to where his thumb was dragging across your lip. Your eyes slipped shut, lashes fluttering. 

You could feel it rushing back. Everything Angel had ever made you feel -- the ardor, the frustration, the crushing weight of the river wild. Heat bloomed across your cheeks and down your chest, between your thighs and through the fingertips that you had brought to grip Angel’s biceps. 

His declaration of love, of melted marshmallow and warm cocoa -- made you crave him in a way you had long thought gone. 

You pressed your lips to kiss the tip of Angel’s thumb. You were rewarded with a reciprocal, sucking in of air on Angel’s part. 

He held his breath momentarily before surging forward and capturing your lips with his full ones. 

You were awash in the memory of every kiss shared with Angel. Of how he’d made you feel in your full-hearted moments together. Rich and full, like morning coffee. Hazy and sweet, like cherry smoke.

Angel’s kiss makes you feel dizzy, fizzing and dissolving simultaneously, like a Mento in a glass of Coke. Volatile and thrumming, both erupting and disappearing so fast, you were afraid you’d never have the chance to process exactly what it made you feel. 

It might be okay, you reasoned to yourself -- if you could hold Angel just for one more night, feel his body pressed against yours. It felt like a good idea in this moment, just to hold him for one  night only. 

Your lips pressed against one another, his hand cupping your jaw trailing back to tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging it -- causing your kiss to break. Angel trailed his lips from yours, down and along your jaw. 

Angel’s grip firmed, turning your head further as he continued his attention down your neck, giving you a view of the chair next to your closet where you had haphazardly thrown Angel’s t-shirt when you had worn it last, a symbol of comfort now worn-out. 

You laid back, Angel following, surging over you and pressing you into your cloudlike comforter. His hips rolled into yours, his teeth now scraping gently along the slope of your neck. 

At the gasp you emitted, Angel felt himself harden in his jeans. He'd thought he'd never hear that sound from you again. And replaying the memory of it in his head? Not enough. He rolled his hips into yours again, again, as you dragged your thighs up Angel’s sides, locking your legs around his hips. He trailed warm hand down to caress your breast through your soft t-shirt, leaving a heated trail in its wake. 

“Oh, Angel,” you gasped, rolling your hips to meet his. 

“Can I kiss you like this, amor?” Angel rasped, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

He took in the heat behind your eyes, the kiss-swollen state of your lips when he broke from them. The creeping heat he felt from beneath your collar in his position atop you, and the way your breasts heaved beneath your shirt. 

The thread of resolve you were hanging by seemed to dissolve, leaving you unraveled and threadbare, naked before the man you swore would be your forever. The ache you felt between your legs burned crimson, cloudy and acrid. You tasted Angel’s kiss, tasted him, on your tongue.

You were never more aware of the dimensions of your body than when Angel had his hands on you, tracing and gripping every curve, the touch of places you don't think to touch yourself, strange but pleasurable as you relished in the trace of his rough fingertips against your smooth skin. He slid his hands down your waist, hips and into the loose waistband of your sweats, sliding them down your legs as he went. 

Angel played your body with temerity, a confidence, and before you knew it, your lower half was bare before him. He pushed the soft, loose fabric of your t-shirt up and over your chest, trailing his lips over your now-exposed skin, bringing his other hand to cup your breast, circling the pad of his thumb over your nipple. 

You gasped and groaned beneath Angel’s attention. Gripping at the hem of his shirt, you tugged it up and over his head, trailing your hands down his firm, thick torso. 

Angel was reticent to deprive himself of your touch after not having had it for so long. The touch of your nimble, artist’s fingers trailing over the lines of his body made Angel feel like an instrument being plucked to a tune that made both his and your body sing. He thought he would never feel it again.

 But this moment? This was about you. 

 Angel gripped your wrists, firmly planting your hands next to your head, following the trajectory and leaning over you with his full body. Releasing your wrists, Angel firmly pressed his lips to yours again, his tongue swiping past your lips and invading your mouth. Hot, needy, dirty. 

Ange tore his mouth from yours, his lips trailing lower and lower down your body, kissing your hips, nipping at your hipbone, causing you to yelp and buck your hips.

The action drew Angel’s attention, lifting his lips from your body, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me? Sweet girl...” His voice was lower than you think you’d ever heard it, dangerously so. 

Bringing his hand down to cup your mound, he traced his fingers through your slick folds.

“Ah-Angel,” you gasped, tilting your head back at the blissful feel of Angel’s touch. As quickly as his touch had come, he withdrew it, causing your eyes to snap open, fixed on him and full of fire. 

“You know how this works, querida. I won’t touch you unless you answer me,” he taunted, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over where you’d wanted him most, staunch in his refusal to commit to the touch. 

“God, Angel, yes,” You gasped. “P-please.”

Angel rewarded you, prising apart your legs and sliding down your body, tracing a teasing lick of his tongue through your folds, increasing in pace and intensity at the noises passing through your lips.

"I d-do miss you,” you sighed, starting to roll your hips against Angel’s tongue. “I miss the way you touch me… the way you fuck me.”

God. It was hot, the way you talked, the way you gave yourself over to him. 

Stars and firecrackers popped behind your eyes at Angel’s attention, cinnamon heat seeping through your bones, writhing and twisting at the way Angel strung his way through your body. Unable to justify the concept of being left alone, you tugged up at Angel’s jaw, forcing him to look up at you. Met with your wanton gaze, Angel licks his lips at the sight of you and slides back up your body with a grace that defies his size. 

Now level with you once more, he gripped your jaw, turning your head to the side and attacked your neck, your breasts with renewed vigor, grinding his denim-clad hardness against your naked core, the painful drag of the fabric turning pleasurable. 

With your gaze turned toward the wall, you were once again greeted with the sight of Angel’s rumpled t-shirt on the chair by your closet. An object of comfort, threads and strings tying you to a past life.   

What were you doing? Taking comfort in something that you couldn’t, in good conscience, call your own?

The rumpled shirt seemed to be mocking you, taunting you. Reminding you that, once again, you were seeking clinging to something you shouldn't. Seeking solace in things -- people -- that you shouldn't. 

Apart from Christopher's warm, sly, sensational goodnight kiss the other day, Angel's was the first touch you'd experienced like this since, well, Angel… How easy it was to slip back into your feelings for him, get caught up in him.

I'd give it all just to hold you close, sorry that I broke your heart... You shouldn’t be doing this. 

“Angel,” you prised his lips from your body. “St-stop.” 

Angel’s eyes were wild, hair mussed and lips swollen.

“What, querida?” 

“Angel,” you sighed again, sliding your shirt down and coming to sit up. “We can’t be doing this.”

Angel slouched next to you with a huff, trailing his fingers down your arm.

“Why not?”

You sighed. After all this time, the feeling of Angel so close to you was everything you thought you wanted. But everything that had been said? The water beneath your respective bridges? Angel was still awash, had not come to rest on any bank. And you were still waiting on the shore -- now certain that all you would mold from the riverbank clay were memories and half-baked dreams. 

“We’re not together,” you breathed, leaning over the bed to pick up your sweats and tug them back on. “And that’s not what this is. We're too old for platitudes, and happy endings are for children's stories. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you know this is wrong.”

“Querida -- I want…" Angel started, before turning away, leaning over his thighs and tugging his hands through his hair… his distress with how he had let himself get so out of control with you was mounting. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“What? Angel,” you touched your hand to his still-bare shoulder. “What do you want?”

"A second chance…?" Angel's normally smooth voice trailed at the end, transforming his desire into a question, fading into the silence of the room. He shifted his shoulders, turning his body to once more face yours, but not quite meeting your eyes. 

You let his words hang in silence for a moment, weighing how you wanted to respond.

“Say something, Frida.” 

"I knew you'd say that," you chuckled drily. "I know you, you're like this. But second chances become third, fourth, fifth. I can't trust you. What did you expect me to say?"

Angel opened his mouth to answer before catching sight of the expression on your face, twisted into proverbial knots. Even now, you were being far more gracious than he had any right to expect. He closed his mouth again, sighing.

"I don't know, dulce."

"I do,” you shook your head. “You expected me to say 'yes,' " you reached across the bed to one more lace your fingers through his. "I know you. But what does it say about me that I want to? It would be so like me, wouldn't it?"

You squeezed Angel's fingers tenderly in your grip, awarding him a flickering, wan smile. 

Angel's voice cracked when he spoke again, "Then say yes, Frida. Let me prove it to you. Prove that we’re meant to be together."

"And would you? Would you take me back if I did that to you? If I had someone else's child? While we were together?" 

Angel was silent at that, not having considered the reversal of roles. In truth, though you knew him, he knew you, too. It would be so wildly out of character, how would he have been expected to consider it?

"You think you might, because you love me. But, see, Angelito, I don't think you would. So how can you sit there and say we're two people who are meant to be when we don't even love each other the same? Love doesn't come in pieces, amor. You held my heart in your hands. And you crushed it. Let it crumble into nothing, like sand. Like I meant nothing."

“But this--” Angel gestured between the two of you, eyes lingering on the skin of your neck where his mouth had been, tracing his fingers over your kiss-swollen lips. 

“--Can’t happen.” Tears were rising to your eyes again. 

Goddamnit. Couldn’t you get through one conversation with him without crying?

“Maybe we are meant to be. And maybe we'll find our way back to one another. But right now? I -- I don't think I can. But more importantly, I don't think we should. And please hear me when I tell you how much it breaks my heart to say that."

Your heart was burning, but your skin was ice. Dream, they call desire. And he could hear the heartbreak in your voice. Always stupidly genuine.

Angel was stock-still, and as you took in his prone form, eyes tracing to his face -- you saw a lone tear slip down his cheek, shaking his head. 

"I miss you, you know?" He chuckled, no humor in his soft, velvet voice. 

"I know."

You were in a fugue state, the rumble of Angel’s bike retreating down the street barely registering as you were processing as you retreated to your bed, the room and your sheets noticeably cooler in Angel’s absence. The room feeling too large without him in it.

As you settled into bed, you noticed it -- Angel’s old shirt, still on your chair. 

You hadn’t thought to return it.

---

The following week found you back in the shop, preparing for your mid-afternoon appointment. You had wiped down the table, changed the wrapping, and were now idly jotting as you waited. Thoughts on one person in particular. 

The bell above the shop door dinged, causing you to look up from the poem you were penning on the lime-green sticky you kept a stack of near your work station. 

Your one o'clock was right on time.

And you were greeted with the sight of Angel striding in with two cups of caffeine, offering one two you as he rested his ringed hand on the counter.

“If you want an appointment, you’d better call first. You know what they say about walk-ins. Always risky.” 

Since Angel had departed your place in the middle of the night a week ago, the words between the two of you having had time to simmer and settle, allowing you to process the weight of it all. 

For his part, Angel had given you space. Hadn’t said anything past texting you to tell you he had made it home safely. 

 In the days that had followed, you had cautiously cracked the ice between the two of you, hoping to assuage any awkwardness and rebuild some kind of friendly connection removed from the physical. It was probably better that way. Messaging him idly to ask about his day. Not that you had shared with Angel, but you were also texting Christopher. 

Angel had called the shop, asking if you were available to help him with something he’d wanted to do. Something special, he’d said.

“Something for Ezekiel,” Angel told you. “He’s been through alot lately, with Gaby and the club and everything … been through alot with me lately. Now feels like the right time”

You had, of course, readily agreed. Eager and honored to help Angel with a tribute to his brother. The texts between the two of you changed to exchanges of ideas, you sending him screenshots of your sketches before the two of you had decided on a design that fit. 

You accepted the cup of coffee from Angel gratefully and with a gentle smile, beckoning him behind the counter. Coffee truly was a love language. 

“You can sit in the chair and lean forward, or you can lie on the table. Both are clean. Dealer’s choice,” you said between sips. 

Angel nodded, slugging the last of his coffee and placing the cup down before slipping his shirt over his torso, baring his back to you as he sat in the chair, leaning forward and twisting his abdomen to bare his shoulder blade to you. 

The tawny patch of skin on his shoulder, above the large Mayans tribute that covered the expanse of his back, seemed like the perfect place for something for EZ, the angel (ha ha) on his shoulder and guiding influence in one another’s lives. 

You cleaned and bic’d the area, stenciling your design into the space and getting your kit ready to begin.

Angel watched what he could of you from the corner of his eye, a resonant ache blooming through his chest at the familiarity of this scene. Of you, all business, touching his skin, preparing to impart a piece of yourself that he would wear on his body for the rest of his days. 

You queued up your playlist, the sounds of motown flowing through the shop as you hummed along idly. 

In this moment, Angel knew … he was still in love with you. Likely always would be. You had been far too gracious with him, as you always were -- in the way you had treated him the other night. No mention of your “almost” encounter, for which he was grateful. And he knew he was correct in his assessment of you when you had first started dating -- it was in your nature.

“You mind?” Angel broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, gesturing at the journal-like sketchbook you had left near your station. 

You shook your head in acquiescence, “No. But it’s kind of a mess in there lately,” you acknowledged. “Shit poet, and all.” 

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” Angel barked a laugh. “I didn’t insult your poetry, Frida, you did.” 

“Ever the self-deprecating, starving artist,” you sighed dramatically. 

Angel took that as his cue, flipping through the pages of your book. One page felt particularly heavy beneath his fingers. He flipped to it, to be met with dried, pressed flowers that had been delicately glued to the pages, the page covered in a plastic slipsheet -- the dried, dusky pink of peony petals were affixed to the page next to a swath of a white, lacy-looking bloom. 

Around the flowers were sketches of hands that looked suspiciously like Angel’s own, down to the tattoos, and idle lines of poetry. 

Angel furrowed his brows as he glanced at the flowers again.

“You got those flowers for me,” you acknowledged, looking over his shoulder to see the page of your book he had settled on. “One of our first dates, when we went to the park. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Angel’s throat caught in a way that both annoyed and unsettled him. How were you always doing this to him?

“Recuerdo, Frida,” he breathed. “Lo recuerdo todo.” 

You patted his arm gently, resuming your work. 

“I like pressing flowers. It takes a while, but the end result is worth it.” 

You pinched your brows in concentration as you drew along the stenciled lines you’d previously etched into Angel’s shoulder blade, gun buzzing. You began to fill in the minimalist rising sun that was now filling the shoulder blade, stippling the interior as you went, the effect giving the sun an almost stucco-like finish that looked breathtaking against Angel’s golden skin. 

Angel allowed you to continue you work in silence, the weight of the past few days with you settling into his bones. He had pleaded with you, endeared himself to you so much that he had lost his voice. His bones filling with the words he wished he could verbalize. 

He was slowly arriving at that place of acceptance -- Santo Padre was a small town. He would see you. And it appeared that you could now stomach his presence, but he wouldn’t push his luck. Seeing you alone. Hell, even seeing you with someone else, was better than not seeing you at all. 

But once thing was clear -- you were someone who would always be in his life, his memories, his heart.

Angel was lost in his thoughts; you were focused on your work. The only thing that gave any indication as to the passage of time in the room where you two found yourselves was the evolution of your playlist passing through tracks.

Isn’t that how it always was with Angel? Time stood still. 

As you finished his tattoo, you snapped a quick pic for your work Insta -- and maybe, selfishly, for yourself, to admire, too. It’s true, what you had felt all those months ago, and again a week ago -- Angel Reyes was your muse. 

Made to be admired in perpetuity. 

You cleaned and wrapped it, pushing back wordlessly from your seat and making your way to the front as Angel gingerly tugged his shirt back over his head. Quoting the rate over your shoulder, you put Angel's aftercare bag together. But not before slipping the lime sticky in.

“Is that it?” Angel asked, arriving at the front counter, kutte once again in place..

“C’mon, Angelito, you know you get the friends-and-family rate,” you shrugged.

"And is that what we are, querida? Friends?” Angel's voice had none of the bravado it held when he had first spoken these words to you the day you'd met. Now it was cotton soft and carefully tinged with hope. He leaned over the counter.

You shrugged again.

"I guess we'll see, won't we?" You tilted the corner of your lips in a gentle, wan half-smile. 

"One day with you, and already friends again?” Angel breezed. You shrugged lightly in response, as he continued, “Or maybe the day after that? A man can hope, Frida."

“You know what they say, Angelito,” your voice was soft, but he’d recognize the teasing lilt anywhere. He’d heard it so often at the breaking dawn of your relationship. Kindness, with a hint of subtle flirtation. It was just how you were. “Hope springs eternal.”

Angel nodded, tossing a few bills on the counter and gently rapping his ringed-knuckles against the counter, a he was wont to do. He smiled gently at you, all glimmering white teeth and high cheeks. 

As Angel walked away, head down and focused on his phone now as he headed out the door and toward his bike, you watched him leave. Your elbow on the counter and head propped in your hand. 

You wondered when Angel would discover the sticky, recalling the words you had written on it. 

my stark moments of clarity between hazy and woebegone memory (thanks to spilled red wine) -- are still marked by the firm hand of your bruising ardor.

Your phone buzzed, breaking you from your reverie as you looked down at the name flashing on the screen, an easy grin blooming across your features.

“Well, hey,” you greeted. Unable to keep the happy chirp from your voice at hearing from him again so soon.

“Hey, mama,” he greeted in that smooth, throaty rasp of his you adored. “You busy later?”   

---

Tagging: @cinewhore @superhoeva @blessedboo @rebeccasficrecs @themarcusmoreno @joannasteez @justanotherblonde23 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @huliabitch @ifimayhaveaword @flightlessangelwings @phoenixhalliwell @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb @ciriswife @witching-hour @lo-la-bu-ro @doloreschanal @rosieposie0624 @diaryofkali @skyesthebomb @artsymaddie @helli4nthus @xonickibaby @melancholyy-hill @jeonsblackgf-writes @dyke--grayson @pettyprocrastination @moonlight-prose @velvetmel0n @luckyharley1903 @miss-nori85 @ticosas @withmyteeth @chibsytelford @whatupitshuff @themusingofagothicsoul @the-purity-pen @belowva @mayansxlover @emmaveale123 @maddie-georges @kijahslove @supertiffybee @jettia @spnaquakindgdom @abysshaven @starrynite7114 @thesandbeneathmytoes @cyarikashakira @calif0rnia-lovers​

#loved you once #it's here #loved you once part two #and it's SO LONG #i'm SO SORRY #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes x frida #angel x frida #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes x fem!reader #angel reyes agnst #angel reyes smut #mayans mc fic #mayans fic #mayans mc #mayans #angel reyes #clayton cardenas #my writing #rachel reynolds #angel reyes headcanon

[bookishofalder]

Rainy Days

Spencer x Reader

Request: @starwithoutdarkness - Hey! I heard you were looking for requests! Maybe Spencer Reid x reader fake dating fluff? Combined with Request: @paulaern  - Hello!  What about Spencer Reid x reader when they realizes they love each other? Like reader makes something for Spencer and he thinks like "I can't deny anymore, I'm completely and hopeless in love with her" or something like that  (G!neutral if you want)

A/N: Thank you so much for sending in requests! Hope this makes you smile!

Warnings: Swearing, moderate BAU violence, creepy men, fluffiest fluff, intense headache description. Set randomly post prison Reid but Hotch is still there because he should have been! WC-2,488

Spencer was staring at the geo-profile he had been working on all day, very glad to be inside. The weather in Seattle had stayed consistently rainy for the two days the BAU team had been in town assisting in catching a killer, who had been committing serial robberies/murders with no apparent rhyme or reason. And while Spencer didn’t mind the rain, he did mind loud, busy cities. Combined, they usually led to a headache that would take a day or two to recover.

The door to the conference room he was working alone in burst open and slammed shut so suddenly he nearly jumped out of his skin, turning to see-

You.

Spencer hated it when you appeared without warning, catching him entirely off guard and presenting the risk that you would notice the visible effort it took for him to compose himself around you.

While he’d noticed how beautiful and hilarious and empathetic you were the moment you joined the team, he’d fallen in love with you when you had your first case with them. Spencer had begun to ramble about the specifics of casinos, and how ‘beating the house’ was nearly impossible, when the rest of the team had tuned out. A temporary member, Agent Seaver, had sneered ‘I’m sorry I asked.” Effectively shutting him up. But then you had turned in your seat next to him and, after shooting Seaver a look had asked him to continue. And though he didn’t have that much more to say, and it wasn’t all that interesting, you listened to every single word and thanked him.

It had been years since that had happened, your friendship had blossomed into best friends, something Spencer cherished immensely. This was partly why he shoved his feelings down. The relationship did not need to change for Spencer to remain happy; as long as he got to spend time with you at work, or watch movies and make tent forts in his living room. And visit his mom (who adored you and always gave you book recommendations that you would be sure to read the moment you could), or go to comic conventions and museums...yes, as long as he could always do those things with you, he was happy.

No need to risk changing a perfect thing.

Now though, you were shutting the door and giving him your most panicked look, wide-eyed, with your hair damp from the rain you no doubt had run through to get inside, accounting for your breathlessness. If it weren’t for the worry that had sprung up inside of him upon seeing your expression, he would have fixated on how beautiful you looked at that moment.

“Spencer, you’re my boyfriend.” You whisper yelled at him, quickly stepping closer and setting your bag down on the conference table.

“Wha-“ He began, but you cut him off frantically.

“I’ll explain-just, oh fuck-“

Spencer stood frozen to the spot as the door reopened and one of the senior detectives sauntered in, a friendly smile somewhat overshadowed by the almost predatorial glint in his eyes. You awkwardly stepped closer to Spencer, raising a hand in hello.

“Agent (Y/L/N), great to see you’re back, I was hoping to catch you before the end of the day!” He said merrily, placing two hands on the back of the nearest chair. Something about the way his hands gripped the chair made Spencer feel...on edge.

You gave the fakest little giggle Spencer had ever heard from you, “Oh, nice to see you too Detective! Just had to catch up with Agent Reid here...”

When his eyes moved from you to assess Spencer briefly, he felt a protective force rear up, instincts entirely at alert. Without hesitating, he casually draped an arm over your shoulder, brushing some hair back as he did, and replied, “And you promised we could get some coffee from the Starbucks down the road, hon.”

He enjoyed the way your cheeks flushed and noticed the pulse in your neck pick up. You glanced up at him, trying to look coy but he knew you too well and could see you were partly surprised, and also trying not to laugh.

“Um, of course, I nearly forgot, babe, let’s go in about 5-unless, did you need something specific, Detective?” She broke off to glance back at the now scowling man, who gave an annoyed jerk of his head before stomping back out of the room.

Once the door banged closed behind him, you let out the biggest sigh of relief, raising a hand to your face in dismay.

Spencer hadn’t removed his arm yet, “I’m assuming I just helped you avoid being asked out, but why-?”

“Uhg, Spencer, I’ve already turned him down TWICE since we’ve arrived! He’s literally the kind of dude who doesn’t take no for an answer unless another man has some fucking misogynistic claim over the woman!” You exclaimed, before moving to stand right in front of Spencer and lean just your head to his chest, staring down at the floor, “I hate everything.”

Spencer laughed, patting your back softly, but internally making note that he wouldn’t be letting you go anywhere alone for the rest of this case-that detective gave him the creeps. And while you were beyond capable of protecting yourself, he just knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything if he thought you could be hurt.

“Well, just so we’re clear I would never want to be called ‘babe’ in a relationship.” He joked and the desired effect was his immediate reward when you lifted your head and giggled-your genuine, beautiful little giggle-and then grinned.

“Spencer, you called me ‘hon’ like we were 70.”

Spencer considered a moment, “We could be, you’ll be Gladys and I’ll be-“

“Winston!” You supplied eagerly, and he frowned at you, trying not to laugh.

“Winston?”

“It’s really very dignified, the kind of name where people call you ‘sir’.” You replied cheekily, and while Spencer grinned, a part of him felt a swoop of pleasure when your lips formed the word ‘sir’.

He decided very quickly that he liked the idea of you calling him that. And then, just as swiftly dismissed that train of thought and chastised himself.

As you both stood together and laughed, the door swung open and Hotch and the team followed him in, all in various stages of the results of exposure to the rain, looking equally grim. Spencer and you abruptly stopped when you saw their expressions and launched back into work mode seamlessly.

———

Two days later, the team was closing in on the unsub and everyone was on high alert. Taking the profile and applying it to the geo-profile he had been working on, Spencer had narrowed down this grubby old apartment that sat above a nightclub as the most likely spot the unsub was staying at. Of course, they were arriving at night which meant the club was busy and loud, people lined up out the doors waiting for their chance to enter, pay too much for a drink and grind their bodies against strangers.

Spencer’s headache from the unforgiving rain was thrumming now with the music that seemed entirely unencumbered by the walls of the stairwell, the team slowly climbing. It was bad enough that his eyes narrowed somewhat, but he didn’t lose focus.

You were behind him, watching his six as Hotch and Morgan approached the door ahead and prepared to breach. Spencer slipped a hand behind his back and, on cue, you’re pinky wrapped with his. A brief promise to each other, ‘I’ve got you.’.

They had anticipated violence and heavy arms, so when their announcement was met with silence and the door was kicked open, the tactical response was to secure positions and carefully proceed. Agents and SWAT members lined the building and were, at that moment, securing the club below to ensure the unsub couldn’t flee into a room full of potential hostages.

Spencer and you were the third pair to enter, quickly moving ahead of the others to secure more rooms, eyes peeled for movement. The floor was covered in litter and random spots of dirt and dried substances. It smelled like body odour and axe body spray-which immediately went to Spencer’s headache and caused it to throb in protest.

“Freeze!”

You had shouted right as Spencer noticed the movement from a back room down the hall, as the unsub leaned out and, not abiding by the command, opened fire. Spencer grabbed you and swung you both behind the wall of the kitchen, out of the line of fire while he shouted the unsubs location.

You recovered quickly, dropping to the ground and leaning out to return fire as Hotch and Morgan ran across to the living room to join the battle. It only took a few moments after that before Morgan managed to get a shot to the suspect's shoulder and he fell with a cry of anguish.

You popped up from the ground, watching as Prentiss and Rossi moved forward to secure the man, and barked into your radio for medics to come in.

Spencer, meanwhile, was reeling. When the shots in the room had all joined together in a cacophony, sound and noise piercing his skull, it had converted to pain and panic in his skull, overwhelming him. He had used his own body to shield yours when he pulled you with him into the wall, and the caution he took with you meant he hadn’t caught himself carefully enough, his head bouncing lightly off of the stone wall.

Which, on a normal day would have simply been annoying. But today, with a headache so severe he was beginning to get spots in his vision, it was detrimental. The scene was secure, so he allowed his eyes to shut, a meagre reprieve but at least it was something, at least he didn’t have to see the beams from the flashlights or the pulsing of the neon signs outside of the windows...

“Winston, take my hand.” Your voice was so, so soft. Spencer let his mouth open slightly, a small rush of air all he managed, trying to say ‘I can’t-it hurts, make it stop’ but you grasped his hand tightly and pulled and he followed, his other hand reaching and grabbing that back of your vest, he let you lead him.

He knew from the reduced foot traffic of agents and crime scene workers that you were taking the rear exit, a stairwell that was narrower than the main. He peeked through his lashes to take the stairs, and then suddenly, the cool night air hit him and the door was closing behind you both.

You kept walking with purpose, leading Spencer further away from the loud building. The rain spattered his face but with each step the noise reduced and after a short walk it became relatively quiet.

“Sit.” You murmured, halting. Spencer opened his eyes and saw that you had led him to the farthest spot in the parking lot from the building, where trees lined the lot along a community park that was probably utilized by vagrants and drug dealers more than families. But there was a bench, and you were waiting for him to take a seat. You had pulled out a compact, expandable emergency rain shield from one of the pockets on your FBI utility belt and tossed it on the bench, protecting you both from soaking your underwear.

Spencer sat, setting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward with his hands pressed to his face. He took deep, steadying breaths as you joined him, your hand on the back of his neck. At first, he thought you were just resting it there because his FBI vest would have prevented him from feeling your hand on his back, however, a moment later it was joined by your other hand and a very cold object.

Resisting the urge to pull away, he gasped at the contact, “What-?”

“On-the-go cold compress, Doctor.” You explained, leaving it in place and then rummaging again. Spencer wanted to look but the compress, combined with the quiet, was already doing wonders. He continued to take deep breaths.

“When you’re ready, try this.” You said softly, pressing something to his hand. Opening his eyes, he saw a mini flask that had his name written on the side.

He turned his head slowly so as not to move the compress and met your eyes, which were assessing him with concern. “(Y/N), when did we start drinking on the job?”

You giggled quietly, “It’s just water mixed with this like, vitamin powder that’s supposed to be good for rehydrating you quickly. I did some research on how to help headaches like yours on the go, just in case, and I made this ‘Spencer’ care bag.” You rambled a little when he didn’t reply.

Spencer looked back at the flask and opened it, quickly downing the contents. It tasted pretty fruity and he realized he was thirsty, this taking the edge off.

“Is it okay?” You asked. Spencer raised his head and met your eyes, searching them.

He was overwhelmed, the headache already fading, in its place an intensely warm feeling building inside of him as he considered the time and effort you had taken to care for him. He hadn’t asked you, or hinted, you had just taken it on to find a way to help him and you were right there when he needed you the most.

You had always been there when he needed you. When he had been shot protecting Blake, when he struggled to care for his mother, when he had gone to prison, when he was freed, you were there.

The words tumbled out, unable to be contained a second longer.

“I am hopelessly in love with you.”

Your mouth opened and closed in surprise, taken entirely off guard. Though he worried what you would say, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt having finally said it out loud. He watched patiently as your mind processed his confession, holding his breath.

“I-Spencer,” And then suddenly your lips were pressing into his and the pain from his headache ceased entirely. Spencer was consumed by the feel of you against him, of your hands holding his face and the hum of content you gave when he returned your passion, dropping his flask and sliding his hands up your neck, gripping tenderly.

After what could have been hours, weeks, or years, you both broke apart, pulling back just enough to make eye contact without your eyes crossing. Neither of you let go, your breath puffing out in wisps in the cold night air.

“I love you too,” You breathed, “I could grow old with you, Winston.”

Spencer laughed, relief and happiness swooping through him at your words, “Gladys, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

You grinned back at Spencer, and then he kissed you again.

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