(i could never nag anyone to do anything thanks to my handy dandy anxiety disorder) BUT in the spirit of the spicy content you've provided in the past few days, imagine pres thom and aftercare. i mean how sweet he must be....
i got carried away w/ this oops :)) it takes place btwn their wedding n his inauguratiom
—————————
“Hey, shh, c’mere.”
Y/N could feel herself crying, even if it wasn’t fully conscious; the minute Thomas untied her hands, she curled into herself, but she didn’t put up any resistance when he pulled her into his arms, cradled her against his chest.
“I’ve got you, alright?” he murmured, and the concerned look he wore softened when she clung to him, her arms around his neck. He rubbed circles softly into her lower back. “You’re safe. It’s alright; just relax, sweetheart.”
They sat in silence a few moments, then, leaning against the headboard as Thomas pressed soft kisses to her hair and to her arms, where they were close enough to his mouth. He shifted her on his lap, and she whimpered against his skin.
“You okay?” he whispered. When she just gave a noncommittal hum, he muttered into her hair, “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” Her words were muffled, her face buried into his chest, but they made him smile. He smoothed her hair back and lifted her chin. Her eyes still watered; her gaze was hesitant as she glanced up at him.
“Everything feelin’ okay? Anything hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She reclined against his arms, tilted her head back when he kissed the red marks his fingers had left on her neck.
“You sure?”
“Promise.” Her smile was halfhearted, and he furrowed his brow when she didn't meet his eyes, cupping her face in his hand.
“What d’you need? Water? Food?” he asked, “If you want, I can draw a bath, get you cleaned up, or we can just go to sleep ‘n worry about all that in the morning.”
She sniffled, shrugged. “Food sounds nice,” she mumbled, but when she frowned, she went on. “But ‘m okay. Don’t go off to the kitchen. I don’t wanna be alone.”
“Relax, I’m not gonna leave you.”
"Okay," she whispered, pulling herself up to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He massaged her back when she turned to straddle his lap, and she hummed contentedly. "That feels nice."
"Good." He kissed her shoulder. "Want you to feel good."
"I do." She finally leaned back, looking him in the eye. His hands were gentle as one came to rest at her waist, the other pushing her hair away from her face. "Are you alright?"
"Am I alright?" he repeated, and when she shrugged hesitantly, he gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm just fine, sweetheart. 'M a little more worried about you, right now." He leaned in toward her, but he stopped himself short, running his thumb along her cheekbone. "It okay if I kiss you?"
At the concern in his quiet voice, the tentativeness in his actions, she smiled, pulling him closer. "Of course," she whispered, kissing his lips softly, and when he went on, kissing her cheek tenderly, her smile widened. "You're sweet."
"Dunno if you're gonna be singing the same tune when you wake up covered in bruises tomorrow," he warned, and although he meant the words to be playful, worry permeated his voice; she could feel it in every press of his lips against the side of her head, with every nervous brush of his hands against her body. He was treating her like fine china, afraid that if he held on too hard, she just might shatter. She shook her head.
"Don't talk like that," she murmured, pulling his face back to hers with a hand under his cheek. He raised an eyebrow. "I hate when you talk after sex like you did something wrong. You know I wanted all this, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know," he reassured her, resting his forehead against hers. "I just worry."
"I know you do." Her hold on his body tightened; she pulled him closer, if only because she could tell he was too hesitant to do it himself. "Love you, Thomas."
His smile was watery. "I love you, too."
She rested the side of her head against his chest, kissed his collarbone, and her expression softened when he wrapped her in a blanket; she let her eyes fall shut. When he tucked it under her side and pulled it over her legs, he looped his other arm under her knees. She could’ve fallen asleep there quite easily as he nosed into her neck, kissed the blossoming hickeys on her soft skin, but when her stomach growled loudly, he sighed.
"Alright, we needa get you somethin' to eat." His words sounded final, and when he shifted under her, she pulled back with a concerned look.
"You said you'd stay with me," she protested, and he smiled, kissed her forehead.
"I know. I'm not leavin', but you should have a snack before you fall asleep, here."
"Forget a snack, I could go for a whole meal," she muttered, curling back into his chest, and he raised an eyebrow. "Can you make pancakes tomorrow? A big breakfast sounds nice."
"Aren't you hungry now?"
"I can wait."
He huffed at her words and a surprised yelp escaped her when he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself to his feet, her still resting in his arms. Her eyes flew open.
“Thomas, what are you doing?” she asked, and despite the trace of panic in her voice, a laugh permeated her words. He grinned.
“What, don't you want pancakes?” he asked, and her sigh was exasperated. “We’re going to the kitchen.”
“You could’ve given me some warning before carrying me through your penthouse,” she murmured, shoving his chest lightly.
“Our penthouse,” he corrected her. She rolled her eyes, curling back into his chest.
“Your penthouse. I just live here.”
“Oh, hush.” He shook his head as he turned to the side, shuffling her through the doorway. “This place is every bit as much yours as it is mine. I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Whatever. Nothing in this place is mine.” She glanced up at him, wearing a wry smile, and he met her eyes with a raised brow. “Except you, of course.”
Her words made him laugh, but the quip was reassuring as she stretched up to kiss his collarbone; he was relieved that she was still feeling alright.
“What, you wanna remodel this place?” he offered. She cocked her head to the side. “We can redecorate, if you wanna.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sweetheart, if I haven’t already made it clear, I’d do just about anything for you.” He kissed her forehead as he set her down on the kitchen counter, tucking a cushion from one of the kitchen chairs under her. She hummed contentedly, pulling her blanket tighter around her. "You need ice for anything? I know tonight got intense."
She shook her head. "Nothing hurts too bad. It's nothing that I won't be able to sleep off." He furrowed his brow, and when she met his eyes, she added, "but I'll let you know if anything still hurts tomorrow, okay?"
"I'm holdin' you to that," he warned as he turned to withdraw a dish towel from the cabinet above the sink, ran it under the water from the faucet. He wrung it dry. “C’mere.”
Her eyebrows jumped when he pulled her to the edge of the counter by her thighs; her eyes widened when he parted her legs by the knees.
“Thomas,” she whined, shifting in his grasp when he used the rag to wipe both their drying cum from her inner thighs. The lukewarm water and the feel of his calloused fingers on her sensitive skin sent shivers down her legs. “Let me do that.”
“Ah, ah, ah.” He pulled the cloth away as she tried to take it from him, and she looked at him impatiently. He took a step closer to her; she raised her eyebrows, and he rested his forehead against hers. “C’mon, baby. Just lemme take care of you, alright? I’m the one who made this mess, anyway.”
“To be fair, it’s both our mess.” She rolled her eyes as he ran his hands up her legs. Despite everything, the feeling still made her skin jump under his touch as she rested her arms across his shoulders.
“Just lemme clean you off,” he said, and his pleading pout made her bite her lips, suppressing her endeared smile. “Please?”
“Must you be so overbearing?” she asked. He shrugged, unapologetic, and reluctantly, she leaned back onto her hands. His smile was soft as he leaned down to kiss her shoulder. She squirmed when he used the dishrag to wipe her pussy clean, and he laughed at her tiny whimper.
“Can’t you sit still?” He pulled back to look her in the eyes with his brows raised. Her scowl was playful.
“Not my fault you left me so sensitive.”
When she swatted his arm, his smile only widened as he leaned in to kiss her. She could feel his grin against her lips, more teeth than technique, and when his mouth found its way to her neck, she giggled.
“Love you,” he murmured against her upper chest, and she knit her hands into his hair, lifting his head back up to hers.
“I love you, too.” She kissed his nose. “Now, are we eating, or what? C’mon, Jefferson; I was promised food.”
“My apologies, Jefferson,” he replied, tone ironic, and she rolled her eyes.
“God, maybe marrying you was a mistake,” she huffed. His grin only broadened.
“‘S a little late for that regret, sweetheart,” he said frankly. “Can’t get an annulment, now, ‘n we’re moving into the White House in a month. You’re stuck with me.” He bumped his nose against hers, and she snorted.
“Oh, the horror.” He rolled his eyes at her words as he walked over to their pantry, and she watched him with a small smile. "Can you put chocolate chips in the pancakes?"
He peeked his head out from behind the pantry door. "I was thinkin' blueberry pancakes, tonight." When she stuck her bottom lip out in a sulking pout, he wore an amused smile.
"Oh, c'mon, I'm the injured one," she whined.
"Thought you said you were fine."
"I changed my mind." She shrugged when he emerged with the pancake mix and syrup, but he rolled his eyes.
"See, you manipulatin' me tells me loud 'n clear that you're doin' okay, sweetheart."
She huffed. "So no chocolate chips?"
"How 'bout half and half?"
She pursed her lips as he pulled the griddle out and plugged it in. "Only if you put sprinkles in the chocolate chip ones."
He laughed. "Alright, fair enough."
Her smile matched his when he kissed her forehead in passing before retrieving a bowl from the cabinet under her. His soft humming as he made the pancake batter, flicked water onto the griddle to see if it was hot enough, made her smile. He drizzled the first couple pancakes on, and she laughed softly when he made a smiley face out of chocolate chips in one.
"You're adorable," she said softly, and he glanced over at her with a smile.
"I try." The self-satisfaction in his voice made her laugh. She sniffled.
"I'm gonna go put on some clothes, alright?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're feeling good enough to be on your own, right now?"
"I'm fine, T," she promised, kissing his upper arm as he flipped a pancake. "Be right back."
"Can you grab me a pair of pants?" he called after her, and she only nodded.
She yawned as she padded across his cold hardwood floor, tugging at her hair to try and get the worst of the tangles out of it. She went straight for his dresser in their bedroom, disregarding her own, and when she slipped on one of his old college t-shirts, she pulled the hem up to her nose, inhaling deeply. She didn't bother to put anything on under them.
When she returned to the kitchen, she pushed herself up to sit on the counter right beside the griddle, watching Thomas as he cooked (and popping several of the blueberries he'd retrieved from the fridge into her mouth). He turned his head, raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Thought you were the one who didn't want the blueberries."
"And I thought you wanted to put on a pair of pants." She raised her eyebrows, holding up his sweatpants, and he grinned as he took them from her.
"Hey, I was just gonna let you enjoy the eye candy for a little longer, but if you've had enough, I guess I can get dressed."
"Please," she snorted. "I have a whole life ahead of me to look at your limp dick. I think I'll manage."
"So mean," he complained, but as he put on the sweatpants, he leaned over to kiss her. "I still like thinking about the fact that you're stuck with me for the rest of your life, now. It doesn't get old."
"Yeah, but we will." She ate a handful of chocolate chips. "Are you really looking forward to bingo nights at our nursing home in fifty years?"
"Fifty years," he repeated softly, and when he sniffled, lifted his hand to wipe at his cheek, her eyebrows shot up.
"Thomas, are you crying?"
"No." His defense was weak; as he lifted his head, she could see his watery eyes.
"You're tearing up."
"'S not my fault you're makin' me sentimental," he said, jabbing her arm with his spatula. She giggled as she ducked away from it. "You know that kinda talk gets me emotional; don't you tease me."
"You're just giving me more reason to tease you, baby," she replied softly, but when he gave her a flat stare, she giggled. She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I love you."
"Yeah, yeah, sure you do," he dismissed, and before she could defend herself, plastering on a pout, he turned to their spice cabinet. "What kinda sprinkles d'you want? Chocolate? Rainbow?"
"Rainbow, of course." He pulled them down from the shelf. "Chocolate chips and chocolate sprinkles would be overkill. Aren't you supposed to be the chef in this relationship?"
"Oh, shut it," he grumbled, and she squealed when he poked the side of her waist. He paused, though, when they heard his phone buzz behind him. "Hey, can you check on that for me?"
"Mhm."
He went on humming a tune she couldn't quite place as she grabbed his phone from where it was charging in the kitchen, and when she unlocked it, she laughed.
Thomas turned around. "What's so funny?"
She held up the phone with a grin. "Lafayette says he's going to file a noise complaint if we ruin another night of sleep for him."
Thomas rolled his eyes. "Guess we'll have to be quieter, next time."
"Maybe you should just buy me a gag."
Her words made him choke on his own spit.
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freedom of the press 07 | thomas jefferson
title: freedom of the press 07
pairing: thomas jefferson x reader
words: 15k
warnings: implied sex, mega jealousy, and heavy angst. that’s all for now im sorry for the ending </3
desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?
tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123
"THOMAS," Y/N MURMURED, fatigue heavy in her voice as she shook his sleeping body. "Thomas, c'mon, wake up."
He didn't move, and she sighed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, shift his heavy arms from where they lay slung around her waist — the task was surprisingly difficult. His face still rested against her neck, and she began to tug harder at his forearms.
"Hey, come on, rise and shine," she huffed, and the frustration in her voice at her predicament was growing audible. When she could feel his smile widening against her skin, though, it became clear that his limbs weren't just unnaturally hefty and he wasn't the world's heaviest sleeper. He'd been awake the whole time, likely before she even had.
It'd been two weeks since Thomas had held his campaign event in Mira and Orlando's diner, and it'd been three days since her interview with John Adams. By now, they were 28 primaries deep, and it was almost irrefutable that Thomas would become the Republican presidential nominee come that summer's RNC.
She squirmed in his grasp, turning her head to look back at him, but he didn't let up. If anything, his arms tightened around her waist; his eyes didn't open. "I know you're awake," she said, her voice expectant. Still, he didn't budge. "Stop with the act. I want breakfast," she said, and though she was making an honest effort to sound stern, giggles pervaded her soft voice as he nuzzled his face into her neck.
"Shh, sweetheart, 'm still sleepin'," he grumbled, voice gruff despite his ever-broadening grin. "Go back to bed. 'S too early for breakfast."
"Thomas, it's 11 AM," she replied, and he cracked one eye open to see her skeptical stare. She couldn't hide her smile, either, though.
"'M not sure I follow your point." She rolled her eyes when his lips met the skin just below her ear, but she relaxed in his hold, tilting her head away as he began kissing down her jawline. "I've had a tirin' week; don't tell me you're really gonna try and deprive me of the little rest I get."
"Mmh, that I can understand, but I'm not sure you're making much of an effort to get back to sleep right now." Her voice was knowing, and when he chuckled, the vibrations of the sound, the tickle of his breath danced against her skin.
"Sure I am." She let out a squeak when he nipped at her earlobe. "'S not my fault you're distractin' me. You're not bein' very considerate, sweetheart."
"Shut up," she laughed, "I have places to be, you know. Keeping me trapped here may as well be actively sabotaging my career."
"Oh, so I should let you get up so you can get back to libelin' me in the papers?"
Y/N shifted in his arms, and that time he let her as she turned to face him, resting her hands on his chest. "Precisely."
As Thomas leaned in to kiss her, he let out a quiet huff of laughter, his hands trailing down to her hips. "And gimme one reason I should let you," he whispered against her lips.
She shrugged, giving a coy smile. "It's good for your publicity?"
That time, his laugh was full-bodied as he pushed her onto her back, resting on his forearm beside her head, and that time, she pulled him down to her with her arms looped around his neck. When their lips met, his hand slid under her where she lay, pressing up against the small of her back. Her grin widened against his, and his mouth fell to the skin of her neck, rising to leave the beginnings of a hickey just under her jawbone. She squealed, a hand tangling into his hair.
"Thomas!" She tried to scold him, but the lighthearted surprise in her voice abandoned her intention. "Thomas, you cannot give me a hickey there, c'mon."
Obligingly, his lips left her neck, but his grin was wide as his nose brushed along the bottom of her cheek. "Now, I don't see why not. You've got a couple of 'em elsewhere; what's wrong with this one?"
"You know what's wrong with it." That time, she managed to keep her voice even as she raised her eyebrows at him, pulling his head back up toward hers. "If I wanna be able to hide that, I'm gonna have to walk around in a ski mask."
"Aw, c'mon, sweetheart." His left hand rose from her waist to her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her cheekbone as his fingertips brushed the hair behind her ear. "You really that ashamed to be sleepin' with the future president?"
"'Future president'," she repeated with a huff of incredulous laughter, the sound almost a snort. "You're so fucking full of yourself."
"I've heard people say that confidence is sexy," he said, and she rolled her eyes.
"Maybe, but arrogance is kind of a turn-off." She gave an apologetic shrug, and as he shook his head with amusement, his smile was undeterred.
"I must be walkin' that line pretty well, then." His self-satisfaction permeated the entirety of his demeanor, and he kissed the corner of her mouth. "'Cause you've never seemed to mind."
"Oh my god, it is too early for your ego to already be this big," she groaned, shoving his shoulder, and though he rolled onto his back with little resistance, wearing a lazy grin, he pulled her with him, her hands resting on his shoulders and legs straddling his waist.
His hands ghosted across her hips. "Sorry, sweetheart, but really, you're the one feedin' my ego, so if you took some ownership of your actions, maybe we wouldn't have this problem."
She raised her eyebrows, eyeing him. "I'm feeding your ego? I have a few articles that'd beg to differ."
"I didn't say your writin' was." He shrugged, tracing circles into the skin of her lower back. "'S pretty unflatterin', really, but I'm above the haters."
"Then how am I inflating your ego?"
Despite how dubious her expectant expression remained, his smile broadened. "'Cause you keep comin' back here for more."
He didn't waste another moment before pulling her body back down against his, a hand resting at the nape of her neck as he leaned up to kiss her. She laughed against his lips and put up no resistance, not as he deepened it, not as his every action became more impatient, his every touch harsher. It was when he tried to push her back so he was above her that she pulled away.
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head, her voice stern despite how her chest was heaving, how she was struggling to catch her breath. "I'm getting up, Thomas. The options I gave you were to get some more sleep or to finally pull yourself together and be productive. Last I checked, neither of those included making out in your bed."
He frowned, but the look in his eyes was playful regardless. "You're just bein' uncreative."
Y/N rolled her eyes with an entertained smile as she climbed off of him, and despite the thinly-veiled disappointment in his expression (something that escaped her), he let her go easily.
"Where are you headed on a Saturday mornin' that's so urgent, anyway?" he asked, pursing his lips as he pushed himself off the side of his bed, standing and reaching down for the shirt he'd discarded onto his floor. She shrugged, pulling back on her jeans.
"I have an article I have to finish drafting by this evening. It's a bit longer than some of my others, and my editor's getting impatient."
There was a certain deliberacy in her not meeting his gaze, but it wasn't something he realized. "Yeah? What's it about?"
"The usual," she said, glancing back at him with a smile. "You."
He grinned. "Y'know, I can get you a meetin' with a primary source, if you want."
Her laugh at his words was light as she fixed the necklace she'd fallen asleep in, detangling it from her hair. "Might that meeting happen to be with you, right now?"
She raised an expectant eyebrow, and he huffed at her conviction as she pulled on her sweater. "'M gettin' too predictable, huh?"
"You still manage to keep me on my toes." Her reply was absentminded, her focus instead on the torn clasp of her bra, and she stuffed it into her purse with a disappointed sigh. "But really, I should be headed out. I have a feeling it won't be too long before I run into you again."
"Just can't stay away from me?" His gaze was teasing, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Not if I want to keep my job." She offered a wry smile. "And considering the benefits that apparently come with it, I'm not about to give it up."
"Glad to hear I'm invaluable."
"Keep telling yourself that."
__________
"...ANG?"
"HM?"
"HAVE you ever written an article that you felt like you shouldn’t publish?"
Y/N glanced back at her roommate from her spot on the couch, holding a red pen and a hard copy of the article she'd drafted the night prior. She'd promised her editor it'd be sent in by midnight, and there she sat, twenty hours later, agonizing over the writing with her sweatpants and a bowl of ramen.
Angelica shrugged.
"I dunno. Maybe?" She walked over from the kitchen, leaning on the back of the couch as she glanced down at her. "What's the article about?"
"It doesn't matter." Y/N was quick to turn it over, hiding the headline before Angelica could catch anything more than the words 'Family Values.' Angelica raised an eyebrow. "But... I just don't know if it's the type of thing I want to be writing."
"I'm going to need more information than that, honey." She came around to join Y/N on the couch with her own mug of tea. Y/N sighed.
"I've just been feeling lately like Ashley wants me to become a gossip columnist, or something. I want to write real news, my own analyses. Not some bullshit modern-day yellow journalism."
At that, Angelica groaned. "I got the same spiel when she was my editor, too. That's why I changed departments."
Y/N raised a brow. "Seriously?"
As she fiddled absentmindedly with her stack of papers, folding the article in her lap, Angelica shrugged, gave a halfhearted nod. "I didn't have much of a choice, as I saw it. Ashley doesn't really care about content; she cares about readers. She'll always do anything for more of them."
"But I like covering politics," Y/N sighed. "I just don't like doing it like this."
"You aren't leaving yourself too many options, there."
"I know." She picked her laptop back up from the coffee table, swallowing thickly, and she eyed her drafted PDF. "But I've worked too hard for all of this to just give it up, and I love what I do at the Post."
"So what's the plan?"
"Hm?" She glanced up, her preoccupied gaze having fallen to the page of John Adams's grim soliloquy. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what are you going to tell Ashley? You can't avoid her forever," Angelica pointed out. "You still have to go in to work tomorrow, so you've gotta have something to give her."
She drew in a shaky breath as she minimized the tab of her article, beginning to resent staring at the double-spaced, Times New Roman void that'd long since begun to stare back. "I'll probably just dig something up about James Madison's time in Congress. I'm sure there's some era of his voting history I've yet to dramatize."
"I'm sure she’ll love it," Angelica replied in a dry tone, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "Lights, camera, James Madison votes 'nay' on impeachment. What an absolute riot it'll be."
Y/N rolled her eyes at the brash skepticism. "I know that's not what she's looking for, but it'll tide her over until I can figure out what to do with my draft."
"C'mon, what's it say? Just tell me; it can't be that bad," Angelica reasoned, tipping her mug in Y/N's direction (and ignoring the teaspoon of Earl Gray that sloshed over its side). "You were so eager to interview John Adams — what'd he tell you that you don't want to publish?"
"It's not... that bad. It'd be front-page news," she said, lips pursed. Her tone was hesitant. "The problem is, Adams couldn't give me anything to corroborate his claims. I have no way of knowing whether this is literally libel."
"Give it over." Angelica reached for the folded draft Y/N held in her lap, at which she raised an eyebrow. "What am I going to do with it, Y/N? I just can't give you any advice without context."
She handed it to her reluctantly, and the silence sat heavy atop her shoulders for the next few minutes. Angelica was skimming the article, collecting the main points and glossing over the rest, but every time Angelica's eyebrows jumped, so did Y/N's pulse. She swallowed hard as Angelica reached the final paragraph. She folded it back up, and just sat there a moment, took a deep breath. Finally—
"Wow," Angelica breathed. "You're right. That would be front-page news."
"I know."
"So what's the sticking place?"
"I just feel like..." Y/N trailed off, doing her best to pinpoint the source of her hesitation. "What Adams told me was years ago. He couldn't tell me anything about it happening again, and it feels so cheap to try and drag up Thomas's past like this now that he's broken away from it."
Angelica didn’t comment on her using his first name, although she raised an eyebrow. "But if you find out it's all true, then there's no harm. Not to you, anyway — unless you care about hurting Jefferson's feelings."
Sarcasm was lain thick in Angelica's words, but they made Y/N flinch. "It just isn't relevant to the election, and I hate to think it could affect it despite that. I don't want to be the kind of reporter that publishes things like this."
"But if he's done it before, who's to say he won't again? Who's to say he isn't already?" Angelica asked, and Y/N was struggling to hold her tongue — she was to say he wasn't; she would know; by then, wasn't she as good as a primary source?
When she didn't respond, Angelica shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Y/N. I get your hesitation, but honestly, there are worse things to publish than an exposé on Thomas Jefferson's harrowing past."
She glanced over at her, eyed Y/N's troubled expression with her lips pursed. "I think this is a decision only you can make. Only you know what kind of reporter you want to be."
_____________
THE NEXT NIGHT was the first time in weeks that Y/N had told her friends she was going to Lafayette's place and then actually went to Lafayette's place. He was at the stove when she arrived, making himself dinner, and he'd left the door unlocked for her, shouting to 'come in!' when she knocked.
"So, am I allowed to ask why it is zat you so urgently needed me?" He glanced back at her over his shoulder when she greeted him, shrugging her jacket off, but he didn't seem to have any patience for pleasantries.
"I never said I 'urgently needed you'," Y/N defended, brow furrowed as she took a seat at his kitchen counter. "I just want to talk."
Lafayette deadpanned as he turned to her, eyeing her skeptically. Apparently, her unease was obvious. "Why do you want to talk to me, Y/N?" he asked, voice flat. He folded his arms when she raised her eyebrows.
When she paused, his skepticism escalated, and she sighed. "I came to ask for advice. I'm trying to figure something out for my job."
"Oui?" He furrowed his brow as he turned to join her, taking a seat across the counter and leaving his food to simmer. Y/N nodded.
She eyed him warily when the silence between them stretched on, hesitant to ask her next question, but she was delaying the inevitable. She said in a small voice, "Can I ask you about Thomas's past?"
Lafayette's eyebrows shot up. "His past? What for?"
"An article, of course." Y/N sounded unfairly disgruntled as she let out a huff. "It's... a problematic piece. I met with a source who asked to remain unnamed, and I'm having trouble corroborating what he told me; it seems so tabloid-y. I was hoping you could give me some kind of insight into whether it’s true."
He folded his arms, contemplative gaze averted to the countertop, and gave a slow nod. "I see. What 'as your source told you?"
Y/N hesitated, before reaching for her bag. "D'you know about Thomas's late fiancée?"
"Martha?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up. Y/N nodded reluctantly. "What could zis possibly 'ave to do with 'er?"
"It's not about her, but..." She trailed off, but after a moment, she sighed, withdrawing a printed copy of the article from her bag. "She's a factor in the story. Here, just read it. You'll understand why I'm so hesitant to move forward with publishing."
"Alright."
Several minutes passed in radio silence after she slid him her draft. Ultimately, his reaction bore very little difference from Angelica's.
"Wow." Instead of the shock Y/N had received from her best friend, Lafayette's tone was of flat disappointment. He let out a heavy sigh. "I did know about all of zis, but I am not sure I understand why your source is bringing it up now. You do know zat Thomas 'as not done any of zat in years, non?"
"I mean, I know he isn't doing it right now, but to be honest..." Y/N trailed off with a shrug. "I haven't known him all that long. I don't know how recently he stopped, and I don't know if he'd ever do it again."
"Let us look at zis logically, hm?" Lafayette said, passing her back the papers. "I understand why you would want to publish zis, but I hesitate to tell you zat is what you should do. What do you gain from putting zis in ze paper?"
"Well, the benefits are pretty obvious," she said, her gaze downcast, and Lafayette sat with his patient, gentle concern. "This would be a big story. It'd be a major career booster; I might even be able to leave my job and find a higher-paying one. Otherwise, I could probably leverage it for a raise. It could solve so many of my money problems."
"Zat does seem rather nice," he agreed softly, but they were both aware there was more to the story.
"I know," she groaned, slumping on his counter, and she wore a guilty frown. She didn't meet his eyes. "But I just... don't know if that's the right choice."
"So what is 'olding you back?" Lafayette leaned onto the counter, a brow raised, and Y/N met his gaze.
"I … don't know if I can do that to Thomas. I mean, he's running for president, sure, but at the end of the day, he's just a person," she said, and sympathy laced Lafayette's gaze. "He told me about his fianceé, actually. I know this is a really, really sensitive subject, and it feels wrong to publish it."
"When did you talk to Thomas about 'er?"
"More than a month ago, now." She swallowed. "I was, um, telling him about someone I'd lost, and he told me about how she died when he was younger. It made me feel less alone; I don't want to betray his trust like this. I... don't wanna lose him, after all that."
"So you are worried about 'urting 'im?" Lafayette asked softly, tilting his head to one side, and she took a deep, shuddering breath.
"How could I not be?" she retorted, shoulders tense. "On top of outright airing his dirty laundry, it'd force him to address such a tragedy with the entirety of the American public."
A beat passed, and Lafayette was hesitant to voice his thoughts, but Y/N's mind was racing, dragging her back down to the frustrated, guilty headspace she'd been unable to escape over the past few days. Finally, Lafayette broke the silence.
"You really care about protecting Thomas, do you not?" he said quietly, and as she didn't reply, it seemed he'd hit the mark. "Chérie, if you care about 'im like zat, I think you are going to need to sort it out before you go any further with zis article."
"Wait, what d'you mean, 'care about him like that'?" Y/N echoed. "We're friends, Lafayette. Usually, I try not to put my friends through this kind of grief."
"Only friends?" he asked, a brow raised. He folded his arms as he met her dead stare.
"Yes." She scowled, folding up the article and tucking it back into a folder. "This isn't about my relationship with him; it's about me trying to be a decent human being. I'd do the same if this article were about you, y'know."
He wore a small smile; her frustrated insistence had become defensive. "Mmh, perhaps, but it would not be for ze same reasons."
"Shut up; yes it would," she mumbled. Her cheeks burned. "You're making this deeper than it is. It's a question of my journalistic integrity. That's it."
"Zat was not ze impression I was getting while you were going on about 'not wanting to lose 'im'."
"Can you stop making fun of me and just give me some advice?" She huffed, but he could only laugh.
"Of course," he said, resting a hand on her arm in an effort to placate her, but she rolled her eyes. "I believe zat it comes down to what you truly think is right, honestly, but as far as I can tell, you 'ave less to gain zan you 'ave to lose by publishing zis."
Her weary sigh was beyond heavy; defeat was strung across her shoulders. Publishing the article might be the wrong choice, but living as she was, hardly paying her bills and struggling to stay afloat with her student debt, working two jobs to make ends meet, the benefits were tempting. "Of course you'd say that," she said. He raised an affronted brow. "You're French nobility by birth. You have no idea what it's like to be broke, do you?"
He paused. "Non," he said. "I do not. And I will not stand 'ere and tell you zat Thomas is more important zan your job. But please, Y/N, remember zat you 'ave many friends who would be willing to support you through financial troubles. Myself included."
"Can you even imagine how shitty it feels to be dependent on everyone around me?" Y/N asked, and Lafayette pursed his lips. "I already feel so guilty for my godparents cutting me a deal on rent. But if I get to a point where I can't even afford that, I'm fucked. My car's already a piece of junk, and the brakes are so worn-out that it's a wonder I haven't gotten into a wreck yet. I need to, at least, be able to afford somewhere to live."
"But you would 'ave ze same income if you chose not to publish zis," he countered, and she sighed.
"I don’t think I would, actually. My editor's pissed about me not following through with an article from this interview—" She motioned to the papers, "—and she's been dropping thinly-veiled threats about transferring me to another department. Having to start over in an entirely new area of reporting, my pay is going to drop."
A beat passed as Lafayette considered her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.
"Listen, Y/N, no matter what choice you make, I will not judge you," he ultimately said, "but if you go through with publishing zis, Thomas will almost certainly be unable to forgive you."
"I know," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "But I love my job. I love being able to report on the presidential election, be in the thick of everything. The position is more than just a paycheck, and the fact that it's in jeopardy hurts. As much as I hate to say it, I'm not sure if I can justify putting Thomas before my career."
"You do not 'ave to," he assured her, "but you asked for my opinion. And I do not think zat you should put zis in print."
A long moment passed in silence. He was right; she knew he was right, that this article could come back to bite her, but every time she thought about how often she had to crank down the heat in her apartment to lower her utilities bill, or the nights she’d count her tips from the diner down to the penny with the desperate hope that they’d put her student loan payment over the top, she found herself entertaining the possibility nonetheless.
"Thank you," she finally said, "Really. I just need some time to think. I need to sort this out for myself."
"I trust your judgment." Lafayette's answer was almost too generous considering the circumstance; nausea was settling into the pit of her stomach as he offered her a gentle smile. "But... is zere any chance you would be willing to consider bringing zis up to Thomas, if only for ze sake of clarity? I would hate to 'ear zat it did not represent 'is true experience."
"I..." The sentence was intended to be 'I can't.' Talking to him would multiply the guilt lain heavy across her shoulders, but Lafayette was right - were this about anyone else, she'd confront them without a second thought. But if she told Thomas about the article, even if it was true down to the last letter, she wouldn't have the heart to publish it. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. But right now, I don't feel like I can face him."
"You should do it before you send it in."
"And I will," she said, the words carrying a surprising air of finality. "But this has me feeling... too conflicted; I don't even know how I'm gonna deal with him showing up at the diner during my shift tomorrow."
"Can you not get someone else to cover ze shift?" he asked, and she pursed her lips, resting her head in her hands.
"Yeah, you don't get it. I live in the flat above the diner, so they'll just come upstairs and drag me out of bed in the morning," she said. "It's a no-win situation."
He paused, before offering, "If you want, you could stay 'ere overnight, just until your shift ends." Her eyebrows shot up.
"Wait, seriously?"
He shrugged. "You did not cause me too much trouble ze last time you stayed ‘ere, so I do not think zere would be any issue."
She hesitated, eyeing him as if looking for some ulterior motive, but when she (finally) accepted the authenticity of the suggestion, she answered, "That'd be excellent. Thank you."
"It is my pleasure, truly," he said, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smile. "But can I offer you pajamas? To each their own, but I, for one, would not be eager to sleep in those jeans."
She laughed at the quip, his light tone putting her at ease. "That’d be great."
"Alright, give me one moment."
As he retreated from the kitchen, disappeared down the hall back to his bedroom, Y/N stuffed her article back into her purse, zipping it shut — out of sight, out of mind. Instead of dwelling, she kicked off her shoes by his door, went to curl up on his couch with her phone. Casting her guilty conscience aside would only last another minute or two.
The door to Lafayette's apartment clicked open.
Y/N's head shot up in surprise as heavy footsteps came in without a moment of hesitation. He didn't see her at first, not as he circled back to lock the door behind him, but the identity of the man who’d just walked in was unmistakable. He turned; as he surveyed the apartment, his and Y/N's eyes met, and Thomas Jefferson stood before her — it seemed she'd made the mistake of speaking of the devil, as, serendipitously, there he appeared.
Though he furrowed his brow, a grin split his expression. "Y/N?" he asked, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Hey, what're you doin' here?"
"Oh, I um..." Her smile was hesitant. "I just dropped by to say hi to Lafayette. What are you doing here?"
His smile drooped almost imperceptibly at her accusatory tone. "Just came over to see if I could borrow his laptop real quick. My charger broke, and I'm tryin' to send a couple files."
"Oh," was all she answered with. A moment passed in silence, then; she wasn't sure how to proceed when all she could focus on was the mounting guilt she carried on her shoulders, but she didn't break his gaze, and he nodded to the couch.
"Mind if I join you?"
Her relief at his breaking the silence was written across her face — she wore a grateful smile, gave a small nod. "Please."
When the couch dipped on her left, she took a deep breath, desperate to clear her head as she averted her eyes from him. When she turned back to him, though, she didn't find Thomas by her side, but instead seated with a cautious degree of space between them, his legs propped up on the ottoman. He was too far to unwittingly come into contact with her, for her to bump into his shoulder, for her to inadvertently brush her leg against his as she turned on the couch, but he was close enough that she could’ve. Her fingers twitched in her lap.
"So where's Laf, then?" he asked, turning his head toward her, and as she pulled her legs up onto the couch, she shifted in her seat, leaning against its back to face him.
"He's just back in his room," she said, and she had to bite her tongue before she could elaborate on why. "He, um, probably won't be long. He was just here."
A moment passed in silence as Thomas watched her, but she didn't say another word. "Alright," he finally said, but he paused before he asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Hm?" Her eyebrows shot toward her hairline. Her gaze had drifted toward Lafayette's rug, away from Thomas. She didn't meet his eyes. "I mean, yeah, of course; why wouldn't it be?"
She offered him a tight smile, but apparently, he was just a shade too perceptive for her.
"You seem... preoccupied, sweetheart," he said, and concern was etched into his raised eyebrow. "Did somethin' happen?"
"Nothing; don't worry," she assured him, though the easygoing expression she wore was shallow.
"You really don't think I know you well enough to see right through that?" His disbelief was clear in his voice, too, but had it not expanded the weight of her guilt on her shoulders, his easy confidence that he could read her like a book would've softened her.
She frowned. "You don't have to sound so suspicious. Maybe you just don't know me as well as you think."
"'Suspicious'?" he repeated in disbelief, letting out a dry laugh. "Sorry, then. 'M not tryin' to grill you, I was just concerned." Her eyes were fixed on the four feet of space between them on the couch, and he still wore a tentative smile.
The way he watched her, eyeing her figure, the way she shifted in her poorly-suppressed agitation, was reminiscent of the hesitation on his face when he'd found her weeks before in that very room, clad only in a towel and a fading hickey, and proceeded to accuse her of sleeping with Lafayette. She wasn't fond of the parallel.
"Well, relax, then," she said. "Everything's just fine."
"If you say so.”
She couldn't remember having ever been so on-edge around him — not during Washington's state dinner, all those months back; not in Detroit after the debates; not even the fateful night when he'd showed up to her diner three minutes before closing — and she didn’t like the feeling one bit. She was painstakingly aware of where her printed article was tucked away in relation to their spots on the couch.
"Anyway, what've you and Laf been up to all evenin'?" Thomas asked, and the way he was watching her had annoyance compounding. Her focus was shifting from her article to the bitter trace in his voice. "Hope I'm not here... interruptin' anything."
"Not at all," she said firmly. "Like I said, we've just been talking."
"...Gotcha."
She didn't cherish the unsteady silence that fell between them, though, despite making no move to fill it. Maybe coming to Lafayette's had been a mistake.
To her relief, though, that was the moment Lafayette chose to re-emerge from the hall where his bedroom was, a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants (the same ones that she'd all but repossessed when she lived there) in hand. Upon seeing Thomas seated beside Y/N, though, he discarded them onto his kitchen counter, eyebrows raised as he approached them. The notable distance between them gave him pause, too.
"Ah, Thomas, it is good to see you," he said, tone unequivocally warm, but he paused before asking, "What brings you to my 'umble 'ome?"
Y/N snorted at his calling the luxury penthouse in any way "humble," but Thomas didn't regard it.
"Just stoppin' by to see if I can borrow your laptop?" Lafayette cocked his head to one side, and Thomas went on, "There are a couple files in my Google Drive I need to send, and my charger's broken. New one doesn't come in the mail till tomorrow. But if the two of you are, well, busy..."
Talk about beating a dead horse. We get it, Thomas. Shift your tunnel vision, please.
"Non. Non, of course, let me go get it. Give me another moment," Lafayette said, but before he left, he turned to Y/N with the stack of clothing he'd discarded on the counter, passing it off to her as he continued toward his office. "And 'ere are ze clothing zat you requested, chérie."
Thomas caught her gaze with a curious brow raised: apparently, Lafayette and Y/N sharing sweatpants wasn't helping her case that they were just there “talking.” She swallowed her grimace.
"Actually, Laf, I appreciate it, but I should probably go." Lafayette paused at her words, turning around with a frown as she stood up with an apologetic smile. "It was good to see you, though."
"I thought that you were staying over ze night," he said, brow furrowed. Thomas's reaction to that wasn't subtle, either, his jaw tense, and her smile was turning into more of a wince.
"No, I mean, I'd better not," she said, giving a halfhearted shrug. "You know I've got my shift at the diner in the morning, and I won't get up early enough to drive back across town before it starts, so really, I should be going."
She had begun to back herself away toward the kitchen, having pulled her purse back onto her shoulder.
"It is 'ardly five in the afternoon. You can still stay longer, then, no?" Lafayette asked, folding his arms.
"I really shouldn't," she said hurriedly, offering little explanation. "I don't want to impose, anyway."
"You would not be imposing. Do not worry," he assured her, but glancing between her and Thomas, a sly smile split his expression. "Thomas, you should stay for dinner as well. It would be nice."
'Nice' was not a word Y/N would've used for it. In a few short minutes, her stay at Lafayette's penthouse had turned from an escape from facing Thomas in the morning into an evening trapped in with him.
"I appreciate the offer, but that's alright," Thomas said. Y/N glanced at him. "I'll give you two the night to yourselves."
At that, she let out a heavy sigh but plastered on a stiff, apologetic expression. "That's not necessary. I was just leaving, anyway. I really should get back to the diner."
Thomas eyed her with heavy skepticism in his gaze. "Yeah? You don't have a shift tonight."
"How would you know that?" Y/N asked, looking him up and down, and despite everything, he cracked a small grin.
"Didn't I say I was gonna learn your schedule, sweetheart?"
A moment passed in silence, and when Thomas raised a playful eyebrow, Y/N couldn't help but smile, pursing her lips in an effort to abate it. "You're still on that?" she asked, and he shrugged. "You're ridiculous."
"You don't seem to mind." He sent her a wink, and while she rolled her eyes, her smile was unbridled.
Meanwhile, Lafayette was watching the interaction with a brow raised, entertained grin playing at his lips. "Are you sure you would not like to both stay for dinner? I was planning on making pasta."
While they'd both glanced up at the sound of Lafayette's voice, at the question, their gazes fell back to one another, both hesitant, both questioning. The silence was drawn-out, but Y/N was the one who decided to break it.
"As much as I'd love to, I really do have work to get done tonight." Her voice was soft as she walked back to where she'd slung her jacket over one of the chairs in Lafayette's kitchen. "Thanks for having me, Lafayette."
"I'm gonna get goin', too." Thomas's actions were hasty as he stood, giving Lafayette a small smile before following Y/N toward his door. Lafayette folded his arms.
"I thought that you needed my laptop."
He paused. "Yeah, 'bout that, I decided I'm gonna go out and buy myself a new charger, instead." His gaze flickered back to Y/N, who was watching him with a brow raised, a small smile playing at her lips as she stood by the door, hesitant to turn the handle. "After all, I can't be comin' over here every time I need your computer. Thanks, though."
"Did you not say you ordered—?"
"Bye, Lafayette." When Thomas spoke that time, it was firm, and Lafayette knew enough to take a hint, backing off with his hands raised in mock surrender. "The offer's real nice, though."
By then, Y/N had made her way out, the conversation between the pair of them falling to the outer range of her earshot as the penthouse door began to fall shut behind her. She was walking down the hall, her pace slow as she focused on re-buttoning her jacket, when she heard heavy footsteps approach behind her, too distinct to mistake. She pursed her lips and glanced back.
Thomas had pulled the door back open just before it'd clicked shut, headed after Y/N but seemingly in no rush (or, otherwise, confident she'd wait for him).
"So, suddenly sending those files isn't much of an urgent matter?" Y/N had stopped in her path when she saw him heading her way, and though her tone was teasing, her small smile was in earnest. He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance.
"I've gotta learn to be self-sufficient at some point, now, don't I?"
"Awfully convenient timing."
"Isn't it?" He grinned as he reached her side, and she rolled her eyes while they continued toward the elevator. "Gimme a break, though; I needed an excuse to get outta the house for a while. I've been inside editing speeches and runnin' numbers for the past couple days."
"And so you decided to follow me out," she said matter-of-factly, glancing at him as they crossed the hall.
"That's exactly what I did. No need to harp on it," he said, and though she wanted to huff at his words, she instead found herself swallowing an endeared smile.
"Hope you didn't leave on my account."
"And I hope you didn't leave on mine." His dry tone had her furrowing her brow, and when she met his eyes, his gaze was expectant. "Think I heard something about you plannin' to 'stay the night' back there?"
She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks; her skin burned. While she'd seen Thomas's reactions to Lafayette's words just minutes before, she hadn't been expecting to be confronted with them so abruptly (particularly because she'd been there trying to avoid Thomas in the first place). "It's not what you think. I was planning on crashing, but I don't have my work phone on me, and there's a lot I need to get done tonight."
"Oh, yeah? Can I give you a ride home?"
"That's alright," she said. "I drove myself here, so I have my car with me."
"So you're not gonna take me up on an opportunity to spend some more time together?" He arched a playful eyebrow, and the tension had melted from his gaze. His skepticism about Lafayette was no longer visible, at least. Y/N wore a small, soft smile that was threatening to split her expression into a grin. "I'm hurt, really.
"As tempting as it is," she replied, "I'm parked illegally."
"Whatta shame."
"Mhm. I'll have to remember to Uber next time."
"Next time I pull you away from spendin' the night with Lafayette, you mean?" he asked, and the teasing bite to his voice was edging closer and closer to bitterness. Her smile fell flat.
"Not what I had in mind," Y/N replied dryly. "Anyway, like I said: it isn't like that."
Thomas's stare was all disbelief — no degree of his suspicion had faded, apparently. "Then what's it like, Y/N?"
"I was just trying to skip my morning shift. Stop reading into things."
"And you couldn't have, I dunno, just stayed home tomorrow?"
"I live above the diner, Thomas." She wanted to scoff. "If I'd stayed home, Mira would've just come to get me."
"You could've come spent the night over at my place."
"What's the difference?" She pressed the 'down' button on the elevator, and as they came to a stop, she looked up at him. "You were working, anyway."
"I coulda taken a break, for you," he insisted as he knocked his elbow into hers, and she raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"What's your problem with me staying over with Lafayette, hm?" she asked. "I don't think it's any of your business, regardless of what I was doing there."
"Don't be like that," he said with a sigh, "You know why I'm askin'."
"That doesn't make it a fair question."
The elevator came; they both entered it, and after its doors slid shut, the proximity was stifling, almost claustrophobic, but it was moving at an astoundingly slow pace as it descended through the tens of floors below Lafayette's and Thomas's penthouses. Thomas glanced down at Y/N.
"So are you tellin' me you and him are a thing, then?" he asked. She scoffed.
"God, why are you so concerned about this? Can you relax?"
“All I’m askin’ for is a straight answer.”
“Lafayette and I aren’t together.” The standoff that followed was unnecessary, and when he didn’t respond, she went on. “But that said, even if we were, it wouldn’t be your business.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it?”
“No.” His silence told her that he was waiting for an explanation. “We aren’t together, either, in case you’d forgotten.”
A beat passed. “No, I guess we aren’t.” He turned away from her, glancing at the floor number as they came to a stop. “But I’m allowed to care, sweetheart.”
“This isn’t caring. It’s being nosy.” She sighed. “Listen, I like you, Thomas, but I have a million other things going on in my life that don’t involve you. Can’t you stop prying?”
“I’m not tryin’ to pry.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Oh, gimme a break,” he scoffed. “Like you wouldn’t care if I was sleepin’ with other women?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m serious,” she defended. “Who you’re screwing is your business. I mean, as long as you let me know when one of them gets an STD.”
She meant the last part as a joke, but Thomas wasn’t amused. “So what I’m hearin’ is to watch my mail for a doctor’s note sayin’ one of the guys you’re sleepin’ with put me at risk of herpes?”
“Thomas, I’m kidding.” He rolled his eyes. They heard the ping that told them the elevator doors were about to open. “You’re not seriously mad about this, are you? I’m not sleeping around.”
“Well, that’s none of my business, is it?” he said, and Y/N furrowed her brow.
“I mean, no, but...” she trailed off, looking up at him as they left the elevator together. “I really don’t know what you want me to say here.”
“Then you don’t need to.” His jaw was set, and he didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t say anything, and finally, he glanced down at her. “I’ll see you around, Y/N. Take good care of that life of yours I’m not a part of.”
She didn’t know then that this was the last thing he’d say to her for the next three weeks.
___________
SHE DIDN'T SEE Thomas at the diner the next morning.
In fact, she didn’t see him at all for two weeks after that, let alone talk to him. She didn't reach out to him, and he didn't reach out to her. They were both sharply aware of the other's absence.
And they both knew it was intentional, at least on their own part, but Y/N didn’t realize it went both ways. For her, it was guilt — she moved around her schedule at the diner, swapped shifts whenever she could, but some small part of her desperately hoped he'd text her. Being around him would make the stress weighing on her heavier, but she dearly wanted the reassurance that he still had any interest in seeing her.
The closest thing she received to that reassurance was a registration confirmation for her spot at his next press conference.
Thomas had seemingly grown fond of closed events — the fewer reporters and the smaller the venue, the more exclusive the information becomes. Y/N didn't mind, either. By that point in the election cycle, she was beyond sick of having to shove her way through crowds of tabloid "journalists" and locals from whatever small Midwestern swing-state town was hosting the campaign's major rallies.
But she also knew very well that, given the limited scope of the events, Thomas had to approve the list of registrations himself. Of course, she'd have been wildly offended if he'd turned her away, but the fact that he didn't, at least, was something.
Regardless, small press conferences were much more Y/N's style. They left her with much more personal space; they were cozier, more intimate (as though she had any shortage of intimacy with the man about to take center stage). In the conference room Thomas had rented out that afternoon, she actually had somewhere to put her laptop and notepad, an environment where she could focus, all but entirely free of distraction—
"Y/N L/N?"
...What was that about 'free of distraction'?
She sighed internally as she turned to whoever had apparently spotted her with little trouble, but when she met his eyes, it wasn't the burden she'd been expecting.
"Ben?" A small smile broke through her stony expression, and he answered it with one of his own. "Hey, it's been a minute. I didn't know you were going to be here."
"To be fair, you didn't ask."
"Touché," Y/N laughed as he reached the empty seat beside her, raising an eyebrow.
"Saving this for anyone?" His fingers drummed on the back of the rolling chair, and she shrugged.
"Well, it was available, but I just found out someone I know is coming to this press conference, so I think it's kinda reserved for him now."
He rolled his eyes. "You just found out I was here."
She pursed her lips when he gave her a pointed look, and when he raised an eyebrow, a half-hearted scowl broke through her facade. "Am I that transparent?" He shrugged, wearing a smug smile, and she rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, you win. Have a seat."
"Why, thank you," he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice as he pulled the chair out for himself. "You're the nicest."
"I do try," Y/N responded, and Ben couldn't help his smile.
"So what’s your agenda, today, then?" He looked up at her as he took a seat, withdrew his laptop from his satchel.
"Though it may surprise you," she began, "I didn't actually come today with much of a plan. I'm thinking I'll just let things play out however they will."
"Living on the edge these days?"
"Something like that." She gave him a small smile as she pulled up an empty Google Doc, and from where she was sitting, she couldn't see how Ben was watching her, but if they cared enough to look, the rest of the room could. Only one person cared enough to look.
"Glad to hear it," he said, and when she glanced back at him, the mischief dancing in his smile made her apprehensive. "I have always liked a woman who takes some risks."
Y/N was visibly taken aback, and he seemed to be enjoying it. "Oh, really?"
"What can I say?" He shrugged, and though she was fighting a losing battle against the heat rising up the back of her neck, she wore a small smile. "There's even something undeniably sexy about seeing people leave entire sections of their planners blank."
At that, she scowled, but there was no bite to it. "Don't make fun of me. I don't even own a planner."
He feigned surprise, wiggling his eyebrows. "Ooh, even better. Keep talking; tell me about all the files you haven't backed up, either."
"Alright, that's about enough outta you," she scolded him, face burning by then, but his laugh set her at ease. "I never claimed to be some sort of daredevil."
"Mmh, see, now you're just killing the mood," he said matter-of-factly. Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I was getting really into that, alright? You haven't even started telling me about how disorganized your underwear drawer—"
"I said enough," she cut him off with a pointed look, but amusement permeated her poorly-suppressed smile. "This is neither the time nor the place, and you very well know it."
He quirked a brow. "So there's a time and a place where you would want to hear all this? I can make that happen, just—"
"Ben, I'm serious." The laugh in her voice did little to dissuade him.
"—let me know when, and I'll be right over."
"Ben."
"I don't know about you, but I'm free the rest of the afternoon when I leave here, so—"
Everyone's heads snapped to the front of the room, though, when Thomas cleared his throat, and Ben cut himself off, throwing Y/N a sheepish smile. As the rest of the room's chatter subsided, though, he leaned back in toward her, adding in a low voice, "so give me a call if you're looking to get really risky."
She elbowed Ben when he winked dramatically, her lips pursed in a frail attempt to hide her smile. "Shh."
"Thank you all for bein' here this afternoon." When Thomas spoke, the room fell silent, and when Y/N turned back in her seat to face him, she found his eyes fixed on her. His casual expression was as measured as his tone, but when he paused a moment, she felt certain she was the only one who'd caught the strain in his smile.
He turned away from her as he continued speaking, but his words hardly processed with her. Instead, her focus was on the thinly-veiled glare he wore every time his gaze brushed over Ben’s seat; her focus was on the way he adamantly avoided looking in her direction, meeting her eyes. Her focus was on how she seemed to have become invisible to him in just a few short minutes, and as fixated on that as she was, she didn’t realize Thomas had opened the floor for questions until all the reporters around her started throwing rapid-fire questions out at him. Her eyebrows shot up.
With that, the press conference began to drone on for the two hours that followed.
Y/N couldn't complain about being there for as long as she was; for once, she could report on an event without reporters yelling over one another and cutting each other off as they scrambled to get their questions in.
Despite this, the notes she took were sparse. For the rest of the time she was there, Thomas didn't meet her eyes even once; however, his cordial manner didn't disguise from her the severity of his gaze whenever Ben piped up to ask him a question. This would've raised eyebrows had she not been the only one who noticed, and she had a theory or two as to why he seemed so cold.
As such, Y/N left with very little new information about Thomas's campaign, but she did learn two new key tidbits: first, that Thomas's favorite movie was Die Hard (a reporter from Teen Vogue had asked, and Y/N consequently wondered why they were there), and second, that he could be impressively petty.
She didn't ask many questions, either — not after how he regarded her when she did. Not only did he ignore her attempting to break into the conversation until she was talking over the man who sat three seats to her left, but when he addressed her, he was short with her, his words blunt and formal. He didn't even meet her eyes. Only after she noticed the sideways glances he kept stealing at Ben — who was concurrently murmuring something to Y/N, and whether it made her roll her eyes or elbow his side, her smile was unmistakable — did she realize the cause and effect at play.
Simply put, Thomas was beyond tense.
And for Y/N, the afternoon was a grand waste of time.
___________
"SECRETARY JEFFERSON!"
HE shuffled them all out of the conference room a little while after 6 PM, and in the building's lobby stood another crowd of reporters all ready to intercept Thomas the minute he emerged. He met them with a bright smile, waving, shaking hands and taking questions as he went on.
Y/N tried to push through the masses to him, lips pursed. "Secretary Jefferson, d'you have—?"
He was too far gone to hear her, and as she waded further into the crowd toward him with a huff, he kept growing further from her. "Mr. Jefferson, I—"
Right when she neared his side, her effort to get his attention was adamant, and for a moment, he glanced over at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met. Y/N figured he'd pause upon realizing she was there, but rather, his reaction was quite the opposite: he'd no sooner seen her than turned to the journalist on his other side, disregarding her. For a moment, she almost questioned whether he'd realized she was there.
Her scowl was deep-seated as Ben came up beside her.
"No luck?"
She glanced at him with a tired gaze, and he wore a sympathetic smile. "Apparently not. Jefferson doesn't seem to care about my upcoming article."
Ben laughed. "I wonder why that is." The wry sarcasm in his voice made her raise an eyebrow; he shrugged. "I mean, your articles never cast him in the greatest light, do they?"
"Guess you're right," she murmured, and her eyes drifted back to Thomas, now in the opposite corner of the room and greeting supporters and reporters. "Still seems kind of rude, though. I wouldn't think he'd even be paying that close of attention to what I'm publishing."
"Please," Ben scoffed. "Everyone's tuned into your writing. He'd be stupid not to be."
"I dunno about that," Y/N replied, turning to him with a small smile. "He probably has better things to do."
"Better than managing his brand? Nah, he's read your writing," he said matter-of-factly with a shrug. "Probably trying to avoid getting dragged, which seems like a weak strategy. He should do damage control, instead."
"I'm not doing that much damage," she said, a trace of a laugh in her voice, and Ben shrugged.
"That remains to be seen. It seems silly for him to not talk to you."
Y/N couldn't help but silently agree; or, at least, she'd have liked to, but with Thomas's sudden change in attitude toward her, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was a deeper motive at play. "Yeah."
"But whatever; fuck him," he went on, apparently sensing the melancholy undertone to her demeanor, and as he scoffed dramatically, she laughed outright. "I'm gonna get out of here. I've got what I need." When she nodded, he hesitated before adding, "You looking to join me?"
She turned to him with her eyebrows raised. "And go where?"
He shrugged. "There's a bar around the corner. And you seem like you could use a drink." She held her tongue for another moment, considering it, and he just watched her. "But I wasn't thinking of staying long."
The offer was tempting. As Y/N pondered it, well aware that his motive wasn't quite innocent, her gaze drifted back to Thomas. He was looking everywhere but at her, it seemed — he'd hardly said a word to her all afternoon, was dodging her attempts to approach him, and didn't seem to want anything to do with her — and she sighed as she came to a decision. She turned to Ben with a small smile.
"Just for one drink?"
"That's all I'll ask."
While she forced herself to shift her focus off of Thomas as they left the room, determined to enjoy her night, he caught sight of her retreating side-by-side with Ben, talking and laughing, just as they were reaching the exit.
She was the only thing on Thomas's mind for the remainder of the night.
____________
ANOTHER WEEK PASSED. Still, it was radio silence from Thomas, and while she didn't try to reach him, it was starting to worry her. Had that run-in at Lafayette's three weeks before put him off that much? Could he really still think she was sleeping with Lafayette?
As hard as she was trying to cast those thoughts aside, the only other thing she had to focus on was coming up with a solution for what to do with her article from her interview with Adams: so Thomas was never far from her thoughts. She couldn't decide whether continuing to avoid him was a good idea. She returned to her regular shifts at the diner, at the very least, but he never stopped by, or, if he did, it wasn't when she was around.
She was almost relieved when Ashley asked her to report on his next big-donor fundraiser, promising her double pay for overtime.
___________
THOMAS DIDN’T EXPECT to see her there.
The event was down in North Carolina, a hotel ballroom in Raleigh. He’d been dreading it, admittedly — he’d much rather have spent his time discussing actual policy with his constituents, maybe holding a town hall, but instead, there he was, shaking hands and wooing the über-wealthy to keep his campaign afloat. (Was it too late to accept funding from super PACs?)
He was chatting with a couple from the area, nice people coasting on a windfall from a strategic stock investment many years ago, when he spotted her at the edge of the room, standing beside Dolley and delicately sipping whiskey as though cautiously toeing the line of sobriety.
She glanced over at him, though, only moments later, and he was struggling to keep his composure as he tried to keep the conversation lighthearted — stick to the talking points. Y/N retained her spot in the corner of his vision all the while, though, and his thoughts remained there with her. When the old couple broke off from him to get something to drink, she was headed in his direction, and he didn’t suppose the timing was a coincidence.
He didn’t let her see the scowl he wore when he turned away. She couldn’t really think she could come chat with him after avoiding him for weeks, and he’d pretend like nothing was wrong. He knew this wasn’t the time to address the elephant in the room; however, if he gave in and gave her his time, that’d be all he could focus on. So, no: he wouldn’t be letting her pigeon-hole him into having that conversation, not after she’d been the one avoiding him in the first place. If she needed him, she knew how to reach him.
Thankfully, the table he’d been hovering near was full, so when he started walking further from her vicinity, he had somewhere to go.
He left without a second thought.
____________
THE REST OF the night proceeded much in the same way. She tried, and tried, and tried again to get a moment of his time, but there always seemed to be someone higher on his list of priorities.
By the time two hours elapsed, she’d lost him entirely, and that was the final straw. She owed it to her dignity to give up.
Dolley was the only one who knew she’d left as she roamed the halls of the hotel’s first floor — they’d been clinging to one another the entire night, and she’d been whining when Y/N told her she was going to get some air.
The entire floor carried the lingering scent of chlorine as Y/N passed conference rooms and bite-sized gyms, although there was no pool as far as she could see. She wondered briefly how every hotel managed to bottle that smell up and leave it everywhere, but the thought was fleeting; she dismissed it the moment she caught sight of bubbling water behind the door at the end of the hall: a hot tub. She could’ve laughed. If nothing else, it seemed she could count on hotels having shitty, cramped pools that they played up on their websites and in their pamphlets (though she’d have to check out the hotel’s marketing later to confirm her theory).
She was surprised to find the door unlocked when she gave it a tentative push, looking for somewhere to sit, if only for a minute or two, but when she stepped inside, she was even more surprised to find Thomas sitting to her immediate left.
When he met her eyes, he looked equally stunned by her presence. A beat passed.
Finally, she offered him a small smile.
“I guess I should be used to running into you every time I go to take a breather at some fancy party, huh?”
His expression was subdued as he looked her over. “Guess this wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Or the second,” she added, but as she let the door fall shut behind her, he didn’t react to her words, instead pushing himself up in his chair with his hands on the armrests. “Why are you in here?”
“Well, I was told that the hotel had a luxury pool and spa, so obviously, I had to check it out for myself,” he said frankly, and when she laughed softly, the corners of his lips twitched upward. He still didn’t meet her eyes, averting his gaze back to the water. “Not sure it lived up to expectations.”
“You got swindled that easily?” she asked incredulously. “I’d think the future president would be a little more discerning than that.”
“‘Future president’?” he repeated, disbelief clear in his voice. She shrugged.
“Your words, not mine.”
He allowed himself a wry smile, though he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, as the future president, I can’t be avoidin’ my own fundraiser for this long,” he said, and she furrowed her brow when he pushed himself to his feet. “I was just leavin’.”
“Hey, no, you weren’t.” She folded her arms, standing between him and the door. “Why are you trying to run the minute you see me?”
“...Excuse me?”
“Sit back down, Thomas.” She didn’t fold under his heavy gaze; their standoff only lasted a moment longer before he decided it'd be easier just to give in. He sat on the side of the lounge chair with a huff, and she took the one opposite him. “You’ve hardly said a word to me for the past month. Why?”
“Guess I’ve just been busy.”
“You’re always busy,” she countered, and his impatient sigh was audible. “But I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since the first time we kissed.”
The first time they kissed. Not the first time they had sex, not the first time she stayed over at his place, but the first time they kissed. Her using that as the milestone in their relationship made his posture soften.
“Yeah, well, the primaries are endin’, now, so I’ve got more to do.”
She scoffed. “I’m calling bullshit.” He raised an affronted brow. “That wouldn’t have stopped you from talking to me at your last press conference. Or here, tonight. Or even just texting me; there’s no way that could take more than sixty seconds out of your day.”
“Hang on, now, you haven’t reached out either,” he defended. “Talk all you want about me avoiding you, but you were avoidin’ me first.”
“That’s a groundless accusation,” she said, but he folded his arms, watching her expectantly.
“You haven’t been at your usual shifts at the diner for weeks, now, sweetheart,” he informed her. “And right when you saw me at Lafayette’s place, you bolted.”
“That wasn’t because you were there. My schedule changed at work, so I changed my shifts at the diner, and I had to be there that night.”
“Your schedule changed?” he asked skeptically, and she nodded. “What’s so different about it?”
Y/N shrugged. “Nothing too drastic. My editor just has me working late a few days a week, now.”
“Didn’t you tell me a couple weeks ago that you two struck a deal so you wouldn’t have to work overtime?”
“Nothing’s permanent, Thomas.”
“So when would I find you workin’ if I stopped by at the diner, then?”
“Oh, um…” she trailed off, taken aback — she hadn’t expected him to press her for details, but in retrospect, she should’ve. The look he wore was expectant. “Well, Wednesday and Thursday nights—”
“I was there on Thursday. You weren’t.” His words were blunt; his gaze was sharp, calculating. She was slowly being backed into a corner, and Thomas knew by then that he had her trapped.
“Your point?”
“Thought that was obvious enough,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re makin’ up all this about your schedule changin’, and I wanna know why.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she defended, and he huffed out a dry, humorless laugh.
“Don’t you start gaslighting me,” he warned. While Y/N scowled, she remained silent; unfortunately for her, he was right, and she didn’t have many other cards to play. “I know when I’m bein’ lied to, sweetheart.”
She was shifting under his heavy gaze; his using the term of endearment felt cold, condescending, then, rather than anything close to affectionate. “I don’t have to tell you everything that happens in my life.”
“And I wouldn’t ask you to.” He didn’t miss a beat. His eyes were narrowed. “But if you don’t wanna tell me the truth, don’t just make somethin’ else up. I feel like I deserve that much.”
“I didn’t want to leave you wondering about what you thought I could be hiding. It doesn’t involve you.”
“And I’m not gonna try to force my way into your personal life. I get that you’ve got things to do ‘n places to be.” He cocked a brow. “So are you just lyin’ to me ‘cause you really do have something you’re tryna hide from me?”
Y/N huffed, shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, yeah, I am hiding things from you,” she said, but the undertone of her words was harsh. “But that shouldn’t come as some surprise. At the end of the day, I might end up in your bed, but for every other hour, I have a whole life that you aren’t part of. I’m allowed to have things I’m ashamed of, and I’m allowed to have things I wanna keep for myself. You have no control over me.”
“‘Control’?” he scoffed. “Is that really what you still think of me?”
“That’s how you’re acting,” she said. “Let’s face it: you’ve been lashing out every time you see me with other men. First at Lafayette’s, then at your stupid press conference. You don’t own me.”
“Listen,” he said, looking her square in the eye, and his gaze was sharp, “It’s none of my business what you do or who you do it with, and I get that. But if you weren't lyin' to me at every turn, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”
“I'm not 'lying to you at every turn,'” she defended, “but I don’t owe you anything.”
"Don't I deserve the truth, at least?" he asked incredulously. “Or do I really mean that little to you?”
“I…” She didn’t know what to say. Of course not, she wanted to yell, of course you don’t, but right now, I’m stuck choosing between you and my income, my rent money, my student debt payments. She could justify neither half the things she’d said nor the way she’d been treating him, not without telling him everything that was going on, and when she swallowed hard, he took her silence as the answer it wasn’t.
He gave a bitter laugh, dragged a hand through his curls. “I dunno what I expected. Guess I shouldn’t have asked, huh?”
“We were never together, and we were never exclusive. You know that as well as I do.”
“No, we weren’t,” he agreed. “But I guess I managed to fool myself into thinkin’ all those hours we were spendin’ together meant something. Won’t be makin’ that mistake again.”
“Don’t be like this.” She scowled. "I never pretended our relationship was anything other than what it is."
"Nah, you made that clear enough when you started blowing me off to go spend the night elsewhere."
"I've already told you so many times that it wasn't like that," she said. “I don't want to jump Lafayette's bones. I can’t believe you have the audacity to be acting jealous.”
“Of course I’m fucking jealous.” He broke her gaze with a huff, shook his head as he looked everywhere but at her. “You’ve been dodgin’ my calls, stayin’ as far from me as possible, and then I see you spending your time with Lafayette and that little reporter friend of yours from the New York Times. How else am I supposed to feel?”
“I don’t owe you my time.”
“Maybe you don’t,” he said, voice frigid, “but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”
“Hang on, you’re deflecting from the fact that you were avoiding me, too.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes, I can.” She scowled. "You can't come complaining about how I've been treating you when you've been doing the exact same thing."
"What was I supposed to do, go chasin' after you?" he asked. "I have too much self-respect to be tryna hunt someone down when they're makin' it clear they don't want me around."
"I’ve been trying to talk to you all night."
"Yeah, sure, now that it’s convenient for you," Thomas retorted. "I don't just wanna be convenient, Y/N. I want more than that."
"Convenient is all this ever was. It's all this was ever supposed to be," she reasoned. "If I wasn't there, you would've just been trying to fuck some other girl in your office at that fucking state dinner."
"No, I wouldn't. That's what you don't get." His tone was biting, but his words made her frown.
“Why not, Thomas? You and I both knew what this was when we got into it. We knew it couldn’t last with our careers,” she said. He stayed silent, and she pursed her lips; when she spoke, her voice was softer, “Don’t be like this. This was never going to be more than what it is.”
“Couldn’t it have been, though?” he asked, and he raised an expectant eyebrow. His conviction was clear.
“No.” Her answer caught him off guard, and he frowned. “You weren’t under any illusions about that. We’ve been hiding for a reason.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t be doin’ this.”
“...What?” Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, and despite how taken aback she was, Thomas’s eyes were narrowed when they finally met hers.
“What? If I’m not what you want, what are we sneakin’ around for? I think you oughta stop wastin’ your time with me.” The last sentence was saturated with bitter sarcasm, and she raised an eyebrow.
“Hey, I never said I was ‘wasting my time’ with you,” she said, affronted. “I… like spending time with you. Isn’t that justification enough?”
“Then what have these past couple weeks been about, hm? You come around sayin’ all this now, but you haven’t been actin’ like it.”
“I haven’t been playing some kind of game, here, Thomas. I was always upfront with you,” she defended. “I’ve just been busy.”
“Oh, yeah, busy with Lafayette, right?” he sneered, and her eyebrows shot up. She folded her arms. “Busy with that reporter you left the fundraiser with?”
“Busy working two jobs to be able to pay my rent.” Her teeth were gritted; her jaw tensed when Thomas rolled his eyes. “We can’t all spend our whole lives coasting on daddy’s money, Jefferson.”
“So it’s like that, huh?” He huffed, shaking his head. The small smile he wore was sardonic, disbelieving. “You’re playin’ that card? Seems like you’ve been able to find time for the other guys you’ve been screwin’, though.”
“Are you serious? Fuck you; I don’t have to take this from you,” she said incredulously. “Don’t tell me I’ve been acting like some whore when you don’t know my life.”
“Hang on, now, I'm not callin’ you a whore,” he defended. She scoffed. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth."
"That sure is what it sounds like," she snarled. "You have no right to complain about me sleeping with other men. You don't own me."
"So you have been sleeping with 'em?"
A long moment passed in silence; Thomas's expression was unreadable, but Y/N couldn't bring herself to break his gaze.
"What if I am?" she finally asked bitterly. "Do you really think I'd let you stop me?"
"No, I don't," he said. "'Cause I never really meant shit to you, did I?"
"Now who's putting words in whose mouth?"
"What else am I supposed to take away from this? Hm?"
"That we aren't dating, and that you aren't my boyfriend. For god's sake, Thomas, you're a presidential nominee."
"We've long since established that," he said, and his gaze was cold, calculated, "but you really think that gives you license to treat me like shit?"
"I haven't been treating you like shit,” she defended, affronted.
"You've been ignorin' me for weeks. You've been out sleepin' with other men, not even giving me the time of day," he replied, and she narrowed her eyes. His voice was beginning to rise.
"But I don't—"
"You don't owe me anything. We aren't together," he snarled. "Yeah. I get it, Y/N."
"Then why are you acting like this?"
"Do I really need to repeat myself? I don't like bein' treated like this; it's as simple as that."
"Then maybe you’re right. Maybe we shouldn't be doing this." Her words were impulsive, born of frustration and anger less than any conscious thought. Thomas raised his eyebrows, and Y/N's heart sank to her stomach at the shock in his gaze that he didn't react soon enough to hide.
For a moment, she wished she could take it back; that is, until he responded—
"Then I guess we shouldn't." It was her turn to be surprised, then, as the hurt in his expression hardened into contempt. She didn't respond, at first; her throat was tight, and her head was pounding, and she was struggling to wrap her head around the finality of his words. In that moment, she wanted them to be final.
“Fine.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, shook her head. “So this is how this ends, huh?”
"Accordin’ to you, there was never anything here to end,” Thomas replied bitterly. “Isn’t that right?”
When she met his eyes, they didn’t mirror the ache that permeated every inch of her body. Instead, he looked indifferent, just waiting for her to answer.
“I guess not,” she whispered. The heavy silence between them only grew. “But, Thomas, I never meant to—”
There was a knock at the door.
They both jumped at the sound; Y/N cut herself off abruptly as her head whipped around toward the door. Thomas turned in his chair.
"Who's there?" Despite the vulnerable position he knew himself to be in, his voice was commanding; he spoke with a degree of authority Y/N considered to be unearned in their circumstance.
The door cracked open to reveal Dolley wearing an apologetic wince, and she didn't step inside. Y/N and Thomas both breathed heavy sighs of relief, though, the rigidity softening in their postures at the sight of her face.
"I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to interrupt," she said softly, "but when you stopped talking, I thought you were done, and—"
"It's alright," Y/N said, her words sounding tired. “How much of that did you hear?” Dolley gave a nervous shrug.
"More than I should've," she admitted, and Y/N hardly stifled her groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm so sorry, dear; I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I was waiting for a good time to come in, and… one never came."
"Why's it always gotta be you?" Thomas said, and Y/N turned to glare at him.
"Hey, that's not fair," she argued. "She was trying to be considerate; this isn't her fault."
He sighed, rubbing his temples as he held his face in his hands. After a long moment, he turned to Dolley. "'M sorry," he said, "I didn't mean it how it came off. But what're you doin' back here?"
"Actually, I came here so someone else wouldn't," she said scathingly. "A Ben Arnold and an Angelica Schuyler are both looking for you, Y/N. I told them I knew where you were because I was worried about someone else walking in on you two."
Angelica? Y/N didn’t have time to dwell.
"Well, we appreciate it," she said firmly, and she could only pray her voice didn’t break when she said, "We were just about done here, anyway."
"...Okay," Dolley said hesitantly as Y/N stood, and although she didn't look back as she joined her at the door, Dolley could see how dejected Thomas looked.
"Then let's go." Y/N brushed past her without another word. Dolley didn't follow her for another minute.
Concern was heavy in her creased brow as she eyes Thomas where he sat, head in his hands and making no move to stand up.
“Thomas,” she said hesitantly, “Are you—?"
"Just go, Doll," he sighed, and she frowned. "Sounds like you and Y/N have places to be."
"For what it's worth," —Dolley glanced back over her shoulder, and Y/N had already left her field of vision; she turned back to Thomas— "She hasn't been with anyone else since you met."
“How would you know?”
“She has a tendency to run her mouth when she’s tipsy,” Dolley said frankly, wearing a small, reassuring smile.
He sighed. It was far too late for that to be much of a comfort, and he couldn't keep the vexation from his voice when he responded.
“I appreciate it, Doll, really," he said, “but... it’s too late.”
___________
9:02 AM
Y/N:
The article looks great. Schuyler sent it to me. Although I’m not sure why I didn’t receive it from you the minute you finished writing it, I’m pleased with what you’ve come up with.
With that said, for the future, tell me immediately when you have a story this provocative. I hope it won't come to this, but withholding information that you gather on company time may result in the termination of your employment. Please don't force my hand.
Regards,
Ashley
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