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longtimenospooning-luci · 2 years

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Azalea's, Camelia's and Rhododendron's Chapter Three

Summary: Life always seemed to throw bullshit your way. A bullshit childhood, a bullshit family with the exception of your older brother, a bullshit bodyguard team because of aforementioned older brother… To say you were tired of it would be an understatement. You just wanted to bask in your self-made richness as a bestselling author, all by yourself being the key point, and pretend you're not doing it to avoid your trauma. But now you have to deal with seven incredibly hot, stubborn and frustrating men forcibly barging into your life against both of your wishes and ruining your peaceful silence. So, if they were going to be hardheads, you'll be one right back.

Pairing: Bts x reader, featuring older brother Bang Chan and a dickhead ex to be revealed later on.

Chapter Warnings: Dickhead Do-Yun talking about the deal, cursing, brief mention of throwing up, implication of abuse, now all of the boys are guilty babies who don't know how to apologize.

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Word Count: 2.5k

Ya'll know that one Elmo meme where he's just standing there in a pit of fire with his arms out and the :] face?

Yea that was your mind right now with Do-Yun's ugly mug right in front of you.

Y/N who? She gone. Exe has stopped working. Windows File error with the deep 'DUN' to go with it and the infinite pop-ups. Brain has said 'peace out homie!' The ice-cream has vacated the waffle cone to disappointingly go splat on the sidewalk if you get my drift.

Surprisingly, it's Taehyung who first notices something is wrong. You've frozen up mid step like you did the morning of the incident, but what really piques his interest is that Namjoon reacts like that too.

There's an honestly fugly looking creep standing in their way to the valet curb and the two of you are staring the clown down like he's the Boogie Man. If only Taehyung knew he wasn't that far off in that assessment. Since he stopped to observe the odd behavior, Jimin stopped too, and that caused a domino effect. The six of them watching the weird three way showdown, no one moving or breaking the silence until Creepy McCreep decides to do just that.

"Y/N darling, how are you? It's been so long…" They find the way you jump and recoil into yourself at his voice extremely odd. But what shocks them is Namjoon moving in front of you, shielding your figure behind his back.

"I suggest you keep your mouth shut and go about your business." Namjoon grits out the words, his hands in fists at his sides. The boys have been with each other for a long time, it's hard to make Namjoon angry, and yet here he is looking ready to bash this dudes face in. They are completely perplexed by the situation, but if their leader is angry over the presence of a stranger related to a client, then they know the situation is serious.

"Oh, what's this? Y/N, love have you replaced me? Surely you haven't stooped so low while I've been away?" the Cheshire grin on his face gives off bad vibes in waves, they notice the way he eyes Namjoon like the dirt on his shoes, and they don't like it. He's practically feeling you up with his gaze and not a second more of hesitation is taken as they move into action, using their bodies to wall you into their formation and out of sight. They see the way you're shrinking further, and they really don't like it, your spitfire IDGAF confident attitude has disappeared completely. The change unsettles them and as much as the other morning was a shitshow they'd rather have that version of you than this one.

Namjoon turns his head slightly to the side, murmuring calm assurances to you, and then quickly locks eyes with the boys. It's the look he always gives them when they need to take extreme measures to ensure a threat doesn't get near a client, and they mentally steel themselves.

Coincidentally, or maybe even unfortunately, Jungkook and Yoongi's positions are to flank the sides of their clients. Which means they have to walk angled inwardly at you and keep a hand on your arm or back. When Jungkook places a hand on your bicep he drops it as if you burned him, your whole body had flinched at his touch. Yoongi takes note of this and they quickly share a glance, he holds out his hand for you to see and slowly moves it to the middle of your back. When you don't flinch, Jungkook does the same and replaces his hand lightly on your arm.

During this whole ordeal the douche in front of them has been talking shit, trying to get your attention. Getting increasingly frustrated when he notices you aren't paying attention anymore and neither is Namjoon. The leader had been watching the boys adjust in order to move, waiting for their nods, tuning the prick out completely in favor of watching your mental state. That all stops when the next words come tumbling out of the assholes mouth, and Namjoon isn't the only one who looks like he wants to commit murder.

"Did daddy dearest fetch a good price for you with this one? I can't imagine got paid nearly as much as I would have given. Or did mommy do it in his stead since you threw your tantrum and got him thrown in jail before our wedding?" You snapped your head up in anger at the mention of your parents, your eyes swirling with hatred for the man before you.

Jungkook being the hothead he is tried to step away from you to go give the bastard a nice right hook, he certainly didn't like you but hearing the implication that this sicko tried to buy you makes him see red. Jin has to grab the neck of his shirt to stop him, much like the rest of them he'd love to let the youngest wreak havoc but they have a professional reputation to uphold. However, this was the perfect opportunity for you to slip out of the human wall while they were focused on him, snatching the retractable metal baton strapped to Jungkook's belt in the process and flicking your wrist to extend the bar.

Your gait is powerful as you stalk toward the man, decked out in thousands of dollars worth of luxury brands that make you look like a goddamn Amazon Queen. Yoongi thinks to himself that he would actually pay good money to watch you beat the shit out of the guy, but he really doesn't want to get fired from the company for letting a client use one of their weapons to hurt someone. He resigns to let Namjoon stop you though, having half a mind to hope he does and the other half hoping he doesn't.

However, Hoseok is the one who ends up stopping you as you raise your arm to strike the now cowering man. You whip your head with a fire in your glare at the culprit of your halted movements, standing tall next to you with a hand wrapped around your wrist. He says nothing as he levels your stare and it strangely calms your ire, as if you know Hoseok won't let him off even if he did stop you. The hand gripping your wrist moves up to grab the baton and you let him take it from your grip, his other arm comes around in front of you to guide you behind him as he shifts his stance to face the coward in front of you.

"Like my leader said, I suggest you shut your mouth and scurry along like the rat you are. If I hear so much as another word out of your mouth I won't hesitate to lay your ass out right here on this sidewalk. Do I make myself clear?"

It's incredibly satisfying watching the fear flush through Do-Yun's face at Hoseok's words, and you think for now you'll take this as a stepping stone to retribution. Your bodyguard steps away from your ex without bothering to wait for a response and places a hand on your wrist again, pulling you along to the car with the rest of the boys in tow. The ride home is just as silent as the ride into town, but strangely no one feels awkward or the lingering feelings of hatred from the other day.

You rupture the silence when Yoongi pulls the SUV into the pristine garage of your home.

"Namjoon, I'm going to assume from your behavior earlier that you figured it out, and I really don't have the energy to deal with my brother's overprotectiveness right now. Could you call him sometime today and ask him to contact our lawyer? And don't let him storm over here please I might actually go insane if he does." Your voice is calm and even as you speak and everyone has their attention focused on you, not bothering to make a move to get out of the car yet.

The look he gives you is full of something Jin would describe as guilt and maybe even despair, simply nodding his head and moving to open the door. Namjoon knows something serious about you and he obviously failed to let the others in on the secret, and as they all make their way into the manor they decide they'll get it out of him whether he likes it or not.

They all stay silent in the mansion foyer until the soft click of your bedroom door closing can be heard. Jungkook pipes up first, a bite to his tone. "You wanna tell us what the fuck just happened, hyung?" Jin would normally scold him for speaking like that to his elders but at this point he can't deny it isn't warranted. He almost expects Namjoon to fight them on this and refuse to say anything, but he simply lets out a sigh and asks them to follow him. They spread out in the spacious guest room that has been claimed by their leader, watching him as he gathers some files out of a desk drawer and walks over to sit at the chaise; putting the manila folders down on the surface of the coffee table in front of him.

"It's not much and it's not definite but it wasn't that hard to connect the dots after witnessing her behavior that morning." Jimin gets up as the man speaks, taking a file and opening it as he returns to his spot, flipping through the printed article headlines one by one as a feeling of horror trickles through him as each piece falls into place.

He looks up to lock eyes with Jungkook and then Yoongi, swallowing down the bile in his throat, addressing the leader without moving his gaze from his two brothers. "How long have you known?" The shake in his voice sets the others on edge, so Taehyung takes the folder out of Jimin's hands to look at the information in question. "I started looking into it that night, It took me the whole night to put all of the pieces together. I had to dig into news archives to figure out how it started." The sharp inhale Taehyung takes as he listens to Namjoon's response while looking at the papers makes Jimin think he's figured it out too.

By this point Jungkook being the person he is, has grown tired of the cryptic words and the pale faced expressions of shock from his hyungs. He gets up and snatches one of the folders for himself, ignoring the protests of the others that he shouldn't open it and look. Standing by the table he turns each page with more aggression than the last, his eyes flitting across the words in a frenzy, until eventually he lets the papers drop out of his hands. A crawling vine of guilt has grown its way up his body and wraps itself around his throat, his hands shake at the breathless feeling it gives him and the constriction of his chest aches in ways he's never felt before.

In his turmoil the rest of the boys with the exception of Yoongi have passed along the file Jimin grabbed and look at the last one out with apprehension and pity. The man in question gets up from his spot at the end of Namjoon's bed and picks up the stapled stack of papers Jungkook dropped. He reads through them without any emotions on his face and steady hands, only cracking his exterior when he looks up to Namjoon. "That was him, wasn't it?" The lifelessness in his voice sends a chill through the others. The leader responds to his hyung with a soft 'yes' and Yoongi feels like his knees are going to give out.

With a nod of his head he turns on his heel and makes his way out of Namjoon's room, each step he takes in the hallway towards his room the grip of his hand on the papers intensifies. Upon closing the door he casts the papers to the floor and nearly runs to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his body wretches the acid in his chest out into the bowl. The guilt settles in his chest like a cement chain around his heart and he doesn't know how he's going to face you again now that he knows what he does.

Downstairs Jungkook is in a similar state and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He's regarded you with the same attitude he developed in your brothers office since he was told you were going to be their client. Never in his career has he come across a client like you, much less a heiress like you that didn't fit the mold he knew so well. Thinking he could speak to you that way in order to get the contract nullified was now his biggest regret, he expected you to react like any other pompous rich kid would at the first signs of disrespect from someone under them.

Amidst the internal turmoil in the house and the hushed whispers of the remaining members in Namjoon's bedroom as he speaks to your brother on the phone, you slip out of your room and into the office. You keep one of your favorite books on the second floor shelves, preferring to have easy access to it in order to climb into the circular window nook. Its outfitted with a memory foam cushion that rises a quarter of the way up the sides, set onto the wall like a normal cushion would be stapled into a chair or indoor bench. Your favorite fluffy blanket sits in one of the carved out cubbies in the upper part of the circle, you climb in and grab it after finding the book, laying back against the large square pillow and propping your feet up against the crescent shaped wall.

You open the book to your favorite page, letting the words in the poem wash over your feelings, settling your mind into the clarity you crave. You let yourself get lost in the stanzas, knowing come tomorrow you'll have to face the men in your home who undoubtedly now know one of your darkest secrets. Closing your eyes for a second, the visage of your fathers face warped in hatred and disgust flashes in your mind. Jolting up, you despise the fear that slithers its way into your chest, squeezing the air out of your lungs. Life really won't let you have a goddamn break will it?

I wish I could cry as easy as the sky. The tears don’t come as easily now. They’re stuck inside my soul.

It’s empty and I am afraid Do you feel the emptiness? I guess it’s my own fear from within. I should be brave and battle that fear but it’s a war that’s gone on for so damned long. I’m tired.

The children are growing and the tears in my eyes are flowing. Missing the growth of them is like missing the seasons change, missing the roses that bloom in spring and missing snowflakes falling in winter. How many more years do I have to miss? The years won’t stop for me or for them and why should they? They will continue to blossom and bloom and my life will continue to stand still like a silent pond.

- The Noonday Demon, Andrew Solomon

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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

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What makes me human [Cyberpunk! America x reader] 16

Wordcount: 4, 869 Rating: M for strong language, moderate sexual references, violence, and gore The reader is referred to as she/her. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve. Why else did he make you?" Chapter synopsis: And you never considered yourself trigger-happy. But the shots have been fired. They're dead before you can interrogate them. Allen is eager to convince you it was the right thing to do, but even he can't deny the horrors that will follow. The war rages on. Alfred stays ignorant for the meantime, and you revel in his bliss of it. You share one last peaceful night with him before the fearful unknown.

16 - Nothing breaks like a heart

The reader is referred to as she/her.

An ear-splitting bang echoed in the pool room. Blood and small chunks of flesh landed on the tiled floor in a splat. Tearing his hand away with a shaky gasp, he held the wrist and hunched over to writhe in agony. "Ergh... Fuck!" He spluttered, feeling a violent tremble seize his wounded hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

He lifted his head to glare at you with the utmost betrayal. "What the hell did you do that for?!"

A sizely hole formed in his palm. The exposed flesh was still oozing out blood like a full sponge, dripping onto the ground in generous puddles. A whole section of his bone was missing. And you did it. You shot Alfred. You paled in horror for a few moments, but as he panted before you with tears streaming down his red and enflamed face, it became apparent that your guilt was unfounded.

"What I did that for? You aren't Alfred!" You exasperated, raising the gun shakily to point it between his fearful eyes. "You're a clone!"

A sour flavor was left in your mouth as you spat out the word. His origins were no mystery.

Nobody else could have been responsible or capable of such a heinous crime. To grow an abomination from whatever DNA was left in their lab. You only imagined them to be created for one purpose, and one purpose only. To torment, kill, and replace Alfred. As the thoughts raced through your head, you tightened your finger around the trigger—"Wait, wait! Don't shoot!" He begged, throwing his arms up.

"I know you're freaking out right now, but I have no idea what's going on either!"

Gritting your teeth at his excuse, you were determined to not let it get to you. But it was easier said than done. "Shut up! Don't think for a second you can fool me!" Despite the cutting conviction of your voice, you took on a terrified expression at the thought of shooting him. "I'm gonna do it. You're nothing but a freak of nature! And you'll never... Never..."

As you trailed off, you realized you indeed couldn't pull the trigger.

Not when the barrel was aimed at a face that looked just like Alfred's.

It was contorted with so much fear and despair, pleading silently for you to not hurt him. The fact that he was a spitting image of him made it even harder. How he moved, talked, acted—seeing it chipped away your resolve, leaving you all but paralyzed. The gun was left juddering furiously in your hands in light clacks, holding him hostage at the moment before death.

"Please. Please don't do it." He whispered, bringing his hands down to shield himself. "You gotta help me, (F/N). I don't know how, but I woke up in this body. That's... That's all that happened."

How painfully familiar it sounded.

I woke up in this body.

The similarities were so uncanny, it was cruel. Giving your head a quick shake, your lips quivered as you uttered this.

"You're lying. You're not real."

Creases formed between his brows. "I'm not lying! And I am real! I'll prove it to you, I swear! We went through so much shit together, like uh—" He pointed at you and laughed nervously as he sifted through the scanty archives of his memories. "—I kidnapped you. Ha! See? I know something! That's how we met! And you hated my guts at first."

You swallowed thickly as uncertainty slowly overwhelmed you. If he could remember that, he had to be real, right? No. You had to fend off the feeling. "That's not good enough!" Your finger stayed on the trigger, and the barrel, on him.

He tensed up as panic caught him in a chokehold. "Okay, okay! Well, er..." His heart was pounding harder and harder with every second he failed to say something. "... Oh! Remember the time I nearly got murdered by a cult leader? He had a whole kabuki mask get-up and everything—just like, like Professor Callaghan from Big Hero 6. You know that movie right?"

You sucked in a sharp breath. The title didn't ring any bells, but what he said had you second-guessing yourself. Was he not lying after all? Lowering the gun at that, your motion was slowed by slight hesitance. "... How... How do you know those things?" You asked faintly. "What are you?"

Before he could formulate an answer, footsteps thudded down the hall. Your thoughts came to a complete standstill.

Then, you heard a voice.

"(F/N)!" They shouted. Was it Allen? Your heart sank when you realized you couldn’t tell—it sounded too similar to Alfred. Or were you just imagining things? The sheer amount of panic was too incapacitating that you couldn't think.

So you did the unthinkable.

Raising the gun once more, you fired a shot into his abdomen.

The second you let the bullet fly, you regretted it.

Both your ears rang as the next few moments occurred in silence. And they would unfold in painstakingly slow motion. Dropping the gun to the ground in a soundless clatter, you watched him stumble back a few steps with his eyes popping out of his skull. Blood was spreading around the flaps of his kimono from a new hole in his chest. But the gore couldn't compare to his look of betrayal.

Of a heartbreak so deep, it destroyed you.

"Oh my God..." You raised both hands to your mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap. "I just—I just killed—" Tears streamed relentlessly down to your chin as you stood frozen.

"(F/N)! I heard gunshots. What the fuck happened?!" Allen appeared in the doorway. His loud voice derailed your train of thoughts, forcing you to turn to the man. When you did, your heart clenched at the realization you made a mistake. It wasn't him. Alfred was never down the hall, and you panicked.

He never even had a chance to explain himself.

When Allen caught sight of the corpse by your feet, he dug his hands through his hair. Terror ran deep in his expression as he processed what he was seeing. "Shit, (F/N)." His nose scrunched up in shock. Never did he imagine the day would come where you would take someone's life. At least, not so soon.

But it arrived as an unwelcome surprise, unexpected and uninvited. "Did you kill that guy?"

You nodded profusely as a sob racked your body.

He scrambled over and shielded you from the grotesque scene. "Hey, hey, hey! Don’t feel bad! I’ve killed loads of people too, so welcome to the club!" The man rambled frantically, rubbing away your tears with his fingers. But who was he to tell you these things when he felt his own tears come?

"I’m sure he deserved it, and you were just protecting yourself, so don’t worry!" Allen forced a wide, manic smile.

His efforts to console you were in vain as you cried even harder. Pulling you into his chest, he rested his chin on your head that trembled to your coughs. "I'm so sorry..." Allen screwed his eyes shut and squeezed you tighter. "... I’m sorry I left you by yourself. This is my fault, not yours. It's my fault."

The string of apologies he spewed out was on your behalf, but he meant them with every fiber of his being. He had failed to protect the single most valuable thing to him.

And the blatant lie he forced you to accept was the last resort to preserve it. But it was time that stopped. "No, I killed him." You asserted shakily. He had nothing to do with this, and his eagerness to shoulder the blame only rubbed more salt into the wound. If you let him have his way, you would never live it down.

Without removing yourself from the hug, you pointed at the motionless body with your head turned away. "Look at him. I could never lie."

Allen lingered his gaze on you before obliging, albeit reluctantly. Nearing the corpse cautiously, he kicked its chest to roll it over. It revealed the dead man’s face in all its glory. Alfred’s face.

"..."

What the fuck.

When he thought he couldn’t be any more disgusted by the tyranny of technology, he was proved wrong yet again. This was clearly your father’s doing. And it was a declaration of war. But perhaps, it was just the continuation of the one that never ended.

Arthur was completely shit-faced downstairs. Slamming his beer mug down on the counter after he downed the whole thing, he gasped.

"Bwah! That hits the spot." His cheeks and ears were redder than a tomato, a stark contrast to his companion who was stone-cold sober.

Alfred raised a brow. "Sure looks like it. Dude, you gotta lay off the booze. You’re gonna regret it first thing tomorrow." Once he sighed that out, he rested his cheek on his hand. Then, he glowered at the hallway where you and Allen disappeared to.

"How long does it take to piss? They’ve been gone for ages. Twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? I don’t fucking know," The mechanic let out a low chuckle and slapped him on the back. The force made his torso bounce, much to his annoyance. "What’s your deal?"

The other hummed mischievously. "I was just thinking about what you said." Arthur squinted almost suggestively, causing Alfred to do the same, but only out of being appalled. "Maybe... Maybe they aren’t pissing. Since they’re gone for so long at the bathrooms at that—so maybe, urgh... They’re doing the nasty together." The Brit practically howled with laughter, having figured he was probably right.

It was a plausible assumption. As he humored the suggestion Alfred heated up more severely than his intoxicated friend. You having sex with Allen? His chest whirred and nostrils flared. He'd never been this enraged before, but behind the mask of anger was a deep hurt and toxic kind of jealousy.

"Shut up! You’re drunk and slurring your words. You have no idea what you’re talking about."

Arthur snorted. "Sorry to break it to you, brother. But the only time I’m this honest is when I’m drunk, so."

Alfred’s eyes went round. Without a moment’s hesitation, he shot out of his stool and made a beeline to the hall. Before he could make it far, he bumped right into the very subjects of his conversation. Much to his relief, they were in no state that indicated they did anything sexual by nature; you were in his arms and fast asleep. Not that he was happy about it. "Woah. She's out like a light."

"Yeah, so keep your voice down." The other grumbled, bouncing you lightly. "I think it's about time we head home. How drunk is he?"

The blonde blinked. He wasn't expecting him to catch on so quickly. "Off his ass. He's red as."

Allen clicked his tongue and brushed past him. "Called it." Alfred would have dismissed it as something he always did. But since he was carrying you, it made him feel like an extra. So when the man walked off, he followed with a scowl. "Can you get a cab? I'm gonna sit in the corner for a bit."

And sit in the corner he did, laying your body across his lap so you could rest. Alfred narrowed his eyes into a dark glare, lingering on the sight as the club music pounded away in his ears. And he told him to keep his voice down? "Yeah, I'll call you a damn cab."

You pretended to be asleep the whole ride back to Arthur's. It was easy with Allen's shoulder at a perfect height for your face to bury in. For half an hour, you were stuck in that position. There, you listened to the symphony of a trip home from the club: the automated voice of the taxi A.I and the drunken warbles of an intoxicated friend. Without seeing it, you could feel Alfred watching you for the whole duration of the ordeal.

Fortunately, you could escape any interaction with him as Allen carried you to the bathroom upon arriving.

"Oi, where are you taking her?"

The redhead kicked the door open. "What does it look like?"

"Shouldn't you wake her up, at least?"

"Yeah, yeah. Quit breathing down my neck, already."

"Dude—"

The door locked. Setting you down on your feet, you held onto his arms to regain your balance. Once you did, you glanced up at him with the utmost panic. "I can't face him." Digging two hands through your hair, you let out a shaky gasp—"Oh my god, I don't know what to do! I shot him, Allen. I fucking shot him! What's he gonna think of me when he finds out?"

He sighed and gripped your shoulders firmly. With his brows furrowed in a stern expression, he corrected you. "You didn't shoot him. You shot another version of him." Allen couldn't stress that enough. But there were many things he needed to shed a light on in this emergency bathroom meeting. "And it was kinda my fault that happened. If I was there, I woulda' shot him for you."

"That's not the point, here! And it's never gonna be your fault. It's mine, and mine alone. End of story." You swiped a hand across his face for emphasis. While he groaned in dismay, a brief pause followed as you regained your breath.

At least an hour had passed, but you still couldn't wrap your head around it.

"I can't believe I did that. I don't even know how I could! I panicked. I thought Alfred was coming down the hall, but—"

"—but it was me. Doll-" Allen exasperated, dragging out the pet name. "-you can't blame yourself for what you did. Shit happens. And who says what you did was wrong, huh? You probably just saved us all from a bloodbath. And you know that!" Rocking you gently back and forth to shake some sense into you, he leaned in to peer into your wide eyes staring into space.

"That's why you shot him. You did the right thing."

As he blurted that out, the memory replayed in your head again and again like a broken record. Intrusive thoughts were a bitch. And there was one particular detail of the event that you would never forget. "Was it the right thing to do, though?" You murmured, lowering your doubtful gaze to the tiled floor. The betrayal in his eyes was so genuine, you came to regret everything you've done.

"What if he was real like he said?"

You were asking some hard-hitting questions, that was for sure. Everything else was shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.

"Well, it wouldn't matter if he was real. Cuz' he's dead."

Allen's expression morphed into a dark glower.

"But if he was still alive, there'd be two of him, and not for long. They'd kill each other, for sure. I mean, if I found out there was a second-rate version of me farting around out there, I'd kill that poser for sport. Hunt him down like game." Lifting up your chin so you'd look at him, he flashed a grin.

"So don't feel bad. You killed him and saved Alfred the trouble."

Softening your gaze at that, you pulled him into another hug. Allen was always amazing at comforting you in the direst of situations.

"... Maybe you're right."

He chuckled and patted your back. "I'm always right."

But there was still one concern he could never address.

If your father made a clone of Alfred, a real and legitimate copy, there was no saying he could make another. Hell, you even expected him to. He could keep churning him out so long as he had his DNA. The only way to end this threat was quick to cross your mind, but you didn't want to think about it.

You would have to kill your father.

Allen figured. But today suffered enough bloodshed.

Before he left the bathroom for you to use, he held onto your cheek.

Flickering his striking scarlet eyes over your troubled expression, he caught you in a quiet gaze. You could easily translate the untold fondness he watched you with. We can still run away together.

He pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Then, the door closed behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It never crossed your mind the first time he brought it up earlier tonight, but you finally understood what he really meant by running away. Allen wanted to share his life with you. Heat flurried in your chest as you considered the idea.

Tears threatened to return once you realized how much you wanted to do it, just not with him. The desire was there, but it happened to be stronger for someone else.

Alfred had been waiting outside with his back against the wall, arms crossed with a frown. It only deepened when Allen walked out.

"What're you lookin' at?" The redhead mumbled.

"... Nothing. Just wondering why you two spend so much time in the bathroom together." Alfred pointed out, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. He would have been jumping for joy if it weren't for wanting to look serious. "What were you doing with her in the penthouse?"

The other felt a spell of irritation hit him. It was always jealousy with this one, wasn't it? But he couldn't be a hypocrite. "None a'ya business, bub." He hummed, slotting the cancer stick in between his teeth. A sly smirk widened his lips as he saw the blonde tense up. "You saw how tired she was. So don't even think about it."

Don't even think about it, he'd said. How come everything coming out of his mouth sounded like a euphemism for sex? Don't keep her up with stupid conversations would've sounded better. Alfred huffed and stormed back to the guest room. Or was it just his mind that was in the gutter? He blamed Arthur for even bringing it up.

Hanging his clothes on a chair, he curled up under the covers. His chest was whirring again, and the discomfort was akin to something you've gone through before. Separation anxiety. When you did show up ten minutes later, he rolled over to the door to watch your form. Hearing the fabric shuffle in your direction made your heart skip in panic.

He was awake.

"Arthur's puking his guts out, so if you hear coughing, it's him."

Hopefully, some light-hearted banter could keep you from acting up. But that was easier said than done.

The blanket lifted briefly so you could get under it. Once you got comfortable, he didn't hesitate to pull you in by the waist to spoon you. Ever since he saw you sleep in the club, and on Allen no less, he'd been dying to do this. "... I tried telling him." He murmured into your ear. "But I've slept through worse. You flop and roll a lot."

The feeling of his breath on your neck and the sound of his husky voice made your heart ache. Every night was spent like this, warm and snug in his arms, but tonight was different. Inside, you were still agonizing over what you had done to him, even if it wasn't exactly him. So to feel his chest rise against your back, then his legs rub against yours, you just couldn't take it—it was all too much.

Rolling over to him, you caught his neck in your arms and pulled it down for a tight squeeze. What you uttered next captured your deepest and most inexplicable desire. To truly be alone with him.

"I can't take it here anymore." You muttered furiously, hugging him around his neck to start crushing him.

He let out a shaky breath at the sudden pressure.

"Hey, hey, calm down. What's wrong?"

"I can't calm down. I need to talk to you. Alone." Sitting up at that, you pulled him along. It came especially easy as he stood up, eager to understand your spontaneity. "And in someplace that's not here. There's just... Too many people. Four is too many."

Alfred lit up, but his growing smile did his emotions no justice. He was ecstatic. Things were always simpler when it was just the two of you. Maybe you were finally getting sick of these cramped living conditions, the scrutiny. At least, he knew he was. So it was almost as if you read his mind. "Okaay. Are we going on a midnight adventure?" He piped.

But then again, you always seemed to be walking on the same wavelength as him.

He followed you around the room like a puppy as you collected some things—your jacket, then Alfred's phone to shoot Allen a text. We're off to the nearest no-tell motel to talk. We'll be back in the morning. Setting the device onto the desk, you threw him his belongings. His gun and trusty coil of tools. Catching them wordlessly, he shot you a quizzical look. "Well, aren't you mysterious? Where are we going?"

Little did he know, your decision to leave the house for the night had only so much to do with random selfish impulses. From the outside, it looked exactly like that. Up and going without a care in the world, without care for Allen, and becoming unreachable for the next several hours. But after what happened, you just needed time to recalibrate.

"Where we always used to go." You threw your jacket on. Dragging him out into the hall, he caught a brief glimpse of Arthur passed out over the toilet before he found himself in the garage.

Handing him his key, you opened the car door next to the driver's seat. "We have to be quick before Allen tries to stop us."

The said man was sitting on the roof when he heard the rumbling of the garage door. Immediately after the sound stopped, a car sped out of it with an aggressive vroom and disappeared into the night. Narrowing his eyes at the rear window, he stood up and tossed his cigarette over the edge. Where the hell were you going this late at night? And with Alfred, no less?

He could feel hot jealousy prick him all over again. But it was warped with a harrowing kind of sadness. No matter what he did or what he said, he couldn't seem to get in between you two. Allen sat back down and lit up another cigarette. Giving that a few puffs, he surrounded his head in a cloud of grey smoke. Maybe he did know you for too long.

For eight years, he'd been a brotherly figure in your life. Now, he was afraid that was all he was ever going to be.

~~~

Parking the car in the courtyard after the most thrilling joyride, you pulled Alfred into the reception to book a room. Given his inhumane strength, your efforts to drag him down the hall were to no avail. Peering down at you with a warm smile, his face contorted with an amused look as you tugged at his arm as hard as you could. "Easy there, tiger. This is a motel, not a five-star hotel."

Between two walls littered with cracks was a dimly lit interior. Everything smelt like vomit, piss, and alcohol to boot, and yet, you were bounding beside him in excitement. "I know! But doesn't this feel nostalgic? We lived in these places for ages." You exasperated, scanning a keycard to unlock the door.

Alfred didn't think he was a sentimental person, but hearing you reminisce the past so fondly was enough to change his smile into a bittersweet one. "I guess." He couldn’t remember everything like you, but for now, he could pretend he did. "Motels are economic and discrete, so where was a better place to go?"

Once you both got inside, he felt your hand let go of his. For a moment, he felt just the smallest dash of loneliness—it was the emptiness of not feeling you somewhere where you should have been. Fortunately, it faded when you gleamed at him while you explored the room with child-like curiosity.

"I think I did a pretty good job at converting you." Alfred mused.

You flopped onto the bed to lie on your back. "Converting me to what?"

The mattress dipped to your right, so you rolled over to face him. "To a commoner. Or maybe something lower than that." He grinned devilishly. And for that comment, he would earn a strong shove on his chest. Despite nearly falling off the edge, he merely scooted back in. "I've never seen someone this happy staying in a dump like this."

"Don't give yourself too much credit. I just miss it." Pausing briefly at that, a small smile spread to your lips when you saw his, wide and as endearing as ever. If there was one thing you wanted to see before you died, it was this. Alfred's warm smile. As you lingered on the thought, you realized you were completely smitten with him.

But most importantly, at peace.

This was exactly why you even dragged him here in the first place. For some quality alone time, backtracking, and a good, long talk without interruptions. "I'd know all about dumps." You murmured, reaching out to play with a lock of his sandy blonde hair. "Zao and I tend to find our best friends in them."

He chuckled airily. "Is this me?"

"... Well, sure. But I was talking about Allen."

Things got dark pretty fast.

You both laughed it off. He didn't have great memories of motels, but laying here with you reminded him of what you said about them. A lot of good things happened in these tiny rooms, apparently. And they were what you two talked about until three AM in the morning, standing together out on the balcony. From here, the heart of the city could be seen, from the aerial roads of spinners in the distance to the endless hills of skyscrapers and blinking lights.

"I was thinking," Alfred murmured quietly, turning his head to you. The right side of his face reflected the glow of the city. But it couldn't quite compare to the hope that lit up his eyes, as subtle as it was. "Is everything finally over?"

You turned to him, gaze softened. For just tonight, you would let him bask in his ignorance. And yourself, in his hold. "Not yet." You whispered. The feeling of his hand on your waist was a feeling you could get used to. Reaching out to his other one on the railing, you guided it to your side so he could hold you properly.

Alfred squeezed you eagerly, pressing closer to your body.

Taking his face into your hands, you gave him one last gesture of untold affection. It was a culmination of raw emotion free from your own better judgment. A means to communicate without talking.

You pressed your forehead against his and closed your eyes.

At that very space in time, a singular thought occurred to both of you—I wish this moment would last forever.

"But we'll make it... Just like we always do."

What would you do if I killed you?

Nothing, because I'd be dead.

What if you survived? Or left behind a soul?

Then I'll come back and find you.

The club was still pounding away, much like the headache in his skull. Sucking in a sharp breath, he suffered the worst wake-up call in his short life—he was still bleeding, and in terrible pain. He shakily felt around his wound while hyperventilating on the ground. How he hadn't kicked the bucket yet was beyond him.

"Get your ass up already. I know you're not dead." A man growled in disdain, giving the body on the ground a light kick.

"Gh—!" He let out a pained gasp and clung onto the ground for dear life. It had been years since he felt this alive—ironically, it was when he was inches away from death.

His perpetrator had their dark eyes fixated on him like a stain on the floor. Their pupils were as red as the blood his victim bathed in. But they always had a strong stomach for gore. "What am I gonna say when the owner finds out I'm the reason you even got in here? You're bleeding into the pool." They murmured, raising his leg to keep tormenting the other like a new hobby.

With a few more kicks, the body rolled onto its back.

"Ugh... Fuck... How am I not dead?" He coughed in agony.

The other shrugged, flicking their ponytail over their shoulder. "God knows. Maybe you have a greater purpose to serve." As cryptic as that sounded, it was nothing but the truth. He had more to his life than dying in a nightclub. Dying could be a part of it, but this couldn't be the location to do it, nor could it be by your hand—the closest kin to his creator.

"Why else did he make you?"

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