where do stars go? | ksy
⭑ pairing: speakeasy owner!hoshi x gangster!f.reader ٠࣪⭑ for: puttin' on the ritz collab hosted by @studiosvt ٠࣪⭑ summary: Nothing’s ever been serious where you’re concerned, especially the way you flirt with him, but when Soonyoung overhears something he shouldn’t, and your perfect mask slips, he starts to wonder if you’ve been keeping other secrets hidden in the dark. ٠࣪⭑ genre: 1920s mafia AU, set in NYC during the prohibition. smut, angst, happy ending ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: guns, violence, blood, nothing gory but there is a gunshot wound, brief implication of torture but none described, cheol gets punched (sorry cheol), a hidden pregnancy and subsequent child, theft, drinking, smoking, typical misogyny of the era, deception. (listen, it's hard to be anything more than morally grey when you're the daughter of a mafia boss, but i tried to make her somewhat redeemable 💔) ٠࣪⭑ smut warnings: kissing, unprotected sex (don't be silly), oral (m receiving), fingering. if you think i've forgotten any warnings please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑wc: 10.6k (complete) ٠࣪⭑ a/n: hello loves! i'm not normally one for writing children into fics, but for this one and the time it's set in, it felt right. this was meant to be posted ages ago but i was so busy i couldn't write for a while, and then i meant to finish it the other day but my afternoon got taken over looking after a pigeon. no rest for the wicked, ig. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: enormous thank u 2 my beloved @starlightkyeom for reading this over in the early hours of the morning, i adore you, @joshujin for the banner (incredible as always), and @gyuswhore for the extra time 💕
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now
“What are you doing here? He might see–”
“It’s about him, Miss. We need t–”
“Damn it, Seungcheol. Inside, quickly now.”
He doesn’t mean to listen in, never would consider invading your space without being invited, but Soonyoung’s on his way back from the storeroom when he catches your voice echoing down the corridor. Rounds the corner to see your back pressed against the door frame, and Seungcheol, the club’s bouncer, passing through it. You hastily close the door behind you, but not quite enough. He knows all too well how it sticks, sometimes.
Soonyoung hears the whispering, and inches forward as he hears his name. You and Seungcheol together, in that room? Well, repugnance rises in him like bile. What could you be doing, inviting another man into the dressing room– yours Wednesday through Sunday– when you’d swore blind that he was the only one for you? How could you do this in his place, right under his damn nose.
Are you raising your skirt for Seungcheol, like you do for him? Are you showing him how wet you get? Or worse… are you telling him of your dreams? Does he know how badly you want to be done with this place, this city, this life? Does Seungcheol tell you you’re a star? Does he say that you could shine bright anywhere in the world with that voice of yours, that face, and that he’d take you away with him one day, when the time is right?
He’s holding his breath outside the door, can’t decide yet whether to burst in or to leave it entirely, but then he hears the flick of your lighter, and the mention of his investor’s name out of Seungcheol’s mouth.
Soonyoung’s eyebrows draw together. Of course Seungcheol knows him– he’d expect nothing less of his investor to have someone on the inside to keep a close eye, but what takes him aback is that you seem to know him too.
“What’ll you have me tell Sugar, Miss?” asks Seungcheol.
There’s a long silence before you answer.
“Are you sure it’s Soonyoung?” you ask shortly.
“We are,” insists Seungcheol. “Minghao checked the records and the safe, too. He’s ready for something– seems he’s been getting ready for some time.”
Soonyoung’s blood runs cold. They know. Shit– it’s a wonder they haven’t got him tied to a chair and beaten blue already. He needs to go, needs to take the case he’s kept hidden for months, needs to take the money (if it’s still there) and leave this wretched place– but you, and the sudden quandary of your involvement in this keeps him rooted to the spot. Do you work for them too? Have you been telling Sugar all his secrets? Was spying on him the sole reason you seduced him, all those years ago?
“Miss– Miss are you listening? Your father wants you to handle this yourself.”
Father.
Your father.
Soonyoung almost loses his stomach, right there in the corridor.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
June 1923
“Why The Blue Pearl?” you ask, passing him your half-smoked cigarette.
Soonyoung has lost count of the amount of times he’s laid like this with you, in his little apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, but tonight is special. It’s his birthday, and although it’s a Monday, you brought him a cake, haphazardly decorated (but at least delicious), and told him to make a wish.
You’re in your slip, palest pink, which was bunched up around your waist only ten minutes prior, with your bare legs resting over his. He told you once his favourite part of you were your legs, but they’re not. It’s your eyes, and the starshine within them.
“For my mother,” he answers, flicking the ash into a tray on his nightstand and taking a drag. “She loved Edith Hallor. They worked on Broadway together, she even came for dinner at the house a few times.”
“Your mother’s an actress?” The surprise is evident in your voice.
“Nah. She worked on costumes.” Soonyoung smiles ruefully. “Edith was her favourite. We talked about seeing the movie together but Ma passed before it started showing.”
You turn onto your side, body pressed flush against his own and you look at him with those pretty eyes and tell him how sorry you are.
“I didn’t know, Soonie,” you say.
“How could you?” he says, stubbing out the cigarette and stifling a yawn. “I never mentioned her before now.”
“How’d she go?”
“Influenza, like every other fucker in the city.”
“You oughtn’t curse when talking about your mother!” you scold him, smacking lightly at his chest.
Soonyoung laughs and grabs your hand, twines your fingers together and holds them over his heart.
“She must’ve been a good woman,” you say quietly.
“What makes you say such a thing?”
“She raised you, didn’t she?” You press your lips to his jaw. “Only a wonderful person could’ve raised a man like you.”
And it’s the first time he’s heard you so serious in the few years since you met. Three or four nights a week you spend in his club, winking at him from your place on the stage, sitting at the bar after your set and asking him to stop washing glasses so he can come show you some of his moves. You’ve always loved the way he dances, throwing your head back laughing as he helps you with the steps, calling him New York's very own Rudolph Valentino. He’s never seen you in the daylight, but around you, he’s never felt anything but sunshine.
“What did you wish for?” you ask gently. “When you blew out your candle?”
He smiles. Some variation of the picket-fence fantasy he’s played out in his head so many times over the last few years. Pictures you in lights, maybe he teaches folk how to dance, and you’re both coming home to a house you share. Imagines what your children would look like, wonders if he could ever feel a kick underneath his palm on your belly, as his mother said his father did.
“Would you marry me?”
And as soon as those hasty words hang in the air he regrets them.
“Soonyoung–” you start, quietly, stroking his cheek. “I– I can’t. I’m sorry.”
And he knows you love him, even though you’ve never said the words aloud. Knows because of the way you look at him, the way you only have eyes for him in a room full of rich, handsome men– ones with status and power and everything else a woman like you could have. But it’s him you keep coming back to, it’s his name you gasp into his sheets, and you say it’s only him who’s ever made you feel so alive.
He closes his eyes. Lets you kiss his collarbone and his jaw and his cheek and his eyelids and say I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I wish… I wish–
“Why can’t you?” he asks, so crestfallen, as you kiss into his hair.
You hesitate, so he presses again.
“My family,” you whisper. “My daddy, mostly. He’d never allow it.”
He swallows the lump in his throat. “Because I’m–”
“No,” you quickly interject. “It’s nothing to do with you. He just has other plans for me, Soonyoung. Ones that don’t involve wasting my time on anything as trivial as love.”
Love.
Soonyoung turns his face to you, and God, you look as dejected as he feels. So he lets you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until he wonders if maybe this kind of love could be enough.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now
“I know, Seungcheol.” You take a long drag of your cigarette, running your finger along the rim of your champagne coupe, the vibration of it singing. “Let me think.”
It’s quite the surprise that Soonyoung would betray your father after close to a decade. He’s been as loyal as they come, careful with the staff he hires and even more so with the money. As of late there’s been a shortfall, and your fool of a brother had speculated it could be due to increased patrols in the area, as reported at other establishments under The Mob’s control, but you hadn’t noticed any difference in the level of patronage. You’d suspected one of the barmen or waitresses, maybe. Not Soonyoung. Never him.
But it seems Soonyoung finally got the balls to do what he’d always talked about with you. Get some money together and escape this wretched place. And you knew he wanted out badly, but had no idea this was how he planned to do it. What a crying shame he had to be so reckless as to steal from your father.
So you swallow your resentment as you stub out your cigarette. Your father might be out for blood but he’ll be keen to let you handle this mess, and if you can pin the blame elsewhere you’ll take every opportunity. If nothing else, you can buy Soonyoung some time.
“Follow him tonight,” you say, eyeing the crack in the door and the shadow that moves across it. “Don’t let him know, just see where he goes.”
Seungcheol frowns. “Sugar will be expecting you to have him brought in.”
“We ought to find out where the money is first, don’t you think?” You stand, smoothing down your dress. “You can pick him up once we find out where he’s keeping it.”
Your longtime bodyguard still seems hesitant, so you say, “Come on, Cheolie. You’ll want some variety by now, surely? A bit of detective work will be a nice change from looking after little old me?”
“It’s a pleasure to look out for you, Miss.”
You smile at him.
Seungcheol is your man. He’s been more of a brother these last ten years than your own blood has ever been. Loyal to you over your father, as he’s proved time and time again, but you’ve always known to keep your cards close to your chest until the time is right. You’ll tell Seungcheol the truth about you and Soonyoung, just as soon as you figure out what the hell you’re going to do.
“Sweet Seungcheol. You don’t know how thankful I am for you.” You walk over to him and blood flushes his face ruddy as you reach up to kiss his cheek. “But don’t you dare question my methods again.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
December 1919
“Joshua tells me you can sing?” asks Soonyoung, throwing the towel over his shoulder.
“Yes sir,” you say, leaning across the bar to pluck an olive from the bowl. A smile tugs at his mouth at your self-assuredness. “I’ve always wanted to perform in a place like this. It’s beautiful.”
You’re right, it is beautiful. It’d be even more so with your face up there on the stage, but he needs to hear your voice first. No use having a singer who can’t hold a tune. It’s thanks to Sugar that he can afford a performer at all. Without his investment it’d be just like any other gin joint cropping up around the city.
“Well go on now,” he says, nodding toward the centre of the room. “Stage is yours, sweetheart.”
You look around, an uncertain expression on your face. “But– there’s no music.”
Soonyoung places his hands on the bar and leans close, a smirk playing on his lips. “Aren’t you the music?”
And your voice is as spectacular as your face. His jaw hangs slack as you deliver your final notes and he can’t quite believe you’re gunning for here rather than Broadway. Rather than Hollywood. There’s been talk of modern advances that’ll allow sound in the next few years. You should surely be there, readying for the spotlights and the cameras instead singing to regular folk in this smokey room. You’re a ready made star.
He wonders where you might’ve come from, or how you even know Joshua. Anyone can tell you come from money, without a ring on your finger and standing there with a string of pearls around your neck and diamonds dripping from your ears. Your fur coat drapes over the chair at the bar, and your dress is made of silk rather than cotton, like his shirt. Women like you only come to places like this to drink and find men to marry, not to work for ten dollars a night.
“By that look on your face, I’m thinking you’ll have me, Mr Kwon?”
Your winning smile is all sunshine.
“You can call me Soonyoung, sweetheart,” he says, resting his chin on his hands. “Yes, I’ll have you.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now
What can he do? What is there to do? You’re having him followed by his own Goddamn bouncer so he can’t very well leave now, can he? Soonyoung’s worldview has been flipped upside down and every carnal instinct he has tells him to run, but he finds himself back behind the bar in thirty seconds flat. Joshua gives him an uneasy smile as he watches him knock back a thumbmeasure of gin.
“Not like you to work through the supplies before the night’s even started,” he remarks, buffing a mark from the glass and setting it on the shelf above him. “Are you unwell?”
“Got a headache,” Soonyoung bluffs.
He’ll have to wait. Go about his business as he would’ve a few months prior and just go home after lock up, instead of to his cousin’s apartment on the Lower East Side. Maybe once Seungcheol’s off his tail he can move the money back. Maybe he could ask Jihoon to–
And the music starts, but this time he can’t even look at you as you take centre stage in your sparkling, silver dress. You sing your first and last songs for him, you always said, making eyes across the room through the haze of smoke and putting all your heart in it. This time, he can only think of his naivety, his carelessness, and the depths of your betrayal. All these years you’ve never been his at all. And the despair nearly makes its way onto his face as the song carries on, and he keeps playing pretend all is well.
Of course he’s heard stories of Sugar’s children. Knows about the oaf of a son that spends all his money on expensive liquor and cheap whores. Knows no one trusts him to inherit the empire, and that Sugar himself speaks of his uselessness. Everyone talks of how the girl is favoured, that she doesn’t have a drop of hesitation in her when it comes to putting someone in their place, and that when she kills it’s cold and clean.
So you’ve certainly inherited your father’s traits, haven’t you? All sweetness and charm and warmth until the time comes, aren’t you? Are you as cutthroat as him? Do you care anything at all for the blood spilled in his name? Have you used that twisted method of his, sweetened boiled water, poured over flesh?
And suddenly all his memories feel like falsehoods, and the loving words whispered in his ear feel like deceit and he can’t believe he fell for a play like this. Of course you wouldn’t want him. Of course he was just a job to you.
Soonyoung knows nothing at all, it seems.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
March 1925
“I’m leaving, Soonyoung.”
You’re fixing your hair in the mirror as he pulls his braces back over his shoulders. His face has that lovely flush it gets after you’ve had your way with him. Eyes still a little soft, and a lazy, self-assured smile plays on cherry smeared lips.
He smiles wide. “Come kiss me again then, sweetheart.”
“No, baby.” You turn with a sad smile. “I’m going away.” His face falls, and you can’t look at him, casting your eyes to the floor. “I know a girl who can sing and she’ll fill my spot, she’s coming to see you about it on Monday evening.”
“Where you going?” he asks under his breath.
“Los Angeles.” The lie slides off your tongue like honey. “A man from Hollywood heard me singing last week. Says I have a face good enough that I could be a movie star there, maybe.”
Soonyoung’s expression goes all hard and soft, upticks his brows in effort not to let you see how it breaks him inside, and you know this was the perfect story. He’d never dream of standing in your way. He’s nothing at all like your daddy. Nothing at all like your new husband, except for a little something in the way his mouth is shaped. It’s what makes it bearable, sometimes, that when you have to kiss him you can sometimes imagine it’s Soonyoung instead.
What breaks your heart in two is the way he smiles, so forlornly, when he quietly tells you– “you’re the star in any room you walk in, baby.”
And he must see the despondent look on your face, because his arms come around your body in a second, and you almost cry. Would do anything to stay here, with him, in this place, in his arms. But if you were to stick around, he’ll see the way your body will surely grow, and he’ll have questions you couldn’t possibly answer. You’re not the shark your father considers you to be, not with him. With Soonyoung, you’re the person you always wanted to be.
“I’ll miss you,” you say into his chest, voice choked, and for the first time today, in ages, it’s something honest.
“I’ll visit,” he offers, though you know that even if you’d give him your address he could never make time to travel to where he thinks you’ll be, somewhere across the country, while under the thumb of a man like your father.
You swallow. “That’d be wonderful.”
And he kisses you deep, kisses you like it’s the last one he’ll ever have, puts all his love for you in it and you take it, just like you’re taking everything else of his.
“You’ll write me, won’t you?” he whispers, his panted breath fanning your lips.
“Of course I will.”
Of course, you don’t.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now
Three days go by without movement before your father’s patience wears thin. ‘Fuck the money,’ he’d growled, his deceptively sweet face turned sour. ‘Kill him.’ And so you’re outside Soonyoung’s apartment, a revolver cold against your skin under your fur coat, and Seungcheol is at the wheel.
But daddy doesn’t know that Seungcheol is your guy, and although he’s never called you anything but Miss, he’s always had something akin to a brotherly affection for you. And you know it’s no easy ask, what you’ve told him you need tonight– but he’ll do it. You can see he’s still working through your revelations, and it’s left his jaw set so tight it must surely ache. It’s a pity the outcome of tonight will have a price to pay, but for Seungcheol you’ll do everything you can to lessen his beating.
“Will he go along with it, Miss?”
You suck in a breath. “Depends if he wants to live.”
He bristles. Hesitates a moment before saying, “I don’t like it, Miss. Not one little bit. What if he h–”
“Well you’ll be right there, won’t you, Cheolie? Come fetch me when the lights go out.”
You give his arm a squeeze before he gets out to open your car door. There’s a chill tonight, your breath fogs the air and you pull your coat tighter around your body. Low light flickers in the window of Soonyoung’s apartment, and a shadow moves across it. He’s been watching.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
24th December 1924
The Blue Pearl always feels so much warmer at Christmas, with all the lights and the decorations and the huge tree dressed in red and gold in the corner of the room. He’s strung up paper stars and mistletoe all over the place, holly and ivy adorn the piano behind you, and a red ribbon bow is tied perfectly around your microphone.
Soonyoung certainly knows how to throw a party. Joshua and Vernon are run off their feet making drinks, and the girls are busy entertaining men throwing their money around like they haven’t got families at home, but Soonyoung– he’s watching you, elbows on the bar and chin resting on the heel of his palm, some proud stupid-in-love kind of look in his eyes as he smiles while you deliver your final verse.
The last notes from the piano ring in the air, and the audience still sober enough to stand do so, the noise of cheering and whooping and clapping feels almost like the roar of the ocean.
“Be sure to tip your bartenders and waitresses well tonight,” you call into the mic, smiling wide. Joshua and Vernon glance up at you with appreciation and you wink at them. “Merry Christmas everyone!”
The band kicks up again as one of the regulars helps you off stage with a firm hand, and though you only have eyes for the man behind the bar in his pinstripe shirt, unbuttoned at the collar on account of the heat in this room, you’re stopped numerous times by patrons on your way over to him. So you offer them your smile and try to slip away before Soonyoung gets caught up in some menial task that doesn’t involve stealing away to your dressing room.
“You’re too good for this place,” Soonyoung says as you finally approach the bar.
You wrinkle your nose. “And yet something keeps me coming back.”
He laughs and leans across the bar, pressing his palms flat on the counter. Looks good enough to kiss.
“Can I fix you a drink, sweetheart?” he asks, a soft lilt in his voice.
“No,” you say. “But you can come dance with me.”
“I’m working.”
“A feeble excuse,” you tease. “You’ve been watching me for the past five minutes.”
“Twenty at least,” complains a passing Vernon, and you giggle.
“C’mon, Soonyoung,” you pout. “Just one dance.”
“Might as well go, boss,” calls Joshua, shaking a cocktail. “We’ve got things handled, and your girl won’t stop sulking until she gets all your attention.”
Soonyoung laughs again, pushing his tongue into his cheek and you grin, triumphant.
And so one dance turns into two turns into five turns into slipping away to the back door, a needy Soonyoung on your heels down the corridor. Sweat drips down your skin and he kisses down your neck in the privacy of your dressing room, the cold wall against your back stealing your breath from your lungs. The noise from the club is muffled now. In here, it’s warm lamplight and the scent of powder, and Soonyoung pressing into the gap between your legs, tongue and teeth working over the sensitive spot below your ear.
You lean back just enough to breathe, and he follows instinctively, chasing your mouth. There’s something in his face that makes your chest ache– something open and unguarded and fervent.
“On your knees,” he breathes.
You’ve always loved this side of Soonyoung. This urgency, this passion, how he loses himself in you completely. Even more so on nights like this, when you wear his favourite dress and that perfume he says smells like sin. Something about it makes him forget the tenderness you see when you’re in his apartment in the middle of the night, casts it aside in favour of raw, carnal desire. Makes you feel so desperately wanted, because no one else would dare make demands of you like this.
And so you look up at him with wide eyes as you sink to the floor, and he undoes his belt. Soonyoung smirks dirty as you work the buttons of his fly– lets out some low, pleased hum as you tug his cock free and wrap your hand firm around his girth. He stares down at you with parted lips and hungry eyes, cheeks flushing pretty as you stroke him. Groans soft when you roll your hand over the head, and watches, enraptured, when your free hand finds the space between your own legs. And though he can’t see the way you slide your finger over your bare clit beneath the hem of your dress, the way you suck in a breath is enough to inspire his imagination.
Your eyes flit up to meet his again as you lean in, flicking your tongue over the bead of moisture gathering at the head and his hands fly to your hair, gathers it in his fist as your mouth sinks over him with hollowed cheeks. He hisses as you pull back, swirl your tongue around the head and take him fully in again. Panted breaths fall from parted lips as you slip into a rhythm, fingers circled around the base as take him deep in your mouth again and again. His leaking cock twitches against your lips when you pull back, when you tease the slit with your tongue and his desperate moan is so sweet to your ears.
His breaths are falling broken and rapid and you’re heated by the sound of it, fingers sinking deep into your wet cunt and it’s almost enough to get you off, this power you have over him, but he’s swearing something filthy and incoherent as he tugs you off him and drags you up to press you back against the wall.
“Can’t–” he pants against your mouth, stopping to kiss you deep and messy. “Need to feel how wet you are.”
You smirk, arching your back and lifting your leg to rest your foot on the vanity, and Soonyoung responds instantly, fingers spreading against the small of your back, drawing you in until there’s no air between you. Finds your lips and kisses you hard and senseless. Your hand slides from his collar up into his hair, feeling the soft strands at his nape, tugging gently just to hear the way his breath hitches.
His hand goes to your thigh, sliding over your stockings and brushing his fingers over the soft skin in the gap between the band and the hem of your corset. You snag his earlobe between your teeth, reach for his cock to pump him slow and easy and he groans, dimpling the flesh of your thigh beneath his fingertips.
And finally his hand finds your centre, and his eyes blow wide. Stares at you for a long moment before you say, “Merry Christmas, baby.”
He laughs loud, doesn’t waste any time before pressing between your legs and lining his cock up against your entrance and sinking into your tight, wet heat. “Filthy girl,” he rasps, bottoming out inside you and watching your lips fall apart. “Anyone could’ve seen.”
“Only you,” you gasp as he pulls out slow just to fuck back in hard. And he drops his head to your shoulder, smirks against your skin as he takes you like this, filling you with an exquisite stretch. You slip your arms beneath his shirt and around his back, fingers on sweat-slick skin, feeling the tension in the hard lines of definition there and his pace hastens, pushing hard into your wet cunt, clenching tight around him.
The buckle of his belt is digging into your inner thigh, biting at the flesh and you know it’ll leave a raw mark there, but some indistinct part of you wants it. Wants his lasting impression on your skin, because between all the small, fading scars you’ve been given by others, at least one should belong to him. Makes you want to make your own, crescent moons in his back, and Soonyoung makes a deliciously lewd noise as you dig in, and it’s all you can focus on beyond the sound his skin slapping against yours, the slick of his cock buried in your pussy, and a moan sliding from your throat.
And then he’s moving, lifting you into his arms and finding the chair in the corner of the room before falling into it. He holds you in his lap as you drag your dress over your shoulders and toss it to the floor– drops his face into your cleavage and mouths at your skin when you lift up to line his cock up against your entrance again and sink back down.
You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders as you lean back, let him see the mess he’s made of you, the sheen of your wetness on the base of his cock as you tighten around him. He curses, throws his head back and closes his eyes, cock twitching inside your pussy, and you know he won’t last much longer.
“Feels good,” you gasp.
“Yeah?” he slurs. “Shit, baby, tell me just how good I fuck you.”
Soonyoung all but shakes as you ride him, talking him through it dirty and obscene, circling your hips and grinding against him. This new position is blinding, almost, the way he feels so impossibly deep– made infinitely more so when his thumb circles your clit and you release a broken cry. That white-hot wave rushes through your veins, that telltale, dirty squelch where your bodies connect, and you’re rendered incoherent as he steadies his feet on the ground and fucks up into you, gathering the wetness that spills from your cunt with his fingers and running rapid circles over your clit. You come with a violent tremor and a fragmented whine, and Soonyoung swears, leans forward to bury his face in your chest again and lets out a velvet moan.
“God–” he chokes, eyes aflame. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna–”
“Inside me, baby. Wanna feel it.”
“Fuck fuck fuck– oh my God,” he gasps, words muffled against your skin, fingers digging into your hips to still them as he spills cum into your shaking body.
You press your forehead to his, and though it’s been several years of this– years of coming to each other in the dead of night, stealing away to your dressing room to press pause on time like this, you’re dying to tell him what he means to you. God, if you could you’d have married him years ago. He hasn’t told you he loves you since that night in his apartment with a crudely decorated cake, but you know he still does. Nothing else has changed.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now
Soonyoung pulls open the door as soon as you knock.
“What are you doing here?” he asks evenly. “We don’t see each other on Mondays.”
You tilt your head, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach your eyes. Did you always smile like that? Is it only now that he knows who you are that he sees beyond the mask?
“Won’t you invite me in, Soonie?”
And he considers turning you out, but with Seungcheol sitting downstairs in the same Cadillac Sedan that was always parked outside your building, he figures it’ll only be a matter of time.
You glide past him like you own the place. Every room you’ve been in has been yours. He’d put it down to your quality, your inner light, but now he understands it comes with the ego that comes with carrying the name of a man that runs the whole Goddamn city. Your gloved fingers brush the edge of the table, the fabric of the curtains. You glance out the window, down to the car sitting outside and the amber end of Seungcheol’s cigarette, glowing in the dark. And he watches the way you turn, clocking the suitcase half-packed, the mess of papers on the countertop, and his coat draped over the chair rather than on the hook.
“You’re wondering about the case… I’m visiting my aunt in W–”
“Give it up, baby,” you say softly. “Let’s not pretend you don’t know who I am.”
He forces a laugh, before asking– “what’re you talking about?”
“Oh, Soonyoung.” You slip off your gloves finger by finger. He watches the movement. Two weeks back he’d have pulled those same gloves off with his teeth. “You were never any good at lying.”
The air thickens around him, jaw tightening. So this is it? These are his final hours? Moments? God, how he wishes he could’ve gone out in blissful ignorance. Wishes he could’ve gone out loving you as he thought you were, rather than loving a fabrication.
“So you’re here on your father’s business?”
You laugh, and the sound cuts him.
“I’m here on my–”
“Don’t lie to me! Sugar sent you, right?” he asks coldly, a tick in his jaw when you nod. “Well, you can tell him I’m flattered. I did wonder if I was worth a personal visit.”
You stare at him, and Soonyoung can’t bear the look in your eyes. “You’re worth everything to me.”
“Spare me the bullshit!” He hates the sound of his voice, all sharp and unkind and not a tone he’s ever used with you. “All these years you’ve been spying on me, huh?”
All that anger coiled in his gut over the last few days unfurls– the flames ripping up his gullet and out of his mouth with every intention of burning you like you did him. He’s only in this mess because of you anyway. Because of his stupid, reckless love for you. “Bet you laughed about it! Bet you have some other man in your bed and you laughed at me and my ignorance and what a fool I’ve been for you!”
And it spurs him on– the way your jaw clenches and the way you can’t look at him.
“Did you really have to screw me too? You had to go and make me love you? What was that for, sweetheart? Your fucking ego? Fuck you!”
You regard him for a moment, and Soonyoung is thrown by your silence. Instead of fighting with him all you do is huff a frustrated breath and reach into your purse for your cigarettes. You take a seat at the table by the window before lighting one, and pointedly gesturing for him to sit down too.
The audacity of you– telling him to sit in his own fucking home. The anger fizzes at his bones, near vibrates in him, but it’s not enough to stop him from noticing how tired you look. He can’t sit. He’s incensed. Feels the rage in his fucking bones and you’re just sitting there with your cigarette in furs your daddy must’ve paid for and expecting him to be reasonable, expecting him to buy any lie you’re selling.
Instead he puts more space between you, fetches his almost empty glass from the counter and the bottle beside it and pours himself another drink– barely a second later he knocks it back.
You cross your legs and gaze out of the window, and after a long, silent moment, you quietly ask– "Why'd you think I left that gap in the door?” Soonyoung scowls but he doesn’t answer. “I wanted you to hear. I wanted to buy you some time while I–”
“Bullshit. You could’ve talked to me!”
“Don’t be naive–” You take a quick drag of your cigarette. “I had to be sure we weren’t being watched.”
“And what of the last eight years?!” he cries, voice cracking. “If you’d told me the damn truth I would’ve understood! I’d have caused no hassle–”
“Don’t speak to me of causing hassle when you’re the one who’s been cheating my father out of his money.” Your lip curls, a bitterness on your tongue. “There was no hassle until you saw fit to take what isn’t yours. This is your doing, Soonyoung, and I’m the one here to fix it.”
And though he scoffs, he’s losing steam. Can’t work out why you’re trying to convince him you’re not here to bring him to meet his maker. What’s the point? Can’t piece together the image of the you that sits here as Sugar’s daughter, and the you that he kisses so sweet whenever he gets the opportunity.
“So tell me,” he says bitterly, pouring himself another glass. “Was I just a job?”
“You think I needed to seduce you to keep tabs on you?” you shoot back. “I could’ve watched you from across the room and learned everything. You were as loyal as me until I came back.”
“Then why would you get involved with me at all?”
“Because I love you, Soonyoung.”
The words hang heavy in the air. He rolls his eyes but fuck, he wants to believe it. You stand, crossing the room slowly to stand on the other side of the counter. You take his glass from his hand and he lets you, watches you swallow it down, the movement in your throat, and the lipstick you leave on the rim.
He shakes his head. “You lied to me.”
You put your hand on the counter, barely an inch from his own. “Yes.”
“About who you are– about why you were there.”
“Yes, I did.”
Each admission is a punch to the gut, and you don’t even try to soften the blow.
“What about Hollywood– was that a lie too?”
A pause, and Soonyoung watches the mask slip– catches a flash of fear in your eyes before you close them. “Yes,” you breathe.
He swallows. “So where were you? Over a year you were gone– were you still in New York, jerking around some other guy running your fathers’ clubs?”
“I was not,” you insist.
“So where?”
“New Jersey.”
Soonyoung’s laugh is loud and sharp. “Jeez. All that time I missed you thinking you were thousands of miles away. You’re unbelievable. A dirty fuckin’ liar.”
“And you’re a thief!” you all but yell, but he shouts over you with a snapped– “You know damn well he was taking too much–
“Oh! Don’t pretend you’re some fucking angel, Soonyoung,” you hiss, cutting him off. “You stole from my father!”
“I stole from a brute!”
The silence almost rings. Wonders if you might slap him across the face before your eyebrows tick up in a sort of amused resignation, and you let out a dark chuckle.
“If he’s a brute, then I’m a brute,” you say.
And he can’t find it in him to agree. Yes. You might be, but he can’t bring himself to say it aloud. After a moment, your hand draws back, and you’re reaching into the lining of your coat. You pull out a revolver, and Soonyoung’s heart thrums in his ears as you set it carefully on the table between you.
“He wants me to kill you, Soonyoung.”
“I figured,” he says hoarsely, mouth going dry. “Been wondering why you haven’t done it already.”
“Well the thing is, baby,” you murmur. “I rather like you alive.”
He looks at the gun. Can’t imagine you using that thing, can’t picture you as the woman he’s heard all those rumours about. That stone cold killer.
“You had me followed.”
“Yes.”
“So you’re handing me over? Having someone else do your dirty work?”
“No, Soonyoung. You’re going to run.”
The certainty in your voice makes him look up.
“Run?” he echoes. “I don’t understand.”
“In a few minutes,” you say, slipping off your coat and tossing it to the armchair behind you. “You’re gonna go downstairs and take that car of mine and drive far far away. Wait til you’re a few states over and sell it. Buy another car somewhere else and keep going. The money you stole, plus a little extra, is on the backseat. It’s enough to get you set up on the west coast. Or in Mexico if you’re smart about it. Personally I’d rather be on the other side of the world.”
Soonyoung lets out a tiny, disbelieving laugh. “I– what?”
“You’re gonna change your name, and then you’re gonna find somewhere to settle down and live an honest life. Keep yourself out of trouble. Start teaching dance, like you always said, maybe? And if you want– if you can forgive me, you can write me–” You reach into your coat again, pulling out a scrap of paper and placing it in front of him. It’s the address to your apartment. “–write me here. They don’t know about this place but don’t sign your name and don’t write anything about our past– just in case. Draw a little star in the corner so I know it’s you.”
You say it so earnestly that Soonyoung can hardly breathe. Feels his heartbeat in his throat and he’s choked with it. You’re helping him? God, he wants it to be true, despite everything.
“I don’t understand,” he says, voice thick. “What about Seungcheol?”
“There’s no need to worry about him,” you explain. “He’s mine. He’ll leave the keys for you on the seat as soon as the lights go out in here.”
He thinks it over. Chews on the fat of his cheek until he can taste metal. And you just stand there, quietly regarding him, and waiting for him to accept that he must mean something to you, for you to go to all this trouble.
“And–” he eventually starts, voice so small. “And what of the gun?”
You smile a little sad.
Oh so gently, you say, “You’re gonna have to shoot me, baby.”
And Soonyoung feels all the blood drain from his face. He– he can’t find the words– just gapes at you like a dolt as you don’t seem affected in the slightest, as if it were a simple conversation about the damn weather.
You push it closer and he stares at it in disbelief. He’s kept a gun behind the bar of The Blue Pearl for eight years and he’s never once had to use it. The thought makes him feel somewhat sick.
“No.”
You huff a small, frustrated breath. “I’m not telling you to kill me. Aim low.” You place your hand on your abdomen, just below your belly button– and Soonyoung can’t imagine it, maiming your body in such a way. “Seungcheol’s right outside to t–”
He shakes his head. “You’re crazy–”
“My father won’t believe I let you get away without a str–”
“This is ridiculous–”
“Soonyoung, please,” you try to reason. “There has to be some ev–”
“No!” Soonyoung grabs for your hand, tightens his fingers around yours, and he catches a flicker of contrition in your eyes at the touch. “I can’t do this!”
“You must!”
“Tell him you killed me!” he begs, almost delirious. Panic is taking grip of his spine, a cold sweat forming on his brow. “Tell him you tossed my body in the river and take the money back. I’ll leave! He need never know!”
“Soonyoung, listen to me!” you snap, eyes hard and resolute. “He’d never believe it without a body. If I were to tell him you were dead without your blood on my hands he’d know in a heartbeat what I feel for you, and then you have no idea what he’d do to us both. You have no idea how cruel he can be. Family means nothing to him without loyalty. You’ve heard the stories about what he did to my mother, don’t think for a second he wouldn’t do that to me too.”
And he hates the way your time together has come to this crashing end. Can’t stand the way you shake his hand off to take the bottle and pour yourself a large glass. You down it quickly, a few drops of liquor spilling from the corners of your mouth, that you brush away with your thumb.
“I can’t hurt you,” he whispers, voice cracking.
“Come on now,” you say firmly. “He’ll forgive me a screw up in letting you take my gun, but he’ll never even try to understand anything e–”
You’re interrupted with a sharp rap at the door and you snatch the gun from the counter, start to raise it toward the door before it’s cracked, and Seungcheol slips inside. He doesn’t acknowledge Soonyoung as he stands tall, hands clasped in front of him as he does at the club, and he says, “You’re taking too long, Miss.”
“I’m aware,” you say, frowning. There’s a resigned look of understanding between you as you hand him the gun. “Soonyoung’s finding it all a little difficult.”
Soonyoung lets out a scornful noise. “Oh, I apologise that I’m not inclined to hurt you for the sake of a lie!”
You place your hand over his, and he can’t bring it in him to snatch it away. Your thumb traces over his knuckles and you smile something pitiful, eyes welling up, and his heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never once seen you cry. You tug his hand up to your lips, press a soft, lingering kiss to his fingers, and under your breath, you murmur, “loving you is the only honest thing I ever did, baby.”
But then your hand slips away, and you turn towards Seungcheol. “Do it.”
And before Soonyoung can process what’s happening, before he can even blink, Seungcheol is raising the gun, and the shot rings in his ears.
Your cracked sob echoes in his skull as you crumple to the floor, and Soonyoung is over you in a heartbeat, your blood coating his trembling hands as he holds you, ugly stains on your silk dress, and all he can hear is useless, panicked whimpers before he realises those pathetic sounds are spilling from his own lips.
“Baby… baby, no–”
“Get out of the way,” Seungcheol grunts, wrenching him off of you. He presses his hands over your belly and pushes down in a way that has you crying out, eyes rolling so far back all he can see is the whites of them. And he knows that this sound, this moment, will stay with him forever.
“You–” you slur, reaching blindly for his hand. You grip him tight, and he finds some small relief in the strength of your fingers, but it’s not enough to make him feel any less hollow. “You need t– ah! Go, Soonyoung. Leave now.”
Seungcheol is lifting you, ignoring the way the movement draws a sharp gasp from your lungs, and your hand slips from his. “I’ve got you, Miss.”
“Where are you taking her?” Soonyoung demands, hysteria clawing at the edges of his vision as he’s losing you, losing everything he’s ever wanted.
“She needs a doctor,” Seungcheol mutters as he makes for the door. “Remember the plan. This is worth nothing if you don’t do as she says.”
Your body sags in his arms as he crosses the threshold, and Soonyoung’s stomach twists sharp. What if the last conversation he has with you was one in which he didn’t tell you how he loves you? What if you die not knowing all he wanted these last eight years was to make you his wife, to take you away from this wretched city and make you happy for the rest of your lives?
“I love you,” he calls urgently, tears spilling down his cheeks, as Seungcheol rushes you out.
And he doesn’t even know if you reply, if you even hear him, because Seungcheol is making down the stairs, and Soonyoung is left alone in his apartment once more, kneeling in a scarlet puddle.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
April 1926
You’ve been back three days before he realises you don’t talk of Hollywood at all.
(Soonyoung’s world has shifted on its axis again, everything slid into view in full colour again as soon as you stepped through the door, and he didn’t care a jot for the glass he dropped on the floor, because you’re back. You were in his arms and you were spinning and laughing and kissing and God, he’s been so breathlessly happy since he saw you again, the first time in over a year.
“Can I come back?” you’d asked. “You’ll have me back here, won’t you?”
He’d tsked at the ridiculous question. “Like there’d be a shadow of a doubt,” he’d said. And you’d smiled, relieved.)
And now it’s well after hours– you’re on the rooftop of The Blue Pearl waiting for the sunrise, a champagne coupe in hand and leaning on the edge of the wall looking out over the city, while a million questions he’d long put to bed rise to the surface. His front presses against your back, arms caging you against the wall, and the familiar scent of your perfume overwhelms him again.
“Why didn’t you write?” Soonyoung asks quietly, when he finally builds up the courage.
The question doesn’t take you aback, and he wonders if you’ve been expecting it. Instead you just sigh, set your coupe on the ledge, and tip your head back against his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t have had a good word to tell you, baby,” you say sadly. “I would’ve come back in a heartbeat if I’d heard from you, and then it’ll have all been for nothing.”
He sits with that for a moment. “So why is it you’re back now?”
“My family wanted me back in the city,” you say, blinking up at the night sky. “And honestly, I just needed any excuse to come back to you. I only wish it were anywhere but here.”
“You missed me?” he whispers, face turned into your hair.
“Every day,” you admit, reaching for his hand and pulling it over your chest. “I missed you all the time.” And he has so many more questions, so many pieces of the puzzle lost, but you’re looking up at the sky and saying– “I looked at these stars every night and kept imagining you were looking too.”
And he did. He stood on this very rooftop and looked up at them fading, as they are now, and wondered where they went. Where do stars like you go in the light of day?
You talk for ages, until the sunrise shines amber between the buildings and you grow hungry and tired. He tells you to wait for him by the door (get your coat on, sweetheart, I’ll just be a minute) and he slips into the office.
He finds an old briefcase in the closet and opens the safe, heart hammering in his throat. He’s never dared before. Mainly because he’s not inclined to steal, but also because he knows what Sugar does to those who do. But all Soonyoung can think of is the look on your face when you spoke earlier, when you said anywhere but here. So he takes some bills and slips them inside the briefcase, and tries not to think of the way Sugar earned his name.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Now October 1926
Your father is incensed. You can tell that much, as your vision fades in and out. You cry out as you hear the crack of the back of his hand across Seungcheol’s face. It’s not his fault, daddy, you try to gasp out in the small respite you get while the doctor eases up on your body, but your father always has needed someone to punish.
At least he believes, you think, letting out a fractured sob as the doctor sinks his fingers into your belly again. At least Soonyoung’ll live.
Stupid of you really, to suggest being shot in the gut, when a leg would’ve probably worked out better. Sure, you might’ve once seen an artery hit there and watched a man’s life slip away within the minute, but bleeding out would’ve been better than the agonising throb of this doctor’s instruments digging around in your belly while someone else, blurry on the sidelines, fumbles his hands while drawing up the morphine.
But you can’t die without knowing if Soonyoung made it out of the city. God, you hope he’s been smart and not wasted time. You can’t die without holding your girl first, who only learned how to say mama last week, much to your husband’s chagrin, but it’s not like you’ve had any inclination to teach her a word unfit for his role in her life.
“You let this happen! You stupid motherfucker,” your father rages, and you hear a dull thud as he strikes Seungcheol again. “Where is he?!”
Gone, you hope. Please be gone.
“Saw him bolting for tenth avenue in her car when I carried her downstairs,” Seungcheol says, voice thick. “He must’ve taken her keys.”
Your father releases him and Seungcheol rags his hand over his face, smearing the blood dripping from his lip down his chin.
“Is she gonna be alright, Jeonghan?”
“We’ll see,” says the doctor, eyes wide and panicked. Jeonghan. You’ve only ever seen him in passing. You feel almost nothing now as your arm falls from the table, swinging down heavy and limp, and this Jeonghan almost looks like an angel, with the stark light in a ring above his head.
Seungcheol has gone ashen with worry, ignores his own bleeding face as he falls backwards against the wall, away from your father, who clenches his fists and growls “Find him!” to the men huddled just outside the door.
Please don’t. Please, God, don’t.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
One Year Later
You get Soonyoung’s– or rather, Hoshi’s first letter, on a Tuesday morning, a star marked in the corner like you asked. It’s nothing much. Just one that wishes you well and asks if you’d like to visit ‘her’ at her new home in San Diego. You press your face into your arms and cry and cry and cry for what feels like a decade. This past year has had a weight on your chest like no other. He’s safe. He’s safe and he wants you to come to him.
You memorise the address and burn the letter, and write back as soon as you can pull yourself together.
Dear Hoshi,
It’s wonderful to hear from you. May I visit now?
Three weeks later, you get his reply. One word. Yes.
By midnight, you’re in the back of your car with your girl sleeping on your lap, somewhere between Pittsburgh and Columbus. Seungcheol is driving. Insists he’s not tired, despite the time, but you’ll make him swap out before the hour is up.
You’d considered not telling him at all, but you love him like a brother, and leaving him confused and hurt after everything he did for you would only break both your hearts. He said he’d always wanted to see the Pacific anyway, and surely there’ll be jobs in California for a guy like him.
Sweet Seungcheol. In truth it’s better he’s with you rather than left to deal with the fallout of your disappearance with your husband and your father. This way, there’ll be no one for them to question, no one who knows a thing about the secrets you share.
And it’s better for you too– if Soonyoung turns you and your girl away, at least you’ll be with someone you know, someone your girl knows as her favourite uncle, and you can find somewhere else to call home together.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
He’s only home from work fifteen minutes before there’s a gentle knock at the door. He checks his reflection in the mirror and smooths back his hair, as he has so illogically done every single time someone’s visited since the day he posted that last letter, as if you could appear on his doorstep in an instant.
And he prepares himself for disappointment as he works to keep his pace even down the hallway, but he can’t stop his heart jumping into his throat.
You turn as he pulls open the door, a smile lighting up your lovely face. You’re unchanged. As radiant as the day he met you, more so in the dappled sunshine. How has it been a decade and this is the first time he’s seen you in the afternoon light?
“Hello, Soonyoung,” you breathe.
The name would feel alien now, coming from anyone else's mouth but yours. God, how he’s missed it. God, how he’s missed you.
You seem a little anxious to draw close, so he makes the decision for you. Wraps his arms around your waist and twirls you tight, wants to hear your sweet laugh before he believes you’re truly here. Wants to feel your body relax against his, wants your kiss on his cheek and your things in his room and–
“Shall we sit outside, Soonyoung?” you say, pushing off him as he sets your feet back down on the deck. “Let’s sit a while.”
And so you take a seat in one of the chairs on the porch, while he fetches water with slices of lemon from the kitchen. Wonders if he should offer you something to eat but doesn’t want to waste time preparing anything right now, so he carries the glasses outside, and passes one to you before sitting in the other chair.
“The weather is… incredible here,” you say quickly. “You can hardly tell it’s almost November.”
You are anxious– he realises, as you thumb away the condensation on your glass and avoid his eye. A year ago his first instinct would’ve been to kiss it away, had he ever seen you like this. Now he keeps his hands to himself, and asks how you’ve been.
“Well,” you say, the tension obvious in your shoulders. You roll them, taking a sip of your water before cradling it in your hands in your lap again. “What about you? What’ve you been doing since you came here?”
And so he talks. Talks of his job– started working in construction just for something to do with his hands, keeps his mind occupied, before he found a place he could teach dancing after work. Runs a class out of the neighbourhood schoolhouse on Wednesday and Saturday evenings. It’s mostly older folk, but they’re sweet to him and he enjoys his time with them.
And you smile, laugh along with the stories he tells you of people like Doris, and Jim who’s wildly in love with her, but your eyes keep flicking away from his, and he wonders at first if you’re struggling, being around him. After a while he notices you’re looking toward the car parked a little ways away, on the corner of the road. There’s a man in the front seat, face obscured by shadow from the tree overhead.
“You come here with someone?” he asks.
A pause. “Seungcheol,” you say. “He’s just making sure I’m safe before he finds us somewhere to stay tonight.”
Soonyoung straightens his spine. “Oh. I see.”
You tut. “Not like that, Soonyoung,” you say softly. “I think of him as my family. He’s done more for you than you could imagine.”
He looks over toward the car again, watches Seungcheol reach into the backseat with what looks like an apple, and a little hand reaches up to take it.
“He has a kid?”
Your eyes dart back to the car, and you suck in a juddered breath. “No. He doesn’t.”
And Soonyoung almost stops breathing. Can feel his pulse go all thready and weak and the air in his lungs thins out.
“Baby, I need to tell you the truth,” you say, turning fully toward him. Soonyoung still watches the car, the way Seungcheol twists his head to smile down at your child, this little thing. “Is that okay? If you want me to leave after, it’s okay, I promise, but I need you to know everything. Can I tell you?”
“I– yeah… yeah you can tell me.”
He almost doesn’t want to hear that you had a child with someone else. And it’s not that he blames you, it’s just that he’s sick with envy. But you’re trying to pull him back to earth, trying to ground him, with your fingers slotting through his and pulling his vision back into focus, with an “okay, okay– Soonyoung– look at me, baby.”
He does, and you smile at him, but he sees the worry in the creases around your eyes and he can’t stand it.
“You remember I lied about Hollywood,” you start. “I was in New Jersey. That’s where she was born.”
“She–“
“Yes, she.” You swallow audibly. “She’s called Hannah.”
Hannah. He likes the name.
“I left, and I got married, and I had my sweet girl, and–”
“You got married,” he interrupts, voice rasping over his drying throat.
Your face cracks. “Yes,” you breathe. “And I wish I could’ve married you instead, baby, I do. But you know my father would’ve never let me marry you, you know that… right? He’d have killed you just for touching me.”
He knows. Doesn’t dull the pang in his chest.
“So I married a man who looks a little like you, and let him think nothing of it when she was born. And she’s so wonderful, Soonyoung. Wild too, I think. Oh! And she loves to dance like you, she does th–”
And his vision swims again, can’t quite comprehend what you’re saying, you’re still talking and he’s only hearing half the words because– because–
He grips your hand tight, steadies himself with the other on the arm of the chair, and stammers, “She’s… is she–”
“She’s yours, baby.” You smile broken, tears spilling down your cheeks and you swipe them away just as quick. “I’m sorry. Soonyoung, I’m so so sorry, I couldn’t– leaving you was the only way I could keep her.”
He stands. Tears his gaze from your face and stares toward the car. Seungcheol is getting out now, and he’s got a tiny fist clasped around his fingers. And all Soonyoung can see is small feet in white shoes and frilled socks hopping along the pavement and he feels the sunlight on his face and your hand in his and something like hope and regret swirling together in his gut. He’s missed so much. You’ve been robbing each other in circles, he thinks. Money and hearts and time, all stolen goods.
“Can I meet her?”
You squeeze his hand. “She won’t understand you’re her daddy, yet.”
He nods, clenching his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “I know– I know that.”
“We need to go slow for her,” you say quietly. “If that’s what you want? If you’ll have us?”
And this is something he’s imagined for years. Not just you coming to him, escaping the city and your family, but a white picket fence in the suburbs, you and him together at last, high pitched giggles from children playing in the yard. The promise of an honest life. And it’s so fucking scary, now it’s right within his grasp, but he knows he can’t ruin it with rashly made decisions again.
“I’ll have you,” he says, turning to take your face in his hands. “Of course I’ll have you.”
Kisses you so hard it takes you by surprise before you’re melting into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing him back. You kiss him like you’ve been starving. Slow, and tentative at first, before you’re clutching at him to steady yourself as he pulls you flush against his body. Your mouth is warm and desperate and trembling, and when he finally breaks away it’s only because he has to breathe. You make a soft, admonishing noise as you thumb the tears away from the hollows of his eyes, and he lets out something between a laugh and a sob.
This is where stars go, he thinks, as he hears the clap of his daughter’s shoes on the steps up to his porch. When the night fades, they go out west.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
thank you so much for reading! taglist will be added on the next reblog.
all interaction is appreciated more than you could know, so if you liked this fic, please consider reblogging with any thoughts to help get this fic seen outside my following!
lots of love, bee