Chapter 7
Something He Can Feel

"Mich…" With Michonne's tongue rendering Rick speechless, his unfinished thought hung in the air in much the same way as his mouth. He squeezed at the fistful of her ponytail he'd been clutching as she licked his dick like a lollipop. He tried to watch, but in the daze of his euphoria, his eyes wouldn't even stay open. "Shit," he whispered.

With her right hand wrapped around his thick length, Michonne continued to pump him gently while her mouth worked the tip. She alternated between long, delicate kisses that made his breath hitch and flicking her tongue across it, making his entire body quiver. She took her time, slowly taking in more of him with every suck. And as she devoured his salty skin, she thought about how much she liked his size – nothing crazy, but ample. When her jaw needed a break, she would use both her hands for full coverage. Her neck got its own workout trying to please him. It was a bit more than she was used to, but not more than she could handle.

It had been like this for a couple of weeks now – they'd meet for dinner and a bit of frivolous conversation, and for dessert, she'd give him head. Though not necessarily in that order. Rick couldn't pretend it wasn't strange to be in a sexual relationship – or a not quite relationship. A situation? Situationship? – where he didn't and couldn't give; only receive. It was what she wanted, so he went along with it, especially because she was so skilled at it. Those lips of hers. Shit. But he wasn't sure how much longer he could go without some reciprocity in this arena. He felt like he was taking advantage of her, and maybe it was actually the other way around, but in either case, it just didn't feel right. Even when it felt good as hell.

The room was quiet, almost silent, aside from Rick's labored breaths and the wet sound of her sucking him off. Every now and then, she would hear her name on his lips, falling from them in a hazy mumble. She loved that he wasn't shy about letting her know how good it felt. His whiskey-like voice softening into deep moans. Shit. That, alone, was enough to get her wet sometimes.

As she ran her tongue up and down his shaft, she pulled down the top of her camisole to reveal her breast, flicking and fondling her own nipple, the way she knew he liked. Their second time together, he asked her to take off her clothes; she didn't, but showed him her tits just the same, eliciting a grunt from him that she liked and wanted to hear again. So now she did it every time, letting her breasts spill from her top to give him a little show. She pretended her hand was his, teasing and tugging her stiffened nipples the way she imagined he would. "Mmm," she hummed to herself, undeniably aroused by the moment.

"Fuck," Rick moaned, feeling her swallowing him nearly whole. Her hot mouth had him writhing beneath her, his head pressed against the headboard, he unleashed his grip on her locs to clutch the sheets instead. His toes were locked tightly and on the verge of cramping as he felt himself on the precipice of an orgasm. He let out a sharp sigh of relief when her mouth released his cock and traded it for his balls, allowing him a moment to breathe. "I feel like I'm gonna die," he exhaled, his words strung together in an almost incoherent mumble.

But Michonne showed him no mercy, licking at every exposed inch of him, then retracing her steps. She smirked at his stomach contracting and expanding like crazy, visible proof that he was enjoying the shit out of her. And she loved the way he felt in her mouth – the ridges and curves of the tip of his dick, the veins against her tongue, his cum all warm and wet. She felt filthy and wild and free, and she never wanted to stop. "Let me know when," she said with a mouth full of him. Because even in this stage of wild freedom, she didn't quite like surprises.

"When," he answered quickly, and it was immediately followed by a gruff and unceremonious grunt to signal his release. His hips reflexively bucked upward as he felt his thighs go numb and his semen filled her mouth. But she didn't stop stroking and sucking, letting the white cream drip down her bottom lip and chin and dribble down his cock. Which only made him cum more.

But Michonne gulped it all down like milk and made sure to lick up the remnants so as not to leave a mess. She was gentle but efficient, and once certain he was empty, she massaged him back into his boxers, leaving him only semi-erect. Lastly, she pulled her shirt back into place and sat up on her knees to gaze upon her work. His flushed body, unable to move, the sated smile hanging on his lips. Another blow job well done.

"Goddamn…" he breathed, lacking any other coherent thoughts as he laid there senseless from the waist down. He found it funny that she seemed to approach this whole thing like a series of to-do boxes that needed to be checked off, but he supposed that was part of her charm. He was also too exhausted to say so. "Come here," he said. It was all he could muster as he tried to shift to his left and allow her some space.

Michonne smiled, satisfied with herself and his clear fulfillment. "It was good?" she confirmed, crawling up to her side of the bed to fall into the spot beside him.

"I'm convinced this is some elaborate ploy to kill me," he half-smiled. "Because that's what's gonna happen one of these days."

She chuckled as she wiped her mouth, the taste of him on her fingers. "I'm not," she promised, "but I appreciate this boost of confidence."

He turned to her, adjusting his pillow so that he could see her full face. "Can I return the favor yet?" He asked the question, already figuring the answer would be no. But still, he drank in her body, his gaze slipping down her shirt while his hand reached out to her waist, playing with the elastic lining of her panties, just waiting for permission to pull them off.

"No," she was quick to deny, though with a smile, and used her index finger to push his face back in the other direction. Things had been going so well with them – easy, for the most part – and she didn't want to change anything. Or ruin it by even discussing changing anything. "Get some ice cream if you want something else to eat," she joked.

He nodded as he laughed, rolling onto his side. He was enjoying her playful side and the fact that he'd gotten to see a lot more of it these last couple of weeks. She was so much more fun than she let on at the beginning. "All right," he conceded, "but you know I won't be here during the week anymore, so this'll be your last chance for a while."

Michonne balked at the reminder. She'd been dreading this ever since he told her he'd be spending more time in Nashville once school started again. And that was fine with her – he had other responsibilities, and they'd just have to see each other less. But now that it was here, she could admit, to herself at least, that she was disappointed. "I'm aware," she answered flatly, forcing herself to feign indifference. Her attachment to him was a bad idea, anyway. "I'll be busy with my classes and not even thinking about you, so don't worry." As she spoke, she repositioned sideways across the bed, using Rick's torso as her headrest. She liked feeling the warmth of his body against the back of her neck. He'd become so familiar to her in their short time together. When she managed to sleep, this was how – near him, next to him. She wasn't sure what she would do with him gone more often than not.

"I wasn't worried," Rick said once she got settled. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"Mm." Uninterested in furthering the conversation, she pointed to his night stand, hoping he'd take the nonverbal cue to pass her her book. She'd decided to take him up on his offer and read about ISIL – which was a weird thing to pick up every night after giving someone a blow job, but it had become her routine. Or theirs, rather. He'd be there beside her, reading her Chimamanda. He'd let out a laugh every now and then, rattling her, literally, from her own reading. Then they'd fall asleep, usually him before her, but not always. It'd been like this for over two weeks now and she liked it this way. That they could keep each other company without much conversation. She didn't have to feel like she was constantly lying to him every time they talked. Thereby disappointing him. They could just be.

"I'm gonna try to finish tonight," he declared proudly. "I've got just two chapters left."

"You're gonna fall asleep," Michonne chuckled knowingly. Again, she knew his routine. After she sucked the life out of him, he had maybe 30 minutes before it caught up with him. He'd be snoring by midnight, she was sure. "But godspeed, my friend."

He smiled at being called her friend and opened his book to the place he left off. As he set his bookmark on his nightstand, he thought of Carl. He'd given him the bookmark years ago, something he made at school. Kindergarten. Now he was starting 3rd grade, which sounded crazy to him. Where the years had gone, he wasn't sure. Even being with Michonne, time didn't quite make sense. He'd barely known her a month, but in some ways, it felt like she'd always been there. This pattern they'd settled into felt good. He liked knowing he would get to see her every day. And he didn't want to fuck it up by asking for more – by asking for anything, really – but he felt like was living a double life, one in Nashville and one in Gatlinburg. Feeling like he had to keep her separate from the person that meant most to him, because she didn't like to talk about him much. Not that he wanted her to meet Carl tomorrow, but at some point, it would be nice. Maybe she just didn't like kids and this had no potential to go anywhere anyway, but he liked to believe she would like Carl. Everyone liked Carl. It wasn't something he should've been thinking about in that moment – it really was too soon – yet it wouldn't leave his mind.

"You're tense," Michonne commented casually as she turned the page. She could feel his chest tauten beneath her.

Rick chuckled, though unsure of what she'd said. "What?"

"You feel tense," she repeated. "What part are you on?"

"Oh, it's not the book," he said. "I was just… daydreamin', I guess."

"Hm." She accepted his answer and resumed her reading, enjoying the soft sound of his breathing and the faint feel of his pulse next to her face. It lulled her into a sense of safety and before too long, she felt her drowsiness tugging at her, a yawn on her lips. But she wasn't ready to go to sleep yet. "What time will you leave in the morning?" she asked.

"Probably around six," he said, trying and failing to stifle his own yawn. "I'll try not to wake you."

She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't mind, and even wanted to say goodbye before he left, but thought better of it before the words could materialize. "Okay," she said.

They went quiet again for several more minutes, only the faint noise of crickets breaking the comfortable silence between them. The room was cool, but Rick felt hot with Michonne laid against him. At one point, she began to pick at his leg hair and he knew she was probably just trying to keep herself awake. It made him laugh. "You ever been to Lagos?" he asked. It was in the interest of helping her stay awake, but he was also just curious.

Michonne's eyes rolled up at him, wary of where the random question was headed. "You know I'm not from Nigeria, right?"

"Of course I know that," he sighed, disappointed that she thought so little of him. He knew she was from Iowa and had inferred that her parents were from Haiti based on things she'd told him a few days ago. "I was askin' because of the book. And you mentioned traveling to Africa for work, but you didn't say where."

"Oh." She scoffed at the fact that she'd apparently been more forthcoming than she thought; but also appreciated that he remembered the things she'd told him. "Well I've been to Nigeria, but not Lagos," she said. "It was for research, so I didn't get to really explore it or anything."

"I've never even left the country," he said, a wistful regret in his tone. And he was talking to someone who'd been everywhere – six of the seven continents, at least – which only made him feel sillier. "Not even to the Caribbean, which isn't even that far."

"Why not?"

"When I was younger, I never had the money to go anywhere," he shook his head. "Now? I guess I just haven't had a reason to go."

"You don't need a reason," she said. "I wish I didn't have reasons so I could've actually enjoyed the places I've been."

Rick nodded, making a pledge to himself that he'd change that now that he had a bank account that would allow him to go wherever he wanted. He had every reason to show Carl the world and no reason not to. "Could you ever uproot your life and move to another continent?" he asked.

"Easily," she said, not having to think about it. If she were smarter, she would've gone farther than Tennessee when she left Atlanta.

He chuckled at how quickly she answered – he almost forgot he was talking to someone who did uproot her life. It wasn't another continent, but their little setup, up there in the woods, it was like another world.

"It's a good thing your people colonized so much of the world, so it'd be easy to find a place that speaks English."

He sighed, taking her glibness as a cue to stop talking. "All right, I'm going back to reading," he said. As much as he recognized that she was just trying to keep him at arm's length, he couldn't pretend it didn't frustrate him sometimes. So he continued to read through the tale of Ifemelu and Obinze, riveted, though also saddened by it in some ways, and he found himself rubbing Michonne's bare shoulder. It was an oblivious action, yet he was very aware of her skin beneath his fingertips and the fact that she hadn't stopped him; didn't even flinch. Each time he turned a page, his hand would land back there, as if it belonged there. As if it were a thing that always happened.

"School starts Monday?" Michonne asked after another few quiet minutes. Though she was fairly certain Carl didn't start until mid-week – she vaguely recalled Rick mentioning it because he found it strange.

"Wednesday," he said, distracted.

She wanted to ask why he had to leave so soon then. Common sense told her that it was to avoid all the weekday traffic heading back to Nashville, and probably even the schedule he had in place with his baby mama. But the selfish, illogical part of her didn't understand why he couldn't stay until Monday, at least. But she only responded with a nonchalant, "Mm."

"You okay?" he asked. He could hear something in her response that stole his attention from his reading, though in its shortness, he couldn't pinpoint what.

"I'm fine," she said.

He removed his hand from her shoulder, concerned that he was bothering her, but she was being too kind to say it. And before much longer, he felt her shift, all her body heat gone from his chest as she moved back to her side of the bed with a yawn. He looked over to her, amused, but also discouraged that he wouldn't get to wake up to this face again for a while. "Callin' it a night?"

"You wore me out," she confirmed, settling onto her stomach as she nestled into her pillow.

"I haven't done anything yet," he mumbled, and even though he knew this, he still felt a tinge of smug pride at the thought that giving him head had actually worn her out.

Michonne closed her eyes, and suddenly, scent became her dominant sense, the smell of Rick filling her nose. Soap and sex, which wasn't altogether pleasant, but it was comforting. As was the sound of him periodically turning pages, chuckling and acknowledging the most interesting moments contained within them. Her leg seemed to have a mind of its own as it snuck across the small space between them and locked with his. She had fallen... asleep before she knew it.

Meanwhile, Rick continued to read, determined to finish the story before he fell asleep. He loved when he got to that point in a book where putting it down just wasn't an option, not when he was so close to the end. He read with bated breath, curious as to how Obinze would fix things, all while not wanting him to. Some curious part of him wanted Ifem to move on. She was such a different person than the girl who left Lagos. So was he. But then, they still fit together so well, and it made sense that they would find their way back to one another.

As he made good on his pledge to finish, feeling like he'd been on some fantastic voyage and then dropped back on his doorstep, he stared at the novel's cover. And he quietly wondered whether Michonne had an Obinze, maybe back in Iowa, wishing she'd never left. Or was it the fiancé she'd spoken of on exactly two occasions? Did she think of him every day, even though she ran away from him? After all was said and done, would she just end up going back to him? It was a scary thought for Rick, and it shouldn't have been, considering he and Michonne weren't actually together. She barely had sex with him, and made it pretty clear that she wasn't looking for much beyond that. But it was a thought all the same.

And he was ready to let it disappear, reminding himself that he was the one she was wrapped around at the moment, but then there was a buzzing against his night stand. He looked to his phone first, forgetting that hers was plugged in alongside it, and her illuminated iPhone screen grabbed his attention like a blinking sign. The name 'Negan Mellone' accompanied a picture of a handsome white guy with dark hair and a grayish beard, wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a wide, perfect smile. The buzzing stopped almost as quickly as it started, which confused Rick as much as it disquieted him – he could take a wild guess who it was. But even so, he promptly turned to Michonne.

"You just got a call," he announced in a hushed voice, slipping his hand beneath the sheets to gently squeeze her thigh. "Hey."

Michonne moaned at the nuisance of her sleep being interrupted, and she was too deep in it to take heed. She only shook her head and snuggled in closer to her companion.

He supposed he could only leave it at that. So he set his finished book on the nightstand with their phones and bottles of water, turned off the lamp, and with a hand rested on her backside, he fell asleep, too.


The next morning came much sooner than either of them were ready for. The rainy day had broken, leaving Rick even less enthused about the drive back to Nashville than usual. It would've been a perfect day to lie in bed all day, but alas, he had much to do back home. He'd promised Carl a trip to the Apple store after a necessary haircut, and they had to pick up soccer uniforms early Monday morning, followed by a first practice on Tuesday. And he was certain he'd have to make a last-minute run to Walmart for something Lori had forgotten on the supply list. Last year, she got Carl an Avengers backpack when he'd specifically asked for just the design of the Captain America shield – it was a whole ordeal. So this year, he would be prepared.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, with only a towel wrapped around his waist, he was relieved to find that Michonne had awaken, so he would get to say a proper goodbye after all. "Mornin'," he greeted her, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Hey," she answered absently. She was scrolling through her most recent unread emails, all 300 of them, looking for something she was unsure existed. In that moment, Rick was only a distraction.

Morning light suited her, he thought – even this gloomy version of it. The white sheets and her tank top absorbed the light and contrasted her skin in the most beautiful way. "The way you were snoring, I just knew you were still gonna be asleep when I left," he chuckled, deciding not to reveal his nicer thoughts.

Michonne smirked in reply, but didn't have much else to give him. "Nice try, but I don't snore."

She was staring at her phone, which was so unlike her, Rick couldn't help but take notice. Someone who rarely even had her phone with her, she now had some preoccupation with it that wouldn't allow her to give her undivided. He waited a few minutes, going on to find underwear and a cleanish pair of jeans to throw on before returning his focus to her. "Everything okay?" he asked. The sudden change in her worried him, and he could only surmise that it had to do with that mysterious late night call from 'Negan'.

"Everything's fine," she sighed. It was a bit of a lie – Negan had called and she didn't know why, which bothered her much more than it should've. She hadn't thought of him in a while, not significantly; and now he was back on her mind in a way she didn't want. So she wasn't sure whether the lie was for Rick or for herself. "Just… trying to figure something out," she shook her head. But when she realized Rick was staring at her, waiting for her to finish, she threw her phone back to his nightstand, forcing herself to chalk it up to a drunk dial and forget about it. Until he was gone, at least.

Rick knew she was holding something back, but he also knew better than to press her on it. He'd learned that she would tell him what she wanted him to know, and she would do it when she was ready. And if he were being honest with himself, he just wasn't ready to confront his fears about whoever this guy was. Not after everything he'd been through with Lori. Instead, he took a seat on the bed, needing to address a different elephant in the room before he left for several days. "So when I come back," he said, "I'm hoping we can make a few changes."

Michonne stared at him tentatively, and as she felt his hand on her bare foot, his thumb running across her toes, in what she presumed was a show of affection, she wiggled it from his grasp. "What kind of changes?" she wondered. Her whole body tensed, thinking this would be the moment he asked her to meet his son. Why couldn't he just enjoy what they had?

"This… arrangement," he said, shrugging, unsure what else to call it. His face turning a bright pink color gave another clue as to what exactly he was referring to. "I'm - I mean, as much as I enjoy you… doing what you're doing, it feels imbalanced.'

She let out a small exhale of relief – she was much more comfortable with this subject than his kid, and that wasn't saying much. "I feel like if anyone would complain about that, it would be me," she said, laughing in a way that sounded like a scoff.

"Which begs the question why you're not," he chuckled back. "Not that I'm trying to pressure you, or even… if you don't wanna talk about it, we don't have to. But I am curious."

Michonne nodded. She should've been expecting this. She'd been leaning into the idea that most men would be quite content with just getting head every night, not having to do anything in return for it. But Rick wasn't most men. "I just… don't feel comfortable. Yet." She felt herself involuntarily recoil, as if to prove her point. Her arms crossed over her chest so that her breasts, with only the cover of a thin tank top, were no longer on display. She shifted to a crosslegged position, so that her legs no longer touched his. "That time we tried, it was just too much for me," she said. "I was so inside my head, I couldn't even enjoy it."

"In your head about what?" he gently prodded her.

"Just… I dunno," she sighed again, too scared to reveal too much of herself still. "I don't know that I deserve to feel good," she admitted.

"Michonne, why-"

"I know that's not true," she appended, seeing the pity already taking form on his face. "It's just… I've got shit I need to sort out. And sex is a big part of that shit, I guess. But… it's easier to focus on you. I like doing it."

Rick nodded, appreciative of her honesty. He'd figured out a lot of this along the way, but he was still missing the 'why' of it all. But it was nice to hear the words come from her; to know that she was trying to trust him. "So do you think it's possible we can help you through that?"

"'We'?" she smiled timidly.

"I mean, we're doin' this… whatever it is. I don't wanna be in a relationship, sexual or otherwise, where you do all the work. Even if you like it, it just doesn't feel right for me, and I think if we could knock down this wall you have up, we'd both be better off for it."

Michonne rolled her eyes, mostly at herself, because she'd somehow found the perfect man – while she was at the most fucked up she'd ever been. What a world. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable," she shook her head, understanding his position. "If you want to, we can just go back to being neighbors who don't engage in sexual activity."

"You know that's not what I want," he smirked, standing from the bed to finally finish dressing himself. He got the feeling that being so close was adding to her discomfort. "I want us to navigate whatever your insecurity is so we can actually have sex." As he found a gray t-shirt in his dresser and made quick work of pulling it on, he kept his gaze on her, watching for a physical response if he wasn't going to get a verbal one. "If that's what you want."

"And if it's not what I want?"

"Then I guess we do go back to bein' neighbors who don't have sex."

"Fine, friends," she sighed, detecting his discontent with her calling them neighbors. "You know what I meant."

"I did. But I didn't wanna overwhelm you with labels," he joked, his slim frame leaning against his dresser then. "I know how you are."

"Right," she smirked and had to stop herself from laughing. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he really did seem to know how she operated. She watched as he went to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water for the trip, and it struck her how common this had all become to her. A few weeks ago, she was appalled by the thought of him leaving her there alone. Now, half naked in his bed, it was the only thing that felt right. He'd broken down some of her walls already; maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if he got to a few more. "While you're gone, I'll definitely think about this," she said, using her finger to gesture between them.

"All right," he nodded, licking his lips as he gazed back at her. The tension in the room seemed to be both rising and dissipating, the awkward energy between them turning sexual as she stared at him too, unshy about eyeing him from head to toe. He hoped it meant she'd be open to him by the time he returned. In more ways than one.

"I might need a little more time," she admitted quietly. "Especially where oral is concerned," she said. "I've been... squeamish about it for a while now, so I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that, much less when. But I'm gonna think about it."

Rick frowned at that last tidbit, disappointed. "Do you not like the way it feels?"

"No, it's not really that." Her brows also furrowed as she tried to remember the last time Negan went down on her. It had been over a year now, she was pretty sure. After she got pregnant, he didn't like the way she tasted, so he'd stopped pretty early in her first trimester. But before that, it was good. Good enough. "It just feels very intimate to have someone's face between your thighs."

He chuckled, understanding the issue now – since she obviously didn't mind when the roles were reversed. "You're scared of being out of control," he commented as if it were fact. "Got it."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

She opened her mouth to rebut, but took the moment to think about it instead. And he was right. She was scared of handing over the reins.

"I'm good at it," he said evenly – again as if these were statements that couldn't be refuted. "You'll be glad you gave up control."

Michonne let out a spontaneous sigh as her stomach fluttered with excitement. Her toes began to nervously tingle while her face grew hot. She didn't know how to respond to any of this. "You should get outta here," she decided to say, thankful that the heavy rainfall had given her an excuse to push him out of the door. "It's gonna be a long drive in this weather."

Rick nodded cockily as he sauntered across the room, knowing he'd struck a nerve there. "Do I get a kiss goodbye?"

"You know that's not what this is," she shook her head, a smile on her face. Sometimes she worried that he would never stop trying to turn them into a relationship. Things were going so well, the quiet ease between them, but that part unsettled her.

"You haven't brushed your teeth yet, so it's probably for my own good anyway," he teased her.

She looked over to the nightstand wishing she had something harmless to throw at him. Instead, her face fell as she realized how long it would be before she saw him again. Nearly two weeks. "Okay okay, get over here."

"Nope, that's not what this is," he mocked her, continuing to the door to retrieve his keys. And he would've walked out, leaving it at that, but there was a book sitting on the table beside the door; beneath his keys so he'd know to take it, he presumed. A Parent's Survival Guide to Common Core Math. It stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back to Michonne, practically beaming. He was never sure that she was listening when he spoke, but she'd clearly heard him when he talked of his troubles figuring out Carl's 'new' math. She was quite sweet when she wanted to be. "Well look at you, caring about me."

"Don't get used to it," she answered flatly as she watched him crawl across the bed to get to her. She had to suppress a smile as she added, "I just didn't want you calling me for help while you're gone."

"You would love it if I called you for help," he grinned knowingly. He planted a quick, grateful peck on her lips, and there was a swell of satisfaction when he felt the gentle pull of her returning the kiss. He probably shouldn't have liked her as much as he did. He knew that. He could feel it every time she tried to pull away from him. With every white lie she told. Her unwillingness to define them should've been a big red flag. But then she would do something like this, or in a rare show of earnestness, confess to missing him while he was gone; and suddenly, it didn't matter that she would rather give him a blow job than have a conversation with him; that she liked being close to him, but still did her best to maintain a healthy distance. He was going to ignore the red flags. Because whatever this was – or wasn't – it was something. And he needed something.


A/N: Full disclosure: this chapter was originally supposed to be about twice as long, but I decided to go ahead and split it since I was taking so long. (I'm sorry!) But also, with Rick leaving for a bit, it felt like a natural place to take a break and allow these moments to breathe, because I don't wanna rush the second half, especially. So I'll try to get back to you soon (certainly much sooner than I was with this chapter, lol), but I super hope you enjoyed this installment. We've got a lot to unpack over the next few chapters, and I can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts!

By the way, one of the guest reviews on the last chapter was spot on about where this is headed, which made me so happy, and I just wanted to shout that out even though I don't wanna say which one since that would kinda spoil things, lmao. But just thank you all for your feedback. It enriches my experience with this story so much, and I love all the thoughtful things you have to say about these two people I love so much. I'm starting on the next chapter now! -Ash