𝐱𝐢
𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

I thought that by drawing myself a nice, relaxing candlelit bubble bath with a topped-off glass of wine I could calm my mind enough to enjoy it.

Instead, my mind is filled with the image of Derek's hand hovering over my upper thigh.

The gooseflesh left in the wake of his touch as the pads of his fingers lightly danced over my skin.

Then without warning, like a comically large switch pulls inside my head, imaginary flashes of my mother sitting gingerly on Cady's couch splotch my vision. Twiddling her thumbs as she waits for her daughter to finish whatever she's been doing in the bathroom for the past eight minutes.

I still haven't talked to her yet.

I'm sure that if my mother truly wants to contact me she'll find a way. She has a knack for slithering and writhing back to places where she's not welcome.

My sister may have a sliver of kindness left for her after everything she's done (though I have no idea how, especially after her speech at our last dinner together)—I do not.

Upon instinct I tuck my chin over my drawn-in knees, arms tightly locked around each leg. Sounds of hundreds of minuscule popping bubbles hiss quietly through the fairly vast space.

I would fully submerge myself, but I'm not in the mood to deal with my hair at the moment.

My thoughts are too muddled to have another thing to worry about, even if it's a small task such as managing my hair.

A shrilling ringtone jolts my soul back into my body.

Water slushing, I reach over the tub to the edge of the granite countertop where my phone continues to blare. I stare dumbfounded at the screen for a second or two before my thumb slowly swipes across the screen.

"Hello?" I ask hesitantly.

"Hey," Derek's voice says through the other end. Considering the time, he doesn't sound groggy. Far from it. He's wide awake. "Can I stop by?"

All I can manage is a choppy stutter. "I—well,"

"Good. I'm already on my way." My posture immediately straightens from a leisurely slouch, upsetting peaceful bath once more.

"But I didn't say—,"

He cuts me off.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Forehead creasing, I glance at the time again, hoping against hope for it to turn back. It remains stubbornly unchanged. Twelve-forty-seven in the morning.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow when we're on set? In person?"

"No." He says evenly, carrying a hint of sternness.

"And you can't tell me over the phone?"

Derek holds firm. "I'd rather talk about this in person."

A frown works its way across my lips, pulling downward as I stare at the almond-scented bubbles.

"Okay, I'm kind of occupied..." I say as I finally stand. Water laps at the sides of the tub.

"Well, get unoccupied. Be there in fifteen. Traffic's a bitch tonight."

With that, our call goes silent.

The nerve.

Even if I wasn't exactly enjoying my spa time, I had at least planned on spending the night alone.

I hadn't anticipated having any company at all. Derek, or anyone for that matter. Now, not only do I have to hurry to dry and dress myself, but I also need to tidy up as much of the living room as I can before he arrives.

There's not a lot to do, but it never hurts to have tidy surroundings when one of the world's most renowned musical artists is about to enter my building and step through my front door.

By the time the doorman called up to make me aware of Derek's arrival, I'd just finished whipping down my kitchen countertops. (I'd haphazardly thrown a few cups and dishes into the dishwasher, profusely slapped my decorative pillows, and tossed a few receipts lying around, so I'd say my panicked cleaning session was a success.)

Dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and a cropped mini-cami—perfect attire to meet a man that I'm in an elaborate fake relationship with—I greet Derek with a strained smile. "Come in," I breathe out, gesturing with my free hand toward the open space ahead.

Like the night before, he's wearing semi-casual clothes. A tight white shirt that presses so close to his body that some of his darker tattoos can be seen through the fabric, and black cotton workout shorts with a swoosh mark on one side, exposing more intricate inked designs down both his legs.

How can he make workout clothes look so incredibly hot?

He steps inside. I watch as he views the entirety of my living room. "Your place, it's... homey. Not very modern." I lock the door behind him.

Seeing as a lot of my belongings are secondhand, I nod. "I'm not the modern type."

His eyes slide my way, full of zealous admiration. "Good." Derek must have a deep dislike for contemporary design. I suppress a laugh.

He continues walking until he notices a multitude of photographs displayed in an array of vintage-looking picture frames. They all feature Cady, Julia, and me over the years. Graduation photos, images taken of the three of us at black-tie events, and on a plethora of very courteous vacations paid for by the Darling Devils Co. His gaze lingers on them as if there's a hidden message he needs to unravel, feeling compelled to examine each one closely.

I shift on my feet, wiggling my toes against the crisp wooden floor. "Did you drive over here just to judge my decor?"

Derek turns on his heel at my inquiry. Then his eyes lock with mine. Deepest amber melds with scintillating green. There's an all-knowing look in his eyes that captivates me, and draws me in. I feel a strong urge to dive into them, to swim endlessly in that sea of chocolate bliss until I'm completely lost.

"No, I didn't."

He strides back to the center of the room to sit on the arm of my loveseat, then says, "I came here to—apologize."

Apologize?

Concern pulls at my brows. "For what?" I ask, seating myself a good four feet away from him.

"I've been subconsciously comparing us to my old situationship with Mel, or whatever you want to call it. Although it was fake, we had very sexual relations, and I think that I've been projecting my own experience onto you—us—unknowingly, in a way," He takes a moment to digest my reaction. Which isn't any sort of reaction at all. After neither of us speaks, he takes the opportunity to continue. "What Mel and I had wasn't real. And with you,"

My lungs constrict in my chest, my heart fluttering with soft wingbeats as if it'd just broken free from its cocoon. Beating so incredibly loud and hard, it sounds as if there's a metronome ticking within my ears. "Everything feels... different."

Unable to breathe, let alone form a cohesive sentence, I somehow manage to respond. "Different how?"

"That's the thing. I've never felt this way before. At least, not since high school." He clicks his tongue. "Wow, saying that out loud sounds sad as shit."

"It's not sad," I shake my head, seeing him start to pull away. "It's real."

My hand reaches out to rest on his knee.

I had no idea what I was doing until it was there. I stare at where our skin touches, wondering if I overstepped. He doesn't recoil, or swat me away. Glancing back up at him, he's staring at my hand too. As if perplexed at the gesture.

"I don't know if I can be real for you. Don't get me wrong, I want to be. Desperately. But I've been this way for so long, Ela, I don't think I know how to be." Expression mangling with self-loathing and shame, he holds to my gaze tightly. "I'll hurt you." Rather, instead of it coming off as a warning as intended, it's almost as if he's convincing himself. "And that's the last thing I want to do."

"You don't know that," I whisper.

"I do." He says with austere certainty.

"Derek, don't do this to yourself."

He turns his head away, clearly unphased by my assertion. I continue delicately.

"It's normal to feel doubtful about things we haven't experienced yet," Knowing he's about to shut me out entirely if I keep going, I stop pushing altogether. "And—I accept your apology."

He eyes me for a moment. As if he'd expected me to keep pressuring, to delve into his innermost secret thoughts. But it's impossible to dive into solid concrete walls.

Unbeknownst to him, though, I have a plan.

"Thank you." There's a gentleness in his tone that I didn't expect to hear.

"No, thank you."

Derek understands the hidden message intertwined in my words within my eyes. Thank you for trusting me enough to be vulnerable with me.

"Whenever you're ready for something real... I'll be here."

He nods ever so slowly, digesting my sentence.

Shit.

He confessed to having real feelings for me and I practically told him I'd wait.

Am I so hopelessly down bad for this man that I'm willing to put my (somewhat nonexistent) love life on hold for him? What happened to my insatiable, bloodthirsty need for revenge? If my heart isn't fully committed to it, why do I not want our situation to end?

You know why.

Before he has enough time to fully grasp my slip-up and call me out on it, I change the subject back to my task at hand.

I swallow. "Can I show you something?"

Dark eyes narrow with suspicion. "Depends,"

I stand, and Derek follows suit.

I guide him to a window tucked away in the far corner of the living room and slide it open, unveiling a small outdoor nook. Granted, it's just a weathered old fire escape, but with the twinkling fairy lights I had meticulously wound around the railings and the considerable amount of elbow grease I put into scrubbing when I first moved in, I made it into my personal secret oasis.

Once I join him, I turn to slide the pane down, making sure to leave the tiniest of cracks. Just to be sure we won't be locked out.

The glow from the lights illuminates the space around us nicely. A bit dim from wear over the years, but they still do their job.

"I come out here when I need time alone." We both sit on the same step. Our legs brush, but neither of us part.

"Very secluded," He shifts his gaze while lifting his arm, stretching it across the step behind us, giving breathable space to work with. "I like it."

Comfort eases over me at his closeness. For several minutes we sit in moderate silence. Cars whoosh by in the street below, honks travel from some far-away place, as well as sirens.

I don't mind the peaceful calm that settles over us. I can stay here all night, basking in the sounds of city life if that's what Derek needs. It may just be what I need too.

"The first day we were on set together," He turns his head, directing his gaze toward the cityscape spread out before us. "When you asked about my last name, it was the first time I'd thought about my life before fame in a long time." Uncertainty tinges his tone. As if he's hesitant to speak, but does so regardless.

I encourage him to continue through my gaze, which mixes once more with his.

"I knew how to play the guitar proficiently by the time I was nine. I practiced every night after coming home from school, plucked strings with my fingers until the metal cut my skin. By eleven, I was insanely good at it, as well as any other musical instrument, including my voice. I'd make these videos for my Mom to show her when she'd get off work. My music made her so happy because it reminded her of my Dad," He shifts his attention to his shoes, avoiding eye contact, "He died before I was born. Mom was thirty-seven weeks when he passed, and the grief that followed was so strong that it sent her into maternal shock."

"I'm so sorry Derek," I say with airy tenderness, wishing nothing but to reach out to him.

His brow creases. "I used to create memories with him when I was young. I'd tell my Mom about things we did together, like how he'd helped me build a castle with blocks or helped me tune my guitar. Looking back at it now, it probably shattered her to hear me saying those types of things..." He drifts off, mind elsewhere as his body stays stagnant.

The singer shakes a head full of short, thick curly hair, messily flawless. As if with simple nods of his head back and forth will erase the memory.

"Anyway, I made videos for her of all kinds of covers. Just me and my Dad's old acoustic guitar. Mostly songs by Michael Jackson, ABBA, Elton John, and Queen, just to name a few. She's still stuck in the eighties to this day," He laughs softly, and the lightest of smiles pulls at his lips. The corners of my lips turn up as well. "I'd made a cover of Lemon Tree by Fools Garden, her and Dad's favorite song, when I was sixteen. It was for the anniversary of his death. She'd burst into tears, and hugged me so tight I thought I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen."

"She loved it so much that she decided the world needed to see it. By the end of that week, it had millions of views. It'd spread across every social media platform you can think of, Record labels were reaching out to us wanting to sign me. Magazines wanted to interview me. Fools Garden eves saw it and sent both of us a signed record and met my Mom. When I turned seventeen the following month, I was finally signed by Katherine, and released my first album two months later."

As I sit quietly beside him absorbing his words, I think about how much of his guarded demeanor has lowered significantly.

How he used to speak with his words carefully chosen, emotions tightly controlled, and always in check. Three weeks after our night at the club he's finally beginning to share pieces of himself, revealing the layers beneath his stoic exterior.

"I can't even begin to understand what that must've been like. Thrown into fame like that... I had no idea." I had some idea.

After Derek dropped me off at my condo the other day curiosity might have gotten the better of me. I spent an hour and twenty minutes searching through many, many websites detailing all sorts of things about him. First, it was generic information, like his birthday and where he was born.

Then it took a... turn. A fairly detailed list of all his past flings (I'd only read four of the names before deciding the information was too invasive) past scandals he's been in, and strange oddly specific videos deciphering all of his song lyrics and social media posts. There are also dozens of websites breaking down his and Mel's relationship. I avoided those.

Gauging the way he's carrying his posture as well as nonverbal cues, fidgety with a pained pensive expression staining his chiseled face; I can tell there's more he wants to say.

He raises his arm from behind us to rub at the back of his neck. "It all happened so fast. I didn't understand it myself at the time," Another pause.

"My Mom was my rock through it all." My heart squeezes at his use of past tense.

"Is she...?"

"No, she's still alive. We've just grown apart over the years."

He briefly meets my eyes. He must see the lingering question in them as his lids flutter. "Which is mainly my fault. The path I'd chosen, she couldn't follow for obvious reasons. I hurt her so badly that she'd cut all contact with me."

I choose to remain quiet, allowing the weight of unspoken thoughts to settle in the space between us. Where words could either bridge or deepen the silence.

"But because of our conversation, though, I started to reevaluate everything. How I had treated her before she cut ties, how much of a shit person I was. So I reached out to her."

A gentle smile spreads across my lips. "It's a step in the right direction. More will follow as long as you have the mindset."

Derek tilts his head in my direction, but not fully, the left side of his face hidden by midnight shadows. "Thanks for giving me a push."

Lips curling up in recognition, I wrap an arm around him, drawing him into a side hug due to how we're positioned on the metal steps. He stiffens at the unexpectedness of it, surprised. Warmth radiates beneath my palm. I find it soothing in a way. So much so that I push all caution aside, and rest my head on his shoulder, basking in the heat he provides.

Despite the sudden intimacy, he doesn't pull away. But simply relaxes into my touch.

I'm partially absent, with most of my concentration trained on trying to ignore the captivating scent of his cologne. Whatever it is must be laced with some sort of drug. The closer I am to him, the stronger it is, and it becomes difficult for me to maintain my composure as well as my sanity.

The other half, unbelievable as it may seem on account of my current internal struggle, is interested in his connection with his mother. Since the relationship between my mother and I is... well, nonexistent.

"Your Mom sounds nice," I admit truthfully.

"She is. She's one of the most kindhearted, selfless women I know." His smile is reminiscent, filled with pure happiness and admiration as he speaks of her.

It's hard to imagine my mother in that way. Supportive, and kind. Someone to lean on. Someone to trust.

Sadness pulls at my heart like a snared piece of thread, unraveling years of wishing; yearning for that kind of connection.

"She sounds like a dream."

His head shifts slightly. As if to look down on me, but stops, seeing as his head still rests on mine. "Yours isn't?"

My tongue rolls over my teeth. "No. Not in the slightest,"

"How so?"

Since he's been so open, so raw, sharing parts of himself without reservation, I should do the same. It's only fair to meet his vulnerability with my own.

"She exploited my sister and I for the majority of our lives. Cady and I worked constantly, even as children. Both of us were childhood actresses," He bows his head, breaking apart to give me a look of knowing. I almost don't continue at the loss of his touch, like it was the source of my divulgence. As if the contact alone gave me the strength to speak. But I clear my throat and keep speaking regardless. "We never had the chance to be kids. Sure, we acted the part, but only for our show. We weren't allowed to waste time with outdoor activities or go to friend's houses when we had work to do. Acting came first, then schoolwork. Cady and I only had each other to keep us from going insane. That's why we're so close. And—," I pause, unsure if I should divulge personal information about my sister and I.

Derek gives me the same respect as I gave to him. Calm, and collected, like he has all the time and patience in the world, he waits.

"We weren't—protected, or safe. In that environment." Is all I say. Realization passes quickly through his eyes. A flicker of an anguished flame.

"She saved me. Multiple times," My throat catches. "Our mother couldn't have cared less. I'd gone to her, confided what Cady had done for me and she punished her for 'almost ruining' our chance at stardom by 'attracting' men." Disgust unlike any other I've ever seen, engulfs his expression. "She was twelve." The last sentence, low-spoken and almost inaudible, isn't missed by Derek.

Tears brim the edges of my eyes and stain my vision like a splotched water painting.

"Who."

I blink profusely in an attempt to dismiss them. "What?"

"Who was it." There's a dark, menacing hidden promise within his voice.

"One of the crew members. I can't remember his name. Only his face." My vision finally clears to find him looking down with fierce vexation, as well as worry. "It was so long ago,"

"That still doesn't dismiss what he did." That promise in his tone continues to ooze from each word that passes through the air between us.

"I..." My voice wavers before I cut it short. "You're right."

His head shakes. "She saved you multiple times. But not every time?" Eyes gleaming, he examines my features for any sort of tell, hoping that what's thinking isn't true.

When I don't correct him his optimism fades.

"She doesn't know. If she did it'd ruin her." Despite trying not to cry, a tear slips down my cheek against my will. I mentally curse and flick it away with my thumb before it can drop.

"Elara..."

Then, the strangest thing happens. An uncontrolled laugh slips into the air. Not from Derek, but from me.

"God, here I am putting my trauma onto you after only knowing you for less than a month." Usually, when I open up to men I'm interested in, they immediately ghost me the following day. I told myself that Ryan was only a stroke of luck. We'd been dating for four months when I'd finally let him in, so he didn't have a chance to run.

"Well, I think you're taking a step of your own,"

My gaze snaps to him. "What, by trauma dumping?"

"No," He corrects, nudging me softly with his elbow, "By feeling comfortable enough to confide in me." I nod in response.

I'm about to make a comment of my own when a smirk plays on his lips, which start to open.

"Didn't I tell you that your secrets are safe with me?"

I smile softly at the memory, then blush when I remember exactly what he'd said. "Something like that."

He winks. Playful, yet sultry, his brown eyes blaze with amusement and fascination. I have to look away out of fear that he might burn me if I stare too deeply.

I'm used to that all-seeing gaze of his.

Looking at, and through me. Admiring, and discerning every lift of my brows, narrow of my eyes. Every smile, every frown. I wouldn't be surprised if he memorized every freckle on my face.

But right now? I'm not. It'd feel too intimate.

I'm only allowed a few seconds of ocular freedom before Derek decides that I don't have a choice. I mean, I do, but the feel of his finger underneath my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes, tells me otherwise. And I don't have enough reservation to resist his pull.

"You can always talk to me. About anything."

I nod, noting the space—or lack thereof—surrounding us.

He cups the left side of my face in his hand, his touch gentle yet deliberate. The pad of his thumb traces a delicate path down the curve of my nose before skimming along my cheekbone. His touch as gentle and precise as a painter's, brushes away the wetness that my tears had left behind.

As pressure builds and phantom winds increase, we sway toward one another, storm still brewing.

Just like the night he'd driven me back to my apartment, neither of us part. Neither of us breathe.

The constellations held within his eyes mirror those in the sky, twinkling with just as much brightness and intensity as our gaze deepens. Dark tattoos climb up his neck and stop at the top of his throat, like trees etched in darkness, reaching to touch an infinite canvas of stars.

Suddenly, the whipping storm around us ceases to be as a ringtone blares. I physically jump at the sound.

Derek lets a short chuckle slip free at my startled reaction. Then reaches into his pocket, chuckles again when I shove him, checks the caller ID, and answers.

"Yes?" Quiet mumbling is all I can make out as the person on the other line speaks. A male, as the answering tone suggests.

"Yeah, I still am." The man on the other end says something that he must find amusing. A low, mellow chuckle sounds from him. I catch myself staring as he speaks and cast my gaze elsewhere.

"I'll be back soon, Jer. Don't start without me." The man keeps speaking even as Derek rolls his eyes. With the faintest of smiles, he hangs up on his friend.

"I should get going," The singer states as he stands to his feet. I do the same, raising too quickly.

"Right."

"Thanks for showing me your fire escape," He smirks.

"Glad it's up to your standards," I say as I motion to the intricacy of the old metal staircase, and weaving railing posts.

"You'd know if it wasn't."

I shimmy through the window first. Once I'm back on my feet, I turn to face him. "What did modernism do to you?"

"It's boring. I like a bit of character to my homes," He says, maneuvering his broad shoulders to squeeze inside. I'm surprised he even managed to fit the first time. "Nothing personal."

"It sounds personal to me." We exchange smiles before I edge toward the door, walking him through the threshold, and to the front door.

"Sorry, I can't stay longer. I promised the guys I wouldn't be gone long."

I raise a brow. "The guys?"

His eyes squint, mischief sparkling within them as the corners of his lips pull up. "They're waiting for me back at the studio where I left them. You should stop by sometime."

So he isn't fresh from the gym.

Disappointment creeps into my head as the image of him glistening with sweat benching weights dissipates. The thought of him creating, mixing music, singing, and playing intricate guitar riffs sounds somehow more attractive now that I think about it.

"I'd like that."

His lopsided, somewhat rehearsed smirk relaxes into a genuine smile. A rarity, but one I find myself returning whenever it makes an appearance.

And with that, he makes his exit, leaving me with dozens of questions that I want to ask.

Will you shut me out again after tonight? After the things we both shared?

Why do you think you're incapable of feeling any sort of emotion for someone?

What did you do to make your mother, who seems to love you with her entire being, strip you from her life?

When he disappears around the corner, I let out a sigh and dismiss the thoughts racing around inside my head.

a/n

hey babessss! happy update day!!

did i have my entire friend group read a smut chapter i wrote for SR already? yes.
were they all shook? also yes. very much yes. (i posted a teaser of it on the gram 🤭)

i love how tentative elara is :,) she's too sweet
& how much they already care for one anotherrr ugh

alsooo WE FINALLY GET TO MEET JEREMY IN THE NEXG CHAPTER UGHHH

WE LOVE JER OVER HERE

(i think i've been lacking a lil in the description category for the last two chapters, so i spent some extra time & love on this one. <3)