No Jk - Tumblr Posts

We're getting WHAT?! 🤩

Btw, I hope someday they'll release the 2004 concert in Rome, because it was simply epic. Trust me, I was there.

Deadline

MGM+ Acquires ‘In Restless Dreams: The Music Of Paul Simon,’ Alex Gibney’s Two-Part Documentary On Legendary Singer-Songwriter

MGM+ has acquired Oscar winner Alex Gibney’s two-part documentary In Restless Dreams: The Music of Paul Simon, an immersive journey into the

We're getting unseen footage from Songs of America, The Concert in Central Park, and much more and I'm so normal about it.

hoax [ari levinson] [four]

hoax | trapped in an arranged marriage and unrequited love, you'd do anything to stop making ari despise you.

pairing | dark!ari x naive!sunshine!reader

warnings | uhhhhhh at this point angst is a norm, + childhood trauma??

notes | in my defense, ari is also going through a groveling period and will in the future continue to go through one. i want to put him through an unbelievable amount of rollercoaster rides. also sorry if this isn't my best work :) uni flew by so i wrote this here and there when i had time.

buy me a kofi! drabble requests/asks! main!

CONT.

The text remains unread for the next few weeks. In truth, you scroll down to your notifications to see it every single minute, heart contracting at the two items Ari gifted you in the beginning of your marriage. 

Though, that’s not the only gifts you’ve been receiving. Around 10 PM or so, when you got off of work, there would be a box in front of the doorway. At first, it was general presents that you still fought the urge to both cry and smile at: flowers, your stuffed teddy, a bracelet, a necklace—jewelry. But then it started getting personal, as if bits and pieces of you was returning to him: fluffy pink slippers you squealed over last month, telling one of Ari’s business friends’ wives, a beanie in preparation for the winter time, smaller, rose-gold hoop earrings because the ones you wore last time weighed heavily on you, and you winced taking them out. It makes you wonder when and where he got this information from, and you glance at your friend chewing on some Chinese takeout, peeking from your phone. 

“What? Did Arisshole send another text? Like, please babe, take me back?” When she imitates him, there’s no deep, baritone voice that makes you shudder, no charisma, no deep blue eyes that make you forget to breathe. Natasha sounds like a frat boy—she could be with how much she mocks them—and with how much she swears on her life that Ari had to be in a frat back in his college years. 

Still, a smile creeps on your face, and you fiddle with the chopsticks. “Your frat voice is improving.” 

“And your tactic to get over him isn’t.” She leans over to steal an orange chicken. “I thought you were learning to be independent.”

Independence is a lot of things, you think. It’s crying in the middle of the night because you realized you were delusional for the past months about Ari loving you. It’s wanting to hate yourself for risking your life for someone you realized you could care less for. It’s creating your own love story where you gained the happily ever after, and then swearing that you’ll reach it out on your own. But above that, it’s longing. It’s a push and pull that drives you to the brink of insanity, but at least you feel as though you’re getting somewhere. 

“You’re visiting your parents this week?”

Natasha takes your change in subject easily. Says, “You want to come?” 

“No. The time alone might be good for me.”

“Sure, babe.” She hums. “But if you ever need anybody…”

“Do you think it’s stupid that I still want to be with him?” You blurt out, and the sudden question makes your roommate pause. 

“Not exactly. The heart wants what it wants, you know? But he treated you like the dirt on his shoe. He genuinely treated you like crap, and I hated that you stood there and took it. You swallowed every god-awful part of him until it broke you, and now it’s as though you have nothing left. And it’s just so unfair because he doesn’t deserve it.”

Your hands ball into fists at all the questions that you’ve asked yourself for the past few days. 

“But what do I think now?” She shrugs. “I’m not too sure. But I know that since you’ve been here, there’s at least a good barrier between you guys. I like to think that you feel safe here enough to start building yourself up again. And if he does something shitty to you, this time you won’t take it, but you’ll throw it back in his face.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you should.” With a raise of her brows, Natasha smirks. “And I’d pay to be in that front row seat when it happens.” 

Oh no. Oh no. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of Nat’s apartment, the door hinges bent and almost broken, it barely even staying in place. It creaks and nearly falls when you shove it open, shaking out of fear. Your mind goes in overdrive—who would do this? What did they take? Are they still in here? Should you call the police?

Would it be costly to call the police? Was it worth it? Would they do anything? 

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to go in, feet glued to the ground. Maybe you should call someone. Let Natasha know? 

You peek in. Take one step past the doorway. Another.

Fuck. 

Everything is trashed. Everything is gone. Dishes are shattered, the bookshelf is scattered on the ground, and cabinets are left open. You wince as your toe stubs a shard of glass on the ground and bite your lips in case the thief is still in your apartment. Hopping to your room, you can’t think. Any normal person would’ve slapped you for heading deeper into your apartment, but you have to know what they took.

You have to know if you could pay Natasha back for this somehow.

Opening your room, your hands come to your mouth to contain the shocked gasp. The bed is in ruins, your computer and devices are gone, clothes are everywhere, and the curtains are swaying back and forth from the open window. 

Your hands tremble at the memory of the last time you’ve been confronted in such an aggressive manner. When you fumble for your phone, your nearly drop it several times and type in the passcode wrong. You can’t call Nat—she’s already done so much for you and you don’t want to inconvenience her. Some part of your brain—the much more logical one—yells at you to call your brother, but deep down, your heart knows it would just be another jab at your failures, and a spew of questions. Like, “Why aren’t you living with Ari? What did you do?” 

You take in a deep breath. It’s okay. You’ll call insurance and the police late tomorrow. You can fix the mess before Nat comes back. You can do it.

It’s okay. You rearrange your bed and the scattered pillows on the ground and curl yourself into a shaking mess. Your heart is in your throat, and you suck in sharp breaths to steady yourself. This isn’t the first time that nobody is there for you. You only have yourself, and that’s enough. 

But instinct kicks in when the sun rises. With you half sleeping and half fighting the urge to scream with every creak and groan echoing throughout the apartment, you can’t handle it anymore. Before you even know what you’re doing, the phone is ringing, and the line turns quiet. You can hear his soft breaths through the phone, like he just woke up from a nightmare or ran miles and miles. 

“Hello?” His voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to scare you off. “Sweetheart?”

It’s the endearment that causes you to break down. You fall to your knees, heart aching. This is worse than a drunk call, this is you depending on Ari, this is you trying to get over him but still being pulled to him, even after everything he did to you. This is you taking a chance to rely on him again, even though your heart can’t really trust it. 

But you blubber anyways: “Nat— Apartment—”

“What happened?” He sounds panicked. “Love, take in a deep breath, it’s okay, I’ll—” Ari catches his breath, like he realizes he can’t go. Not without your permission. 

It causes you to sob harder. “Someone broke in—I’m scared.” 

“What?” He stops, and something in his tone shifts. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t go inside. Don’t hang up. Get out of that fucking sketchy area and I’ll pick you up at the Japanese sushi restaurant nearby, alright? It’s 24/7. Go eat something there while you’re at it.”

“But—”

“I’ll handle it,” Ari murmurs. “Just listen to what I say.”

Ari comes into the sushi place like he owns it—even while wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. His hair is still perfectly in place and his face is set in stone. It hurts that you don’t see these parts of him anymore, though it’s not like you saw much in the first place anyways. 

“What happened?” Ari rises the moment he sees your disheveled state, the dark bags under your eyes and noting the clothes you wore yesterday.

“Nothing,” you smile. It’s getting easier to lie to him, now that you’re out of his grasp. And with the knowledge that you two are on the track to divorce, that you can’t burden him any further anymore… it stops you from telling him how you feel. Besides, he’s already seen too much of what he doesn’t want to see, with the robbery, and you breaking down in front of him. 

“It’s not nothing,” he insists, calling your name out softly. His eyebrows are knit together, and his concern brings you back to the tattered furniture, the stolen money, and broken items. Your nose starts to sting, and you close your eyes, hoping the feeling will fade. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t,” you croak, “I don’t want to bother you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re not a bother.” Ari glances down at your hand, where the ring is—or used to be. You usually wear it, but you’re not today. “And why aren’t you wearing your ring?”

Oh, God. That thief probably took the ring, too. That one sends another onslaught of tears, and you suck in a sharp breath. But when they begin to fall, it isn’t you who wipes them.

No, it’s Ari, his thumb caressing your cheek. It’s him coming closer so that you can rest your forehead against his chest, so that your skin feels the warmth radiating from him. 

“Natasha’s apartment—” Your voice cracks. Stupid Stupid Stupid. “I know, I probably did something wrong. I tried to spend the night cleaning it—”

“You slept there?” His hands land on your shoulders, eye level with yours. “Fuck. Are you insane? I thought you just got back from work or some shit and saw its state.”

“I didn’t—”

“What if he came back? You could’ve died! Did you see that state? It’s fucking unlivable—you should’ve gotten a hotel or some shit.”

“You already saw?” Shame fills you. 

He gives you a look. “Of course I fucking did. It’s worse than a dumpster.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Don’t—”

“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.” Ari runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. Past the sound of your sniffles, you swear you hear some curses mixed under there, too. For once, he seems agitated, constantly shifting next to you or laying a hand on your shoulder. As if you would be the one to run off this time. 

“Come live with me again.”

“What?” You meet his eyes, and his grip on your shoulder moves down to catch your wrist. Like he needs to grab your hand but can feel the distance forming, know you’d run off if he does. 

“Is it that hard to give me another chance?”

And that’s it. The dam breaks. Hot fury flushes through your veins, and you don’t even comprehend what you’re doing in the moment when you place your finger in his chest and say, “Do you really think you were a good husband?” 

He freezes. But you can’t stop. “Do you really think I enjoyed being the side piece, Ari? Do you think I liked it when Sharon had you and I meant nothing? Do you think I was a gold-digger who only followed you around for the money?”

“Love—”

“Stop calling me endearments!” You cry. “I know you changed because of the baby. And I thought, finally, there’s something that I can talk about with Ari. But you know what I also thought? I thought, what if the baby hates me too? What if the baby can’t stand me like his Dad does?”

“You didn’t even know what was going on in your own household, do you? I never did anything to you. I never interacted with you or your employees. I cleaned my own room. I cooked my own food. I asked for a little bit of respect and you told me that I don’t deserve it. I couldn’t eat certain foods, and felt nauseated but ate it anyways because I thought it would make you happy.”

Ari remains silent as your voice rises. 

“Why do I have to be the side piece to you? Why am I something you’re ashamed of? Why can’t I ever be enough?”

The words echo throughout the shop, and all of a sudden it’s like you’re transported to the small dishes stacking together, the squeak as someone turns on the sink water, and the quiet murmurs of the staff watching you, since you’re both the only two customers. 

And you’re just… just… 

“You’re not the side piece,” is all he says. As if it’s that simple. As if the months where you felt the aching loneliness, nothing compared to now, doesn’t matter. Your head throbs, and you close your eyes. 

“That’s why I said we should divorce. Because sometimes people aren’t made for each other, and I think that the more I see you, the more it becomes clear to me.” 

The wooden seat is hard as you adjust yourself again, pulling your knees up to rest against the table. Ari is still in the same position he was in when you blew up, and against your morals, it makes you feel better for putting him in this state. For giving him a taste of what you went through. Your heart can’t stop running at all the words you threw at him, and you wipe your trembling palms on your sweatpants, linking them together. Unconsciously, the same way that Ari would, one hand holding onto your fingers like a lifeline. 

Part of you—a large part—hopes he regrets it. 

And until the police comes to report to Ari, neither of you say a word. You doze off to their voices, Ari constantly glancing back at you as he talks to the officer. To be honest, at this point, you don’t really care what happens to the apartment at all. You don’t care what weight Ari will pull, or if he will at all. This whole interaction is exhausting, and you don’t know if it’d be possible for you to feel safe with Ari and be in love with him like you used to. 

But it’s nice that you hallucinate a kiss on your forehead, and the softest murmur of, I’m sorry, I’ll do better. It’s heartwarming that you hallucinate someone pushing your hair behind your ear, tracing the slope of your nose, loving every feature of you. 

It’s enough that you hallucinate the feeling of someone holding your hand to their chest, the thrum of their heartbeat enough to pull you under. 

And then he invades your workplace. You didn’t think you are a person who likes to categorize. Home life, work life, friends, family. 

It’s not fair, you think. It’s not fair that he can play you and call you back now that it’s most convenient for him. 

“Another glass?” Andy asks a little too cheerfully. It’s clear that your coworker is doing his best to rip your ex-husband off, but instead of snarling at him, Ari nods. Almost as though he is reluctantly succumbing himself to the alcohol, using it as a numbing pain. 

He just continues drinking and drinking. The expensive whisky—though you can’t imagine that it’ll taste that luxurious—in your bar is taken out one by one, and your eyes bug out with how much this man in front of you can consume. Whenever you two ate together, he would take light sips of wine, as though he was a lightweight like you are. You can’t imagine the sophisticated figure back then chugging alcohol like his life depended on it. 

Nat checks you by the hip and whispers in your ear, smug, “See? I told you he was a frat boy.” 

Though you steal a glance at him, Ari wants to snort at the assumption. He was above a frat boy in his college days. Rather than chugging a cheap beer at parties, he networked with the upperclass and grew his company from ground up. Worked his ass off to get what he was. Valued the money he earned than anything other than his mother and half-sister. Until you came and dug up the ugliness that he thought he hid so well, even in front of Sharon. 

From the beginning, Ari married you because he had to. The whisky burns his throat as he chugs it down, and he almost wants to retch at the amount he’s consumed on an empty stomach. But it’s a hell that he’s living to live with, because he enters it at the thought of it. He can’t even deny what he thought when your brother showed you a photo of him—even after the threat, even after him hitting Ari’s weak spot: that he never had anything to himself. He thought he had his mother, but his mother left him the moment it became inconvenient for her.

His father was crawling back because now he’s rich.

His half-sister hates it when he blows up or when he does something that’s too “upper-class” for her. 

Sharon was his—or so he thought. He knew every time he met with her that the control was slipping from his grasp,  and it pissed him off. Inherently, he thinks, we were too different. Sharon craved the young version of him that could be manipulated, once again, that thought problems could be solved with sex and fights could be fixed with money. 

Because that’s what he grew up seeing.

Because that’s what he became—another version of his father.  

But with you, it’s more than losing control. He can see it now as you scurry by him without even blurting out a “hello,” like you usually do, without your face flushing in embarrassment and without you ducking your head to hide that blush. He’s losing you. And Ari never tried to control or hide himself. You accepted him as he was. 

Fuck. The thought runs through his mind again, and he takes another chug. 

He’s drunk.

“Please,” Nat wrinkles her nose and grabs the glass cup away from him. “He’s been in here long enough, and if he throws up on the floor, I’m going to throw him in the dumpster behind.”

“I’ll help,” Andy juts in a little too cheerfully. The two of them share a high-five, and you swear they’re becoming the two devils on Ari’s shoulders somehow. 

“He’s usually not like this,” you defend. Because he’s not. This is a man who looked as though he lost his will to live, though you couldn’t figure out why. 

Nat and Andy share a look.  

“Well…” she starts, “you weren’t exactly awake after the accident. I swear Ari was going to fire every employer in the hospital and flip the whole building upside down.” 

You stop midway to the back of the kitchen, and swivel around to face her. A small smile spreads on your face, and you hunch your shoulders together as if to protect yourself. “Thanks, Nat. But you don’t need to lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying!” She protests. “I thought he only had two emotions on his finger, too.” 

“Goodbye, Nat.” Your voice is flat as you push her towards the door. “Let me clean up in peace.” 

“Don’t go home with him! Come back to me!” With a flurry of exclamations that steer closer to nagging and with Andy rolling his eyes and dragging her out the door, the bar turns quiet. It’s your turn to lock up tonight—which wouldn’t be an issue without a man who weighs twice, if not more, the size of you. You sigh and grab a rag. Might as well clean while he comes to his senses. Maybe Ari is the type to sober up quickly and walk out on his own two feet.

“Why did you leave your teddy bear behind?” 

You glance up from wiping the countertop, eyes widening. Sleep came in chunks because you were so used to holding onto the stuffed doll, along with the weight of a thick blanket pressed on top of you. That, and it was a reinforcement of your marriage with Ari, that he cared enough to gift you something. Or possibly make his secretary do it. Whatever. 

“Did you go into my room?” You recall the picture that he sent you. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Ari starts and sits back down. His arm is locked around your waist, and you suck in a breath when he rests his forehead on your stomach. When his hand tightens on the flimsy shirt you wore, you freeze at the humidity that creates a barrier between the two of you. 

It takes a moment for you to comprehend, but it hits you as the wetness on your shirt grows. 

He’s crying. 

The one that you think is as stoic as a rock, nearly immovable in his will, is breaking down in front of you. And you can’t contain the surprise that is written across your face, the sharp breaths that Ari takes in as he shudders under your palms resting on his back. The way your hands tremble too, and you clamp your lips together to prevent any unconfined emotion from escaping. A noise escapes you, but you’re not sure what. 

All that matters is that you don’t cave under this drunk version of him, the one that might tell you hidden truths, but is a coward that he can’t say it sober. 

“When you had the baby, when you swallowed every single bad part of me, I knew I had to change. I thought I would bit by bit. But seeing you on the ground… the guilt…” 

And even if he is telling you, you’re clearly not ready to hear it right now. Just the reminder of the accident is enough to send your stomach lurching and heart squeezing at everything that happened. You’ve never felt so empty before—you swam in darkness. Eating didn’t matter. Sleeping didn’t matter. In your dreams, you’d see a boy smile up at you, bits of his front teeth gone because he pulled it out. 

You screamed at the doctors and nearly ripped them to pieces, projecting your loss at them. Though you did know who to blame—yourself—you also couldn’t take more beatings. 

It seems like yesterday that it all went down. But it’s weeks, months ago. And there’s not much nostalgia that lingers with that information.

 Only pain. 

You tug his arms away from you and clean up the rest of the tables in silence. There’s beer spilled here and there, making your shoes stick to the floor—the one piece that may be grounding you to this Earth right now. Eyes filled with tears, the wooden tables blur into a black, teardrops taking on the shape of crumbs enough that you can’t tell the difference of what you’re wiping. 

“Let’s get you back home,” you murmur once you’re done. His driver is already outside from your call earlier. The main issue is getting Ari out of the bar without him crushing the two of you to the ground. Because you’d much rather let him sleep than feel the small bits of gravel digging into your back. Still, you manage to get him out the door by clinging onto his arm. Not that it does much, but it’s enough to stabilize him.

“Okay, let me lock up.” You pull out the key from your pocket, and fumble with the lock. You can’t afford another incident with Nat’s apartment. Though there’s no clear perpetrator, the thought of someone like that out there sends shivers down your spine. 

“Come back,” Ari murmurs, and pulls you to him as soon as the lock clicks shut. Sucking in a breath of surprise, your body slams against the brick wall harder than you thought, and you wince. But the weight of him—almost so that you can’t move without being aware of every part of him pressed up to you—is more comforting than you realize. Because even though this man is wasted, a carnal part of you knows that he won’t make you do anything you didn’t want to. “Come back.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you attempt lightly, trying to play it off. Trying to get him home and forget that this side of him exists, because everything is so much easier when he’s the bad guy. Easier to avoid, easier to love less. 

“You can’t leave me,” he whispers in your ear. He nuzzles the area under your jaw and near your neck, and you try not to gasp when he presses small kisses there. Like he knows that that’s your sensitive spot, can read you like a book.  “Not like everyone else. You were the one good that was truly mine.” 

“I—” There’s nothing to say to that. I can’t believe he’s thinking about this. “Let’s talk about this when you’re sober, Ari.” 

Said man gives a mocking laugh. “There’s no point. If I wake up sober, you won’t be there anyways. You’re just as bad as her, you know? It’s like you’re a ghost—no one would’ve ever thought that you lived in my house once. Sharon left louder than you did, screaming and crying at me and making a scene.”

He shakes his head. “But it’s like you’re a whisper in the wind. I swear I thought the last months were hallucinations. Like I had no wife.” 

“Let’s talk about this later,” you beg. “When you’re sober.” When I can handle it.

“You promise?” His voice is a mirror of your own when you waited for his time. Waited for him to decide to see you. Waited for him to initiate.

“Promise.” 

Ironic, how the tables have turned. 

Ari asked you to meet him in his house. In his own territory, in the place where you lived during your marriage together. And you can’t tell what his game plan is: remind you of what life used to be like? Let nostalgia hit you like it’s your first time walking up the steps of his home, hoping for a fairytale ending? 

“Head to the kitchen,” he says once he opens the door. “I have a meeting after this so I’ll change and meet you there.” 

“Uh, okay.” You take in a deep breath, fighting the urge to grab onto his hoodie like a young child. 

But you can do it. This time you won’t back down so easily if the staff harasses you, especially because you don’t live here. But as you wander the long corridor, more empty now that you boxed the sunset pictures you hung, you see that Ari truly doesn’t care much for decor. A giggle almost comes out at the thought of how pink and colorful the house used to be during your residence, until the reality of you not living here anymore crashes back. 

But the surprise comes when you the staff places sushi in front of you. The sudden shift from neglecting your needs to almost… adhering to it is an odd change. Though it’s probably because Ari invited you as a guest into his house, rather than a “welcome back.” That, and you can’t believe that they’re acting like this when Ari isn’t around, either. 

Come to think of it, when you reflect on seeing the employees work as you walked through his house, you didn’t notice half of them. But you should, since you tried to connect with every single person Ari specifically hand-picked here. Thinking that you got along with them, maybe life could be bearable in the moment at least. That you could do things with someone, that you could bond since Nat was so far away back then, too.

Part of you wants to ask, but it’s probably better not to probe. Either Ari believed that they weren’t competent enough or maybe they relocated to another one of his homes.

“Please, try it.” Rather than walking away the moment they slide the plate over, their hands are folded together, backs straight. Like… they’re nervous? 

“I’m sure I’ll like it—”

“You like the sushi?” Ari comes down from the stairs, slinging his suit jacket on. What’s more shocking is when he sits next to you, elbow on the table, a casual posture. But the workers in front of you seem to be vibrating with nerves, especially as he cuts them a hard look. 

“Mr. Levinson!” The chef blurts. “We didn’t know you were joining, er, Miss… we can make you a plate!”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “Mr. Levinson can have my plate if he’s hungry.” 

Ari sounds weird right now to say, especially in front of the new chef. And it’s not like you’re friends now, either, at least you don’t want to get your hopes up for it. Possibly acquaintances, because that would make more sense. Acquaintances with a lot of history between the two of them and needs to go to the therapist to make up for it. 

“My meeting is in half an hour,” his fingers go to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing into one of your shoulder blades to ease out the tension building in your shoulders. It’s crazy how perceptive he’s been lately, noticing how you fumble conversing with someone new, or how you struggle to eat in front of a stranger because you’re paranoid about them picking on your eating habits. “I’ll eat after.” 

You smother a giggle at how the chef then trips left and right for words. It is true—Ari is an intimidating man, and you’ve been in that position countless times. With the dominance and charisma that he carries around, it’s impossible to not want to please him. 

Not that you’ve ever gotten a praise from him, but still. 

Facing you once again, Ari nudges the plate closer to you. “Eat one.” 

The fact that he’s concerned about your eating habits only adds to the complex feelings you have towards him. You smother any possible warmth or butterflies stirring inside of you, and give him a slight, awkward smile instead. 

“Okay,” you whisper, dabbing the California roll—you love the bland flavors—into the soy sauce, and taking a bite. 

It’s good. It’s exactly what you craved for the last few weeks, and you devour one after the other. 

 “You like it?”

“Like it? It’s the best thing I had all week! Not that I craved it, but I craved it.” Another bite. 

For some odd reason, he smiled. It lit up all his features as his eyes crinkled, filled with gentleness, enough to make you pause. Did something good happen to him? 

“Good,” he murmurs. “Eat a bit more. Or you might have to see me threaten the chef, too.” 

“I don’t think I have any delusions of you anymore,” you joke, but the words feel more like knives than needles to him—slashing him and leaving him to bleed rather than pricking at him. He remains silent and lets you trace shapes on his palm. So he caves into one of his simple desires, hooking his pinky onto yours. The gesture causes you to make eye contact with him, something he hopes that you’re not afraid to maintain from now on.

“You saw the worst of me,” he admits in a hushed voice, and it pains him to say so. “But I wish you’d give me a chance to show you my best parts, too. Though, that night wasn’t exactly my best moment.”

“No, don’t worry about what you said that night,” you blurt out. “Drunk people say odd things, you know? I never understood why people say that drunk people spill unspoken truths. It’s all a scam—”

“I meant every word I said. So while I appreciate it, don’t discredit every word I said, lov—” Ari clears his throat and nudges you to eat another piece instead. Takes a sip of the water placed in front of him, trying to fight a smile at your eyes peering up at him in curiosity. You’ve always been curious, but terrible at asking.

“Sharon felt right to me,” he admits. “When I first met her, I was spiraling. And she loved to pick up my pieces and place it together. She was good with my sister, who I had trouble relating to. And she knew what happened with my mother, since we grew up in the same area together for years. It felt like fate to me—she was there at the right place and the right time.”

“Timing is important,” you hear yourself say. “I’m glad you—”

“Don’t fucking finish that sentence,” he mutters, voice gruff. “It’s been over with Sharon for a long while. She changed, and not for the better. I should’ve known the moment she persuaded me that the media would better portray us as friends so she could get everything she wanted. And when she suddenly wanted to get closer and even get married when you came along? It was too coincidental.” 

You blink. What? Since when did he and Sharon end it? You’re pretty sure that you saw another article about the “Best Friend over Marriage?” article circulating, though you tried to avoid them for the most part. 

“Are you okay?” 

He snorts. “I had more than enough time to get over Sharon.” 

“Oh. Well. Uh. Okay.” Speechless, you nod your head and decide to eat another piece of sushi instead. You can empathize with him—heartbreak is painful—but he looks a little too relieved to get it off his shoulders. Like his time with Sharon didn’t matter that much overall. Even you can’t imagine how long their friendship was. How can that long period simply be over?

Ari sighs. “My father and your brother paired together to arrange this marriage against my will. I didn’t agree to it, and was about to get away with it at first, but your brother insisted. Blackmailed me almost.” 

“How?” 

The wry, mocking smile returned and he shakes his head. “He figured out my biggest weakness. My mother.” 

You remember seeing his step-mother there at the wedding, and she seemed friendly enough. In the way that she still hated you but decided not to show it. His father never showed up at the wedding, but with the venom that’s attached to even admitting it, Ari probably didn’t invite him. But his mother? 

“She wasn’t at our wedding.”

“Oh, well—”

“She’d dead, love,” he cuts off, unable to stop the endearment from escaping his mouth. “She died in a car accident when I was young and my father remarried.” 

Oh God. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and pat his hand once. Your heart goes out to him, and though in the past you would’ve made a move to give him a hug, you don’t know what boundaries to break now between the two of you. But still, your heart clenches at the thought of a younger version of Ari having to grow up faster than he wanted to. Out of his will, because he had to adjust and take care of himself. I mean, sure, your mother also died when you were young, and so did your father. But at the same time, you relied on your brother to take care of your basic needs—that much you’re grateful for. 

“I didn’t know—”

“Of course he wouldn’t talk about it. He thinks that we’re an embarrassment.” Ari shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “But your brother? I don’t fucking know how he found out, but he wants some shares. He wants us to be linked. And I would rather let him fucking ruin me than let him allow the media to paint my mother as anything otherwise. 

“And I thought you were included in that,” he barks out a laugh. “How can I think that someone like you was included in this?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur.

“Me neither,” he says, and his voice contains a tinge of regret. “But I wish I knew earlier.”