Chapter Text
NOW
Jack is not sure how he got home. Everything is foggy from the moment Elsa took off her ring to him now lying on his far too big bed with his stinky mutt curled up by his feet. Hiccup drove him home, that he knows for sure. Aside from that, they’re all assumptions. He guesses he stood rooted on Tooth and Bunny’s porch long enough for someone to come check on him. He probably gave them a clipped and confusing retelling of his and Elsa’s conversation. There were far too many questions and far more opinions than Jack cared to entertain.
He vaguely remembers Tooth taking pity on him and cutting the interrogation short, but on the same fragmented memory, he also recalls her smothering concern. Are you sure you’re okay with that? she had asked. Ha. He isn’t sure of shit anymore. All he knows is that Elsa has thrown in the towel and that the bed feels fucking empty without her sleeping next to him.
There’s no one hogging all the space or fighting him for the blanket. It’s so quiet it’s unnerving. Valentino had to be fed and let out so not coming back was out of the question, but he regrets staying home after the night he had. Jack can’t sleep a damn wink.
It’s still surreal. Even though that was his goal for a while, it still catches him off guard when he replays in slow motion as Elsa removed her ring. A part of him started to believe that they would never actually get there. That they’d continue pushing each other’s buttons and making each other miserable for eternity. Which, for his messed up brain, feels better than a definite end. How pathetic is that?
Jack rolls onto his side. In the dark, he can see the faint silhouette of the ring he left on the nightstand. He hates the sight of it, but he couldn't not bring it back. Not from a silly hope of Elsa changing her mind but simply because the idea of getting rid of it right now is too sad. He wonders if she’s feeling weird without it, or if that is just another issue for her brain to compartmentalize. Where did she go? Is she sleeping right now? Did she cry? He can't get her out of his mind.
He wants to punch something.
Giving up on sleep altogether, he throws the stifling sheets to the side and reaches for the cursed ring. It barely fits around his pinkie, the metal cold against his skin. It's so weird how unfamiliar it looks like Elsa didn't wear the damn thing every single day they'd been married—that probably says more about their relationship than he cares to admit. He keeps staring at it until his vision blurs.
He didn't stop her. That's the thought that echoes in his head the loudest. He wanted to see her bleed; wanted to make her hurt as much as he hurt. He wanted her to feel as terrible as he felt. Why? Because misery was a harsh mistress and she loved company. So he didn't stop her. Even if every fiber of his being urged him to.
Jack has made his bed. Who could’ve thought sleeping on it would be so hard?
THEN
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.
The day had finally come. Fuck.
Jack paced, his impeccably polished shoes burning holes in the carpet. Was self-combustion a thing? Because he was pretty sure he was three seconds from accomplishing that feat himself. Wedding jitters didn’t even begin to cover his current state.
“Knock it off before you trip on your own feet and end up with a black eye on your goddamn wedding photos,” Hiccup said as he fumbled with his crooked tie.
“Go to hell, Third,” Jack grumbled like the petulant child that he was inside.
Hiccup stopped in his tracks and pointed an accusing finger at Jack’s chest. “What, you’re worried she’s gonna leave you at the altar or something?”
“Not gonna lie, I would pay to see that happen,” Bunny chimed in as he joined the other men.
“Yeah, Elsa would be a badass runaway bride.”
Jack glowered from one best friend to the other. “Remind me why either of you assholes are here again?”
“Because anyone else would be scared off by your enchanting pre-nuptial glow.”
Before the bickering could go on, the string quartet started playing the first notes of the wedding march, making Jack suck in a constricted breath. Hiccup stepped forth, gave Jack’s tuxedo one final smooth over, and grinned. Jack gave his friend a quick nod of silent gratitude. Something in Hiccup’s giddy attitude weirdly helped calm some of his nerves down. Turning back to the aisle, he watched as the bridal party waltzed down slowly.
Show time.
His smile was carved in place, mind empty. Time seemed to stop. The rest of the world faded bar from the goddess in white making her way toward him. Elsa looked breathtaking in her off-the-shoulder gown. The wispy fabric of her skirts fluttered around her like fresh fallen snow. Her bodice was embroidered with a million crystals and there were diamonds woven into her hair. Light refracted into infinite tiny rainbows with every step she took.
Jack forgot how to blink. He also forgot how to breathe. And there would be a fun little trip to the ER in his immediate future if he didn’t relearn real fast. When she reached him, he was not yet in full command of his body. Thank God he held out a hand out of some sort of chivalric muscle memory.
“Hi,” she whispered, her voice the most melodic sound he’d ever heard. It made his heart flutter. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes gleamed with the beginning of tears. Her hand was soft on his.
“Hey.” He swallowed. His voice was hoarse. His pulse throbbed painfully in his ears. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re not too shabby yourself.” Elsa chuckled. God, he knew it wasn’t the time yet, but would it be too much of a faux pas to kiss her right there and then? “Ready?”
He squeezed her hand and winked.
“Like I’ve never been before.”
NOW
He can’t stand how eerie the house feels. Elsa’s been around the house to pack a few necessities here and there and the sight of those holes where her stuff used to be makes him wanna hurl. So he uses cooking prep as an excuse not to be there any longer than necessary. It doesn’t even bother that it’s too early and none of his staff members is expected to show up for the next hour or so. If he’s going to be lonely and miserable, he might as well try to be productive while at it. But even as he goes through the motions of fileting a whole tray of fish, it’s hard to concentrate.
The divorce is happening. Proving the value of whatever exorbitant hourly fee she’s paying, in no time, Elsa’s lawyer sends the finalized papers for him to sign. He’s half tempted to act like he’s never known of its existence. How much trouble will he be in if he pretends the email went straight to the spam folder and silly ol’ Jack was none the wiser? What’s another wound when he’s already bleeding out?
The universe, not satisfied by his metaphorical bloodshed, also demands his literal blood as well. Amidst his daydreaming, he loses the grip on his knife and it carves a deep slit into the opposite palm. The shock wave of pain is instant.
“Goddamit,” he hisses, wrapping a towel around his hand, the fabric immediately turning red upon contact. Blood drips onto the floor. It’s a good thing he’s alone; staff seeing him in this pathetic state is not something he’d like to deal with on top of everything else.
Finding the first-aid kit in its usual spot, he quickly disinfects and bandages his left hand. It’s haphazard and bulky, and the temporary movement restriction is beyond cumbersome. The tiniest of contacts sends jolts of pain through his nerve endings, making Jack groan. Cooking was supposed to be what took his mind off other things. It was supposed to be therapeutic— even the chaos of the kitchen! And now, it appears that he can’t even do that without almost slicing one of his digits off. Great, so not only is his personal life going to shit, his job is being jeopardized as well. Fuck his life.
Once the fish is seasoned and appropriately stored in the fridge, Jack moves to the stove to get started on a mirepoix. He adds the vegetables into the pot with one hand, absently stirring it as he goes. For the umpteenth time that day, he wonders how Elsa is doing. If she’s feeling cold in that stupidly air-conditioned uptight office of hers. If someone’s packed her lunch in his stead or if she’s just going back to skipping meals like she is prone to doing when blindsided by work. The bittersweetness makes his chest ache. Soon, it will not be his place to worry about her any longer.
There’s a strident ringing in the background. It takes a moment for Jack to notice it. A little longer for him to discern that it’s actually the restaurant’s landline and that, as the responsible business manager that he is, he should probably answer it despite his aversion to phone calls.
Jack lets out a grunt as he throws his hand towel next to the burner and drags himself to the glorified broom closet he deems to call an office. “Hello?”
“Hey, buddy! How ya doing?” He’s surprised to hear Hiccup’s pre-pubescent whine of a voice on the other side of the line.
“Fine.” Jack frowns. “Why are you calling my landline?”
“You’re ignoring my texts.”
Jack wasn’t aware of said texts. Though to be honest, he’s not sure he wouldn’t have ignored them if he did. He usually doesn’t carry his phone to the kitchen—an old habit from one of the restaurants he used to work at before he’d purchased his own place. “My phone is in the locker.”
“Yeah, figured,” Hiccup grumbles. “So Tooth said we should wait for you to reach out when you’re ready but I’m overrulling her decision. Jack, you refused to talk to anyone, which, yeah, as your self-designated best friend, I would know—”
“Can you get to the point? I have chicken to bread.”
“What’s going on between you and Elsa?”
“We’re getting a divorce.” The words feel like sand in his mouth. They’re dry and gritty and he almost chokes letting them out.
Hiccup squeals as if physically harmed. If Jack had any emotional bandwidth left, he’d feel bad for the inconvenience he’s causing his friend. As it is, he can only feel annoyed at the intrusion. “I mean, it just feels like it came out of nowhere, you know?”
“Nope, ‘twas a long time coming.” Jack leans back, head bumping against the wall. He closes his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else but there.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“‘Okay’ is not the word I would use, but sure, let’s go with that.”
“Well, what word would you use then?”
“I don’t know. Relieved? Now it can all just… stop.” He can stop lying. They can stop pretending. She can stop stomping on his heart with her designer heels. Now, neither has to make hurting the other their life’s mission. They can move on. And maybe one day, the scars will finally fade.
“That doesn’t sound like you, Jack,” Hiccup nasally whines, his voice coated in melancholy.
Jack snorts with bitter laughter. Resentment leaves a sour taste in his tongue. He hasn’t been himself for so long that he fears it’s impossible to return to his old self, whoever that was. “Yeah, well, I don’t even know who that is anymore—”
He smells the foul odor of something burning. Phone still clutched between his ear and his shoulder, he awkwardly shifts out of the office and into the hallway. Through the tiny glass panel on the kitchen door, he sees a big spear of fire where once simmered his secret recipe tomato sauce. Hiccup’s still saying meaningless words when Jack drops the phone and rushes to the door. The greasy towel he’d left on the counter is aflame. Holy shit.
“HOLY SHIT!”
THEN
Half-asleep, Jack stretched one arm over the bed to find cold sheets but no Elsa. Blinking in the dark, he checked the time on his phone. It was past one in the morning and his wife had not come to bed. He buried his face in his pillow and allowed himself a long exhale before pushing himself to his feet.
He found her where he knew he would find her. Hunched over the kitchen island with the side of her face against the keyboard of her notebook computer, glasses crooked on top of her head, and glaring white light casting hollow shadows on her cheekbones. Even though they had converted their extra bedroom into a little office, Elsa still tended to work anywhere but there. Jack was almost certain she only used the room for conference calls, and if it hadn’t been a habit she’d carried from her single days, he’d gloat that she worked from the kitchen to stay close to him.
Quietly not to startle her, he approached the counter. Jack carefully took her glasses and folded them on the counter. Leaning over, he let his fingertips trace the crease between her eyebrows. Her breaths were so even he felt a little bad trying to wake her up. “Babe,” he whispered.
Elsa stirred, covering her face with her arm and mumbling something against her cardigan.
He ran a hand up and down her spine, drawing soothing circles on her back. Elsa moaned softly, making him chuckle. “Time to go to bed, wife.”
She snapped back to reality with a panicked jolt that made her hit her knee on the wooden panel. “Ow,” Elsa whimpered.
“Easy.” Jack put a hand over hers on her leg, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead on his chest and letting out a tired sigh. “You should be sleeping, Elsa. On a proper bed.”
With furrowed brows, she turned back to her computer. Elsa groaned as she glared at all the gibberish she’d typed with her face. She started fixing the errors, eyes running from one side to the other of the screen and fingers flying on the keyboard. Crestfallen, she mumbled, “I still need to figure out—”
“You can do it in the morning,” Jack cut her off. A hand behind her neck diligently massaged the tension off her stiff muscles.
Elsa’s eyes momentarily closed; her body relaxed under his care. “I can’t…” Her protests were weak, half-hearted at best.
“I’ll make pancakes,” he coaxed, his lips brushing against her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. “The ones with blueberries you like.”
She bit her lip, trying in vain not to cave. Jack, on the other hand, remained unfazed, continuing to loosen the knots on her neck as Elsa’s tempest of emotions took hold of her consciousness. He knew by then that it was best to wait for her to come out of whatever spell her mind put her under on her own.
“Alright,” at last, Elsa relented. With slumped shoulders and tired movements, she turned off her computer and closed its lid with a click. “But I have to be up before five!”
He chuckled, sliding his hand along her arm and lacing his fingers through hers. He tugged her up on her feet, an arm encircling her waist, and planted a kiss on her temple. “I’ll be sure to wake you up.”
“Also coffee,” Elsa mumbled against the cotton of his shirt as he gently steered her toward the hallway. “I’m gonna need a lot of coffee.”
“Anything you need, my love.”
NOW
Well. Elsa snaps.
She should’ve known better than to go into a meeting with a nitpicky client in her current mood. She overestimates her composure and now her entire team will pay for her blunder. What she wouldn’t give to go back in time and call in sick today…
She tries to act the same as always. Her shirts are as crisp as ever, her hairdo is so tight her scalp hurts, and she continues to organize spreadsheets on top of spreadsheets on top of spreadsheets like her life depends on it. But not even the best poker face in the world can mask the sorrow that engulfs her. Or the absence of her wedding band and the lighter strip of skin that flashes like a neon sign in the dark where the ring used to be. And now she can add biting that posh numskull Jeff’s head off to her list of behavioral oddities. No wonder when people look at her, it’s with condescending eyes. Like she’s some poor child who deserves all their pity. Ugh.
Elsa is tired. There’s a pounding against her skull. Dehydration burns her eyes. She barely registers her body moving on its own. Her mind is so broken her thoughts seem to dissipate before fully forming. It makes her short fuse even shorter. When she speaks, every word that leaves her mouth feels wrong. Time passes through her. The days fuse in an incoherent gray smear and the hollowness in her core eats her from within. She hates how unstable she is, drifting along the tides aimlessly, void of any solidity, floating between planes of existence, neither here nor there. Neither here nor there.
After reapplying her makeup and tying and retying her hair, Elsa returns to her desk, her eyes unavoidably going to the briefcase tucked under it. Inside the bag, she hides the divorce papers she had printed out. After she got them from her lawyer, it seemed appropriate to have them in a physical shape, as if the gravity of her choice requires her to acknowledge its weight. And that weight threatens to crush her.
There’s a knock-knock on the edge of her desk.
When Elsa looks up, Isabela sets a mug of coffee and a coaster next to her monitor. There’s a hopeful sincerity to the gesture that Elsa promptly ignores. “Thanks,” she mumbles before her eyes go back to her screen.
“You forgot your phone in the conference room,” Isabela says when Elsa doesn’t take the bait.
“Oh.” She didn’t even notice she didn’t have it.
“You’ve got a bunch of messages from some Hiccup person.”
Elsa frowns. She had Hiccup’s number from a year she’d helped with Jack’s surprise birthday party back when they were dating, but she and Hiccup had never been texting buddies. Curious, she taps the unread messages notification and their conversation tab loads on the screen. In reverse order, it takes her a moment to understand what Hiccup is saying, but when she does, the phone slips through her fingers, falling on the floor with a loud crash.
Everything stops. She can’t move, can’t breathe. She feels like her lungs are collapsing. Her blood runs cold in her veins. Her mind goes blank, panic is the only thing that lingers. She’s dying. She tries to stand up but her legs can’t hold her. She feels a tight grip on her arm. Isabela says something, but her voice is merely a muffled buzzing Elsa can’t understand. Her hands are shaking.
Hiccup’s messages tangle in her mind’s eyes like an alphabet soup being stirred with a spoon. She tries to find another meaning in the harsh words but none comes forth. Reality is crystal clear.
There was a fire at the restaurant. Jack is in the hospital.
They don’t know when he’ll wake up.
THEN
They didn’t go on their honeymoon. With Jack’s new restaurant and Elsa’s workaholic tendencies, it didn’t make sense to take time off work for a vacation they didn’t even have the money to take anyway. Which was fine with her. Though there was a slight disappointment still in the back of her mind, not leaving right after the ceremony meant they could continue their house renovations, and the sooner they went through those, the sooner the house would become their new home.
Elsa shifted her weight to one foot, head tilted to the side as she carefully studied the wall’s symmetry. “A little to the right,” she said, and Jack shifted the frame he was holding as commanded. “A little more—no, that was too much. Go back to the left, please.”
He craned his neck to glower at her. “You're doing that on purpose.”
She giggled, stepping forth and wrapping her arms around his torso. On the tip of her toes, she rested her chin on his shoulder and pressed her lips to his jaw in an appeasing caress.
“You are dangerously close to committing sexual coercion, wife,” Jack grumbled, with an exaggerated eye roll. Wife. It made her incredibly giddy whenever he called her that.
She hummed, brushing her nose against his skin in a feather-light nuzzle. He smelled like aftershave and salt, a rather enticing combination, Elsa was surprised to discover. “Should I stop?”
Jack huffed, avoiding giving her a concrete reply, which Elsa took as enough of an answer in itself.
“There,” she said with her hand on his forearm, making Jack stop. The spirit level on top of the frame was perfectly even. “Right there.”
“Pencil.”
Still pressed against him, Elsa’s hand roamed the side of his body until she reached his back pocket. Jack shuddered, leaning back against her with a grin.
“Careful or you're gonna have to start all over again, husband,” she chided as she handed him the pencil.
Jack drew two tiny marks on the wall and motioned for her to step back. He drilled two holes in the wall and finished hanging the painting, then looked back at her for her feedback. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect…” The frame was impeccably aligned and its color scheme tied in nicely with the rest of the living room’s furniture (she was particularly proud of how it matched the throw pillows on the couch). It still needed more personal touches to feel as cozy as Elsa wanted it to be, sure, but they were getting there. If only the walls weren’t so harsh... In this light, they looked unnecessarily cold.
Jack smirked, crossing his arms. “Oh, no. That’s your displeased Type A face.”
Elsa rolled her eyes. “Maybe we should’ve gone with White Dove instead.”
For a moment, her comment received no response, and when she turned to look at Jack, he was looking at her with a confused gaze. “Which I’m assuming is another white shade of paint,” he stated cautiously. He spoke slowly, as if he and Elsa were communicating in different languages and something was being lost in translation. He pointed at the walls around them. “As opposed to the white shade of paint we used, the same one you took three days to pick.”
“This is Chantilly Lace,” she argued, making him roar with laughter.
“You’re crazy,” he said while shaking his head.
Elsa took a step toward him with her hands on her hips. “I’m not the one who has a problem substituting shallots with onions.”
Jack gasped, beyond affronted. “You take that back!”
Egged on by his dramatics, she took another step. Her voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “You know what else I don’t understand?”
“The difference between tasty food and pig slop, I’m guessing,” Jack grumbled, his scowl a mix of annoyance and intrigue.
She put on a smirk that unnervingly rivaled his usual one in cockiness. “What even is a lime ?”
Jack wheezed, hunching forward as if punched in the stomach. “I failed you. I can’t believe I failed you this hard.” He stared up at the ceiling with a pleading expression. “Please have mercy on this poor soul.”
“Who are you talking to?”
He thrashed his arms around in violent circles. “I’m apologizing to the culinary gods on behalf of your blasphemous mouth!”
Elsa laughed. “And you think I’m the crazy one?”
Jack groaned and moved like he was ready to march out of the room, then at the last second, surprised her by latching his hands onto her hips and pulling her toward him. Her hands landed on his chest with an undignified squeal.
“I’m more than happy to split the crazy title with you,” he said when she met his eyes.
She shook her head with a mocking chuckle. “You’re on your own, buddy. That title is all yours.”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of crazy now and then,” Jack mused.
He swayed them in a little circle like they were slow dancing to some nonexistent song, just like they did on their first dance, but as they turned, her eyes unavoidably shifted again to the wall they’d been working on. She pursed her lips.
Jack clicked his tongue and leaned closer to grumble, “Will you stop staring at that wall? The paint is fine.”
“I know, I know…” Elsa let out a long sigh.
Gently, Jack guided her back until her legs hit the sideboard.
She looked at him with a raised brow. The air had suddenly shifted, charged with electricity and something dangerous. Challenge sparked in his eyes and sent a thrilling shiver down her body.
Using him as leverage, she hoisted herself up to sit on the cabinet, dress riding up her thighs and he stepped between her legs not allowing any more space to form between their bodies. When Elsa leaned back, her shoulder skewed the frame he’d just finished hanging.
With a hand right next to her leg on the wooden pane, he grinned at her. “I, personally, like this color. Makes your eyes pop.”
Elsa snorted. “Sure,” she humored him, though it was hard to believe any of the words coming out of his mouth. Hell, she doubted Jack himself understood what he was saying.
His lips trailed her jawline down to her collarbone, peppering her skin with light kisses that gave her goosebumps. “I’m serious.”
Her eyes closed, hands tangled on the fabric of his shirt. She pulled him impossibly closer, enthralled by his voice, his touch. “Of course you are,” she exhaled, her voice hoarse and weak.
“Mmhmm. I love this wall.” Jack’s fingers slid down her spine, making her back arch for him. When they slipped under the hem of her skirt and grazed the inner side of her thigh, Elsa audibly gasped.
“It’s a good wall,” she agrees, though the higher his fingers went, the harder it became to keep her speech coherent. Her knees wobbled. Her breaths came out in heavy, uneven puffs.
“Sturdy,” Jack added. His teeth grazed the pulsing point on her neck just as his warm palm rested against her hip bone, on finger hooking on the flimsy lace of her underwear.
“Mmhmm…” He sandwiched her between his firm frame and that damn wall, and she moaned at the delicious pressure of his weight against her quivering mess. Her hips thrust forward, warmth pooling at her core. She urged to have his mouth on hers again.
“It'd be a shame not to use it to its full potential.”
(EXPLICIT)
Tension built in her muscles in the most torturous. Her hands dipped underneath his shirt so she could feel his delicious abs with her fingertips. She pushed the fabric up his chest and with a breathless chuckle, he helped pull it over his head in one smooth swoop. God, that man was sex incarnate. His hair was devilishly tousled, a delectable sheen of sweat clinging to taut muscles, eyes darkening with desire. Arousal was making her head spin; it was a miracle that her brain could still formulate rational thoughts. “Which would be?”
“A little bit of this.” He cradled her face with a hand at the junction of her neck and jaw and turned her so he could plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth just as he rotated his hips, his jeans rubbing against that already damp spot in her panties and sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body. “And a lot of that.”
Jack gave her no time to process his words, immediately grabbing her ass and pulling her to the edge of the cabinet. The new position meant she could feel more of him through the rough layers of clothing. His grip was so tight it wouldn't surprise her if he left a red imprint of his fingers on her skin. His mouth crashed on top of hers, bruising her lips with hungry need. Elsa moaned as the hand not busy keeping her pressed tightly against the hardening bulge between her legs cupped her breast over the fabric of her dress. It had built-in pads that allowed Elsa to walk around without a bra underneath but the fabric might as well have been thin as a paper tissue by the way her nipple reacted to his touch.
With trembling fingers, she reached for his belt, desperate to feel his hard member pulsing in her hands. She rubbed the front of his pants once, making him grunt against her mouth. In retaliation, Jack slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders and yanked its bodice down to her waist, Eyes dark with lust, he licked his lower lip before leaning down to lavish every inch of her chest with utmost dedication. He closed his mouth on one pink bud, tongue swirling around the tip and teeth digging into the sensitive skin.
Elsa’s body melted under his ministrations. It was hard to concentrate with how good he made her feel but she was nothing if not resilient. She pulled him up by the hair, his mouth making a pop when releasing her skin, and she reached for his belt again.
Amused by her impatience, he chuckled against her neck. “Bit in a rush, are we?” His palm pressed against her breast, the combination of the cooled air and his rough skin incredibly erotic.
“Stop distracting me,” Elsa huffed before finally pulling his pants open. She let out a triumphant “Aha!” before she could stop herself.
“You're such a dork.” She could sense his grin without needing to see it.
“And you talk too much.” Without preamble, she snaked a hand inside his boxer and wrapped her fingers around his girth, making him thrust into her grip with a husky groan that rang in her ear. Precum coated her digits.
“Jesus, woman. A little warning next time?” He fisted her bunched-up dress on both sides of her waist and tugged it as low as her seated position would allow.
Elsa let out a breathy laugh and helped him wiggle her dress all the way to the floor. Only in her underwear, precariously perched on top of a creaking furniture piece, her heart hammering against her ribcage and every nerve ending alit, she felt on the verge of self-combusting. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware of the living room window, wide open and still curtain-less. If the neighbors decided to peek inside the newlyweds’ house, they were sure to spectate quite a scandalous show. She should feel exposed, but Jack only made her bolder. Wilder. More alive.
He tested her through her soaked-up panties and she nearly came undone.
“Jack!” she whimpered, falling forward, desperate to trap his hand right there. He lightly touched her clit, making her hips buckle of its own volition.
His finger continued to rub her through her underwear, from her clit down the length of her slit and back up, hypnotizing her with its rhythm. “Fuck, you're so wet.”
She was so primed that under other circumstances (circumstances that didn't involve her shamelessly rubbing against his hand in desperate need of an orgasm), it would be laughable. He wasn't even fully touching her yet and she could feel the pressure building in her core, tighter and tighter with each stroke.
Not a single movement to waste, Jack pulled the final barrier of her modesty down, rough fingers scorching a sensual path down to her calves. Then, he was between her legs again, a firm palm on her inner thigh. “Come for me, babe.” His words, a hoarse command that made her skin vibrate were accompanied by the heel of his palm pressing on her clit while two fingers slid through her folds and curled inside her, hitting that perfect spot that sent her off the edge.
She cried out, pleasure coursing through her in waves and she thrashed against his hand, heavy pants muffled by his chest, the taste of his skin on her tongue.
He held her throughout her orgasm, a hand on her lower back rubbing her tailbone as she came down from the high. “That was hot,” he said, bringing his other hand, the one glistening with a thin layer of her juices to his lips and licking his fingers clean.
Blood rushed down to her pussy at the sight of his tongue tasting her as if she hadn't just had her mind blown by those same fingers now disappearing between his lips. Her hands trailed up his sinewy chest, nails scratching thin lines along his skin as her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. She pulled his head down to her. “Why are you still wearing pants?”
He laughed before capturing her swollen lips with another bruising kiss. “I was busy,” he answered, twisting a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Take them off,” she demanded.
Her mouth watered as she watched him drop his already loose pants to his feet, along with his boxers. His belt buckle had barely hit the floor and she was already pulling him toward her, guiding his cock to that warm place between her thighs.
When his tip aligned with her entrance, he stopped with one hand on top of hers and met her eyes. “You sure?”
They'd gone bareback a few times before. She was on the pill and they were both clean, but they still erred on the side of caution mostly. At that moment though, Elsa didn’t want to be cautious. She needed to feel his everything. Every ridge, every pulse. Every scrumptious inch of him scraping against her walls. Her muscles spasming around him and pulling him so deep it hurt. Elsa nodded with a desperation that would be embarrassing if she wasn't so worked up. “Yes. Please .”
His drenched cock slid along her clit in a tantalizing circle before pushing inside in one long stroke. The slow stretch to accommodate his length was torture. Elsa’s nails dug into the muscles on his back.
As he leaned over her, flesh flush against flesh, Jack thrust again, his movements a perfect show of power and precision that Elsa felt all over her body. Her shoulder dug into the corner of the painting on the wall and the sideboard creaked under their collective weight.
“This cabinet won't hold,” Jack grumbled against her neck, grinding against her clit before another retreat.
Elsa threw her head back, eyes shut, the pressure in her core climbing to its peak again. Heat rippled through her, making her moan. “Have more faith in Ikea.”
“Sure. Because the Scandinavians are known for their meatballs and their sex-withstanding furniture.”
“Sweden,” came her throaty reply.
His rhythm stumbled for a fraction of a second before he plunged to the hilt into her throbbing pussy again. “What?”
She met his movements, pushing down against his dick each time, desperately craving more. Even with the conversation distracting her from the pulsing between her legs, she could still feel the impending orgasm building. “Ikea is a Swedish company.”
His hand slid down to where their bodies were joined and brushed over the sensitive nub there, making her cry out his name in ecstasy. “Your knowledge of multinational businesses is fascinating and we are dissecting that…” His strokes became faster, desperate. She was so close. The sideboard hammered against the wall over and over and over. “ Fuck … on a later opportunity… preferably when I'm not inside you on the cusp of a stratospheric orgasm.”
“Let’s table that discussion,” she agreed, the words barely audible over the guttural sounds leaving his throat.
Done with the talking, Jack drilled into her as her walls spasmed around him, skin against skin in the most primal way. He cursed, hitting her deeper and deeper until the tightness in her core reached its limit. She exploded into a million pieces, the intensity of her release making her mind go blank for a second. Shockwaves still rippled through her skin as his dick stilled, spilling his scorching load inside her.
They stayed like that, still connected, her body feeling like mush with him slumped over her like a weighted blanket as they collected their breaths.
Too weak to move, Elsa pressed her lips to whatever inch of his skin she could reach and grazed his neck with her teeth. “See?” she patted the wooden surface where her hand had fallen after climaxing. “Told you it would be fine.”
Jack let out an exhausted laugh. His breathing was still uneven, heartbeat hammering against her chest. With shaky fingers, he delicately pushed a sweaty clump of hair from her face.
“Remind me not to doubt you ever again.”
NOW
By the time she gets to the hospital, Elsa is a frazzled mess. She’s chewed her lower lip enough that her lipstick is ridiculously faded in the center, her eyes are bloodshot, hair is sticking out of her braid in all directions. She reaches the information desk, but her vocal cords refuse to cooperate. She’s scared. Her voice is lost. What if they tell her she’s too late?
She can’t be. It doesn’t matter that Elsa was in the process of cutting him from her life entirely; doesn’t matter that they were making each other miserable. She needs to see him again. Jack has to be alright. He’s too stubborn to die, isn’t he?
Her head is pounding. There’s not enough oxygen flowing through her veins. Her vision is darkening. She’s going to pass out.
“Elsa?” Somebody touches her shoulder.
She spins so fast that she loses her balance. Luckily, Tooth is there to steady her. Tooth, with her catchy feather earrings, and the warmth of a thousand suns, and the heart the size of a continent wraps Elsa in a tight hug that nearly destroys her. At the same time that Elsa is glad Tooth is here for Jack, it also hits her like a ton of bricks that Tooth was here when Elsa wasn’t.
“Tooth,” she exhales, her voice still not working. “Is he…”
“Oh, honey,” The other woman whispers softly while she rubs comforting circles on Elsa’s back, and the lack of a clear answer sets Elsa’s panic off again. “He’s with the doctor”—at that word, Elsa lets out a relieved shriek. Though it is in no way good news, it is not the worst news, and she is committed to taking one step at a time—“I’ll take you there.”
Elsa nods as Tooth leads her through the maze of beeping machines and sterilized hallways. She keeps her eyes lowered to Tooth’s hand firmly holding hers as they tread slowly, each step of her stiletto heels sounding ominously loud in that dreadful place. The heavy smell of disinfectant is making her sick and she sucks in big lungfuls of stale air through her mouth to keep from hurling.
She has no idea where in the hospital they are when Tooth stops and knocks on a metal partition separating several cots inside the room.
“You got a visitor, bud,” Tooth says, the cheerful note in the woman’s words closer to the usual voice tone Elsa has come to associate with her. That's gotta be a good sign, right?
Carefully, Elsa looks up, bracing herself for whatever terrible state she’ll find Jack in… But to her surprise, he is sitting on a cot in front of a doctor who’s finishing stitching up his hand, awake and reasonably unscathed, considering he’s just allegedly survived a fire. Bar from the slashed palm and the bandages covering the upper left side of his face and wrapped around his arm, Jack seems fine.
He looks warily between the two women. “What are you doing here?”
She can’t detect any speech impairments. And he seems to know who she and Tooth are, so she also crosses memory loss off the list. It doesn’t make sense. Hiccup’s messages led her to assume the worst. She can’t help but expect the other shoe to drop. Surely, there has to be a catch.
“You—” The word turns into a sob halfway out her throat. Tears blur her vision as a thunderstorm of emotions crash into her all at once. Confusion, anger, relief so intense it causes her blinding pain. Her arm brushes the curtain rod, and she holds back from leaning against it, lest it causes a domino cascade. Slow breaths coming in and out as she tries to get ahold of herself.
“Oh wow, would you look at the time?” Tooth says with a somewhat rehearsed flare of her arms. “I better get going.” She rubs Elsa’s arm affectionately then glances at Jack. “I’m glad you’re alright, dumbass. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Jack waves with his non-stitched hand. “Thanks for everything, T.”
“All set, Mr. Overland,” the doctor says a moment later, dropping the pliers on a metal tray and smoothing the edges of the gauze around his patient’s palm one final time. He hands Jack a handful of papers and adds, “Take these to the front desk on your way out. I’m also including a prescription for pain medication, guidelines are written down, take no more than four in twenty-four hours, and don’t forget to change your bandages twice a day.”
Jack nods. “Thanks, doc.”
The doctor seems to grasp that there’s much unsaid between Jack and Elsa, so he gets up, giving Elsa a polite sympathetic smile, then leaves. And suddenly, she is all alone with Jack in that chilly hospital room. Her mind doesn’t even register the other patients nor the busy nurses rushing from one side to the other, her entire focus on the man in front of her.
“Wanna sit?” he asks, motioning to the empty space next to him on the mattress.
Frozen legs drag her to the cot and she sits on its edge, back straight and palms firmly clenched over her pants. “Jack.” His name gives her stomach a weird flutter she doesn’t know how to process.
“So…” Jack rustles his hair, and she notices there’s a patch missing from it. She holds back from reaching over with her hands. “What are you doing here, Elsa?”
“Hiccup texted me.” She fumbles with her fingers on her lap. He’s close enough for her to feel his body heat but a part of her is still not fully convinced that he’s alright. “H-he said—he said you were in a coma.” Technically, those hadn’t been Hiccup’s exact words, but the end result was implied.
He goes stiff as a board next to her. “The fuck? Why would he say that?”
Elsa’s eyebrows furrow. She tentatively glances at him from the corner of her eyes. “Weren’t you in a fire?”
“Yeah, my oven almost exploded and the ceiling is probably gonna need repairs, but I was fine. I mean, I lost an eyebrow but that hardly equates to me being comatose.”
“And Hiccup knew.” Elsa closes her eyes. Hiccup understood the gravity of Jack’s injuries and had purposefully misled her. Which begged the question: Why did he? It was far too cruel to be a prank.
“Yeah, he knew—” Jack pauses. “That meddling son of a bitch.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna kick his ass with his own leg.” He hunches forward on his forearms and rubs a hand over his face, the gesture making his singed eyebrow more noticeable. He gestures between them with his stitched hand. “I’m guessing this is the last place you’d want to be.”
“I’m just glad you’re alright,” she mumbles quietly. “You are alright, aren’t you?”
His hand muffles a derisive snort. “Do you care?”
She lurches forward and grips his arm, guided by instinct or something beyond her control. “Of course I—” She swallows the rest of her words at the last second. Hypocrisy wouldn’t begin to cover the situation if she says what’s on her mind. Elsa can’t have pieces of him when she’s the one who decided to let him go. “I thought you were dead.”
He looks back at her and his eyes soften. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know you don’t hate me enough to actually wish for my death.”
A tear slides down her cheek and after the first one escapes, it’s hard to keep the others contained. Each drop burns with months of ache and emotions she’s forbidden herself from feeling. “Jack. What happened to us?”
“Among other things, we used pettiness as a coping mechanism.”
“Sounds vaguely familiar,” she concedes with a sad nod. Her heart is so heavy she can feel its weight pulling her down.
The silence that follows is oppressive. Now that the war is over and anger doesn’t fuel her attacks anymore, it feels awkward to be sitting next to him like this. She can’t remember how their interactions went before resentment clouded her behavior.
While she debates what the best way to leave would be, Jack clears his throat.
“You were right,” he says, the gravel tone adding to his somber stance. “I did hate you. For the way you acted, but also for things that were beyond your control. And I am truly, truly sorry, Elsa. You didn’t deserve that.”
Emotion clogs her airways. Her voice quavers when she speaks. “I wasn’t fair to you either.”
“Yeah, you didn’t hesitate to throw grease into that fire, did you?” he teases her in a light manner, though sourness slips into his words.
“I thought I needed to do that… to protect myself.” Elsa swallows, the acid taste of bile burning her throat. Displaying her vulnerabilities openly like that is frightening. Showing the ugly parts of herself makes her want to flee. But she’s hidden for so long, and for what? To protect a broken heart and unavoidably impede its healing? Elsa has hurt, and hurt, and hurt and never received anything but hurt in return. Is it too late to admit her mistakes? Can she try to fix them? “It wouldn’t matter if you hated me if I was the one to hate you first.”
Jack snorts. “You always had a competitive streak.”
“Consider it another one of those unhealthy coping mechanisms you mentioned.”
“Elsa…” He shifts on the mattress so he can fully face her. When his eyes meet hers, they are clear pools of pure blue full of resolve and something electrifying. “Are we really over?”
Though everything in her body urges her to look away, to hide, she doesn’t. She maintains visual contact, giving him—them her full attention. Yes. We’re over. Those are the words he expects from her. Those are the words she should be telling him, but they don’t sit well with her. They don’t fit. So instead, she whispers, “I don’t know. A lot’s happened in the last eight months.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. His nervousness rises something akin to longing in her, and for a moment, she lets herself dream. “We should go on our honeymoon.”
She whips her head back, stunned. A twinge of melancholy finds its way to her heart. “We’re basically divorced and you think now is the time for a honeymoon?”
Jack shrugs nonchalantly as if their crumbling marriage is nothing but a blip. A fleeting misunderstanding. A little middle-of-the-week lover's quarrel that could be fixed with an apology and a back massage. “Angry sex could be fun.”
Elsa feels her cheeks heating up. It’s infuriating that even after everything, when they’re sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed with him half-mummified and likely high on painkillers, he still has that kind of effect on her. She shakes her head as she debates whether a slap across the face will bring back the sense Jack’s apparently lost. “Too bad. I’m done being angry with you.”
“You are?” he asks with a tilted head and arched eyebrows.
“I want you to be happy, Jack. Not burned to a crisp, fulfilled, and happy. ”
Jack narrows his eyes and studies her face with a clinical lens. He probably thinks she’s being disingenuous, but she’s really not. She’s done antagonizing him. The mere possibility of his death was the wake-up call she didn’t know she needed. She wants him to find happiness, even if it means she won't be in the picture anymore.
He clicks his tongue. “I haven’t slept in three days. I set fire to my restaurant. And I hate living in that stupid house without you. Tell me why the hell do I want you back even if it means you busting my balls and making me fucking question all my life choices day in and day out?”
“That doesn't sound too healthy.”
“I don’t want healthy if it’s not with you.”
Elsa crumples forward, hair obscuring her face. Fat tears fall on her balled fists. Her entire body is shaking. “Most of what I did was intentional. But a lot of it also wasn’t. Who’s to say we won’t hurt each other again?”
“Oh, I’m sure we will,” he says with a commiserating laugh, then reaches over, a hand cupping her cheek and gently turning her face toward him. His thumb wipes the wet smudge of mascara under one eye. “But I hope we’ve learned enough from this whole disaster to do better. Because even when you break my heart, I still choose to love you.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into him, letting herself be comforted by his touch. It’s been so long she’s forgotten how good it felt to have him close. Why on earth did she ever think it would be better to push him away? A sense of safety warms her insides but also reminds her of how hollow it felt when she no longer belonged in his arms. “You probably could. If we went our separate ways. Your feelings would eventually fade.”
Jack’s hand goes to the back of her head, his grip roughens. His fingers tangle in her hair and pull her toward him. His eyes burn with raw intensity, his breath prickles her skin. “Well, tough shit. I’m not letting that happen. So if this is really over, you’ll have to tell me.” He leans so close his eyes are all she sees. He’s her entire world. “Right here, right now. Tell me to go and I’ll go. But if there’s still a piece of you that loves me back…”
"I..." Elsa swallows. Her throat is so dry. Whether she loved him was never in question; it was everything else surrounding those feelings that complicated it all. "I—"
A nurse ruffles the curtain at the entrance, making both of them jump apart.
He glances at her with a tentative smile. “I think we’re being kicked out.” He stands up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen. I have to call the insurance company and stuff but we should talk later. And since I’m relieved from the night shift…” Elsa laughed at that. “How about you come over to the house later? I’ll make pasta.”
Elsa nods. There’s a lot they still have to discuss. So many mistakes that need to be addressed. So many wrongs that need correcting. But a naive sliver of hope makes her think it’s possible. “I would like that.”
He takes her hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Tonight, then.”
“Tonight.”
THEN
They were in her living room together, him sitting with his legs stretched on the chaise corner and her sprawled across the couch with her head resting on his lap. Elsa balanced her laptop on her stomach as she clicked through a carousel of photos on the real estate agency’s website. As if planning an entire wedding was not a massive enough endeavor on its own, Jack and Elsa, two idiots with questionable impulse control when it came to their co-signed choices, had also decided it was only natural for their newlywed life to begin under a new roof, where they could start building their life together from zero. So far, they hadn’t come any close to finding their perfect starter house, and she had to admit, the combined stress of the wedding plus house hunting was taking its toll on her overachiever uptight self.
Elsa huffed, closing her eyes. “Three bedrooms feel too big for just the two of us.”
Jack hummed, one hand moving to stroke the top of her head. Though a little patronizing, it was still comforting to have him caring for her that way. “A guest room for when we have family staying over, and you could use the other one as your office when you have to work from home.”
“I’m doing alright without an office room though,” she pointed out.
“You have a stapler and permanent markers on your kitchen counter instead of salt and pepper shakers,” he said with a boop to the crease between her brows. “Where am I supposed to cook if you’re gonna use the kitchen to stock your stationery? In the garage?”
Elsa let out a snort. “What is this, a musical chairs game? Are the cars going in the attic?”
Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Taking them out every morning would be a hassle.”
“Fine. Three bedrooms it is.” She rolled her eyes. Her fingers hovered over the touchpad when Jack stopped her. He closed the laptop’s lid and carefully put it to the side.
“Let’s take a break on the house hunting and talk about something really important for a sec…”
She had half a mind to remind him that the house hunting was important but she waved it off. Angling her head back to meet his eyes, she asked, “What is it?”
Jack smirked. “Your dress. Is it form-fitting?” That had become one of his new favorite games to play—the guess what Elsa is wearing on their wedding game. So far, Elsa had given him nothing, yet the inquiries persisted. Curiosity was eating him alive.
She bit down the grin hurting her cheeks. “Maybe.”
He twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers absently. “Or is it a cupcake ball gown?”
“Sure.”
“Is it a goth dress with a high neck and black plumes all the way to the floor?”
Elsa gasped. “How did you figure it out?”
“I always knew you had a penchant for drama.”
She reached for his hand and started playing with his fingers. Shaking her head, Elsa let out a defeated sigh. “Unfortunately, I don’t think a black wedding dress is my style.”
“Babe, you could rock a burlap sack without trying. You’re annoyingly beautiful like that.”
“Thanks?”
Jack spread her fingers and inspected her engagement ring under the light. His thumb stroked her skin so delicately that the gesture felt reverent in its core. A sheepish tint to his cheeks, he admitted, “It’s still surreal that we’re getting married.”
Teasingly, Elsa poked his side with her free hand. “Especially after your accidental proposal and then your failed second attempt.”
Jack’s perfect proposal included a flower garden and a beautiful glistening water fountain. It also unexpectedly involved a flock of hungry pigeons and a trip to the bottom of that same beautiful fountain. “You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”
Elsa chuckled, bringing his knuckles to her lips. “It only made me appreciate the real one even more.”
“No good thing can come without a few mishaps along the way. It’s like they say: you gotta break some eggs to make an omelet.” Grinning, he winked at her.
“You do make a good omelet,” Elsa conceded.
Jack scoffed. “God, you’re cute when you’re being a smartass.”
“Seriously, why must you turn everything into an insult?” she grumbled, using him for support to sit up.
“Who says I’m insulting you?” He put his hands on her waist, pulling her to sit between his legs. “Now, back to your dress… Are you wearing multiple ones throughout the night?”
Leaning back against him, she nestled her head in the crook of his neck and his arms looped around her middle. “I might.”
Jack hummed, inputting that information into his dossier of completely useless clues. He nuzzled his nose on the shell of her ear. “As long as I get to grind all over you on the dance floor.”
“Right. I’ll make sure to pass your preferences to the seamstress.”
NOW
They pick the cliché-est of the cliché wedding destinations possible: They go to Hawaii.
His restaurant’s undergoing renovations and whatever happened at work has Elsa’s superior vehemently encouraging her to take some well-deserved time to decompress, so it’s easy to go on with Jack’s spur-of-the-moment idea. In just a few days, Hiccup is picking up Valentino from the house and they’re splurging on red-eye plane tickets and a cozy cottage rental in a last attempt to… salvage their marriage? Honestly, Jack doesn’t even know what’s going to happen. He just needs a fucking break from all the mess.
Jack leans back on his beach chair, feet burying in the sand, and he closes his eyes. The sun warms his skin as the briny smell of the ocean mixed with sunscreen reaches his nostrils. Elsa is swimming, or hunting for sharks, or whatever it is that normal people like to do around large bodies of water. He’s never been a fan of the way saltwater clings to the skin; it makes him think of a slab of meat curing under the scorching sun. So he stays behind to watch their stuff and to reminisce.
That night after his hospital snag, they’d talked. And talked, and talked. It was an odd experience. Jack was aware he’d been a royal bastard but it still felt awful to be told the extent of his blows. No better bucket of ice than to hear how much he’d hurt Elsa straight out of her very own mouth. Baring all the ugliness, their flaws, their shortcomings… it’s both liberating and crushing at once. And at last, it gives them a much-needed chance to heal.
It’s a slow process. Broken trust is something tricky to mend. There’s too much history, and on that front, being away from home has been good for them. This little nook of paradise with blue waters and flowers everywhere is a safe haven. The neutral ground lifts some of the weight off their shoulders, allows them to shed layers of old gripes and meet halfway. They can just pretend they left all their baggage in the airport and become different people. Less sully people.
Ah yes, there is safety inside the bubble. He’s not naive enough to expect things to go back to the way they were before. But it’s still nice to have a little breather—for however long it may last. If only the ocean could wash away all the bad blood curdling under his nail beds…
“You sure I can’t tempt you to go for a swim?”
Jack lazily turns in the direction of the voice. Taking advantage of the polarized lens of his sunglasses, he ogles Elsa’s perfectly sculptured frame. She looks phenomenal. Her wet hair is tangled and wild. Water drips down her legs. The barely there material of her white bikini clings to her skin in the most alluring way. “You most certainly can.” His grin is sleazy because even though they were around eighty-two percent divorced before, he can’t help but want her in the most primal ways. “But let's hold that for when the sun’s a little more forgiving.”
Elsa drops down on the chair next to his as she pats herself dry with a towel. “Jackson Overland is scared of a little sunburn.” Her voice is tentative. It’s been that way lately where they try to find a balance between teasing fun and mutual annihilation.
“I know, right?” he snorts, reaching under his chair and handing her a water bottle. “Worrying is usually your turf.”
“Well, skin cancer should be a real concern,” she replies between sips of water. “... Jack?”
“Hmm?”
She’s quiet for so long he thinks she’s dropped the conversation until she quietly says, “What do think will happen when we get back?”
He pushes his shades up to his hair and looks at her with an arched eyebrow. “I thought we were gonna enjoy our vacation time and leave the serious stuff to future Jack and Elsa.”
Elsa fumbles with the edge of her towel, digging her nails into the fluffy fabric like she’s trying to poke holes in it. On her left hand, her wedding ring is back in its rightful place. “Like you said, worrying is part of my M.O.”
“Well. Whatever happens, I don’t wanna fight again.” He holds out a hand and waits for her to take it. His thumb strokes the back of her hand. “So if nerves are pushed, we’re gonna talk it out like functioning adults.”
Elsa meets his eyes, insecurities being pushed aside by determination. She squeezes his hand, and the action tugs a string in his heart. Is it weird to think that the idea of her fighting for him makes him stronger? “Everything that happened before, it’s resolved. No more using the bad stuff against each other. I’m not saying we should forget, but no more dragging it on. I don’t think we can truly make this work otherwise.”
Jack leans over his armrest and tucks a wet lock of her hair behind her ear. His palm rests, firm and reassuring, against her pulse. “Should we renew our vows when we get back?”
She smiles, her face inching closer to his, and whispers, “I’d like that.”
His nose brushes hers. He closes his eyes, breathing her in. This confusing woman with all her quirks and obsessions is his damn world. She’s his strengths and his weaknesses. His best days and his worst. She is him and he is her. They’ve been so good at breaking each other down. One has to hope they can build each other up as well. Jack sighs. He can taste the salt on her lips. “Marriage take two, baby. You in?”
Elsa grins against his mouth. “I’m all in.”