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mistake

Summary:

frederick kreiburg is ready to die.

Work Text:

Frederick is nervous. He is incredibly nervous. His favorite actor is in front of him right now, her body pinning him against the wall. She's kissing his neck. He's shaking. Out of fear? Out of anxiety? Out of excitement? Out of want? He wasn't sure himself. His mind was blank. He couldn't think. Whirlwinds of emotions swirl in his chest, threatening to spill out. Time goes very slowly, the world was reduced to the sensations of Blanca's touch against his body.

Ah, yes. Blanca's touch.

Even he himself couldn't believe it. The person he's hopelessly in love with, right here, her hands roaming around his back, her lips pressing gentle kisses on his neck. He must've used up an entire year's luck.

She was so far, shining bright on the stage, all he could do was just watch—and he was content with that, he really was.

"You're shaking."

The sound of her voice right next to his ear woke him up, clear as day.

"Apologies, I'm just.."

"Nervous? But it seems like more than nerve to me."

Her touch stopped.

The words she spoke sent a chill down his spine. "Am I not enough?" He thought to himself, panicking. He was hers to be toyed with, he was ready to give himself up. His looks are what he's good for his entire life anyways.

To see her in that party, laughing along with other guests... He couldn't help it. He had to take his opportunity. At least, if he was already ruined man, might as well throw himself to his God. He-

"Hey, it's okay. Should we stop here?"

Once again, her words stopped his endless train of thoughts. His stomach churns. She was genuine, but to him, it sounded like rejection—she was throwing him away. No. She can't do that. He was only one step away. He needs this. He needs her. He let out a shaky breath—which he didn't even know he was holding,

"No, no. Let's do it."

He cupped her cheeks, urgently pulling her closer with trembling hands, pressing her lips onto his, his body sandwiched between Blanca's body and the wall, leaving no gap.

His lips part, letting Blanca's tongue slip inside. He tilts his head more, giving her more access, letting out a shocked gasp when Blanca's hand settled against the small of his back, holding him closely, gently, lovingly. As if he's a porcelain doll. As if he's something deeply precious.

Ah, dear Gods above. Frederick Kreiburg is ready to die.