I will possess your heart - Rhys Montrose X Reader

───Part 9.

The entire day was spent diving through the articles of obnoxious journalists and their wild imagination and projections on what type of person they thought you were.

You'd never been into the whole social media scene. It definitely had its positive sides as well as negatives, but growing up with little to no internet access you just didn't get into it like others around you. There was maybe an old long derelict of a Facebook account floating around, but that was it. Well besides Spotify, but that doesn't exactly count as a social media platform.

The general lack of an online presence only left more leeway for preposterous rumors and accusations to pop up regarding you. Some were admittedly humorous (she's obviously a lizard person in disguise sent to indoctrinate Rhys Montrose like they done to other politicians!!!), but some were just straight up death threats. Ah, jealousy. The stench of it hung all over the tabloids running this 'scandalous' story.

Lucille hadn't replied to your messages yet, and you'd talked briefly to Amanda over a call before her first class started, leaving you to do nothing but jump further down the rabbit hole.

You'd read a few older articles about Rhys, but stopped yourself from reading more - not only were they without a doubt full of speculation and biased opinions, but it also felt like a violation of his privacy. He didn't hide his past from the media, or at least didn't give the impression that he did, but knowing him personally - intimately - it felt wrong to snoop. You'd rather find out about his past and then some from him, not some ridiculous website.

Deciding enough was enough, you closed your laptop and pulled out the power cord (you didn't like leaving it in unless you're using the device - it was enough of a fire hazard already, no point in making it one outside of use), stretching your sore back. Sleep had come in small phases, coffee being the only thing making you feel at least somewhat alive.

Without anything else to do, you decided to clean your apartment, again. It wasn't that messy in the beginning, but you were going to let Rhys come in later, and compared to his, well... it was simply put horrible.

Nearly all of your furniture had some sort of quick fix-it solution and seen their fair share of years, the curtains had fallen victim to moths a long time ago filled with holes and loose threads, and the electronics weren't any better.

Normally you wouldn't give two shits about this sort of thing, but having seen Rhys' apartment firsthand, you couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed about the state of your own.

Rhys hated going to the art show (without you), showing up fashionably late to avoid most of the fuss, finding it the same as the previous ones - pretentious, overpriced, and watered down echoes of actual great artists. Minus the ones Simon didn't paint himself - those were the only ones worth looking at.

It was a shame, Rhys thought, Simon used to have so much potential. He actually had talent when they met at Oxford, albeit buried beneath an ego that only increased as they grew older and a rotten attitude, but it was there. Then he squandered it all away. Got lazy. Bored of painting. Deciding that drugs were far more interesting than honing his own skills and stealing from smaller, independent artists instead. Exploiting them until they had nothing left to give.