#-rude murals

[evilevilevilevilnotevilevilagain]

Important secondary introduction: CREVICE.

He likes to drive nails into himself and belittle people with no instigation at all <3

Crevice is a wizard of ill renown. He makes his keep through his keen sense of smell, which is able to sniff out magic and track down even the most elusive sorcerers. Its a lucrative business n he has no qualms about bringing ruin onto fellow magic users. May in fact have a personal vendetta against a certain wizard(and his apprentices) hes trying to track down, too. Was once imprisoned by said wizard for possibly hundreds of years and he hasn't exactly forgiven the guy for it. Crevice is dangerous and hard to stand for extended periods of time, largely due to his intense misandry and frequent discussions of various violent acts he'd love to enact on both you and himself or you on him. Has great mastery of the scythe and the sickle, rarely resorting to showing his own magic to outsiders.

Funny guy whom I kinda still wanna make more of a world for. Something Mad Max-y, Conan The Barbarian-y, fetishistic ultraviolent psychosexual like. You know the type. Even got some ideas for how the magic system works! Kinda makes the whole spellcasting thing function like a shark tank pitch - its good stuff.

#crevice #dark fantasy #wizard :-) #not dnd #oc art #original art #and wanna shove stmal in 2 perhaps for some roaming surgeon-saint band hijinx #got ideas for a few sidecharacters... a witch friend for crevice n perhaps the current boss of that crew he used to be part of #funfact he also has some silly halfbaked modern aus where hes usually wheelchair bound and im glad to say he gets to- #-be the worst disability rep ever. bcus all my ocs r evil or clowns. sorry. hes like a weird little delinquent that likes to spray paint- #-rude murals #hes my little dark souls miniboss ass lil guy #elden ring was kind of actually a lot of the inspo

[dailyeca]

Yo Eca, 33. "What is the last adventure you’ve been on?"

33) What is the last adventure you’ve been on?

yo. went out to go graffiti a wall out on blackthorn boulevard. its a hike and a hassle to get out there. scarlet and stickers came too, said they wanted to keep me company.

...decent night out. i guess.

#eca orichird #daily eca #scarlet rose #stickers calvin #not the only one with shades and opinions (asks) #ladybug qna #several notes: this is eca number 420 so thats funny to me <3 #most streets in Eclipse (where eca lives) are named after flowers! like foxglove street and blackthorn boulevard <3 #scarlet and stickers love watching eca do graffiti <3 hes very blunt and rude but when he does art he's so chill; nearly elegant #tossing cans and catching them; long strokes of spraypaint with a long-practiced finesse; a mural in its own right. #flowing and smooth and elegant <33 truly in his element out here <3 #one of the few times he smiles; he doesnt even realize it. private smile for scarlet and stickers only <3 #graffiti art is very personal; scarlet and stickers are allowed to watch though <3 like a solo performance for them. private art show <3 #theyre so beloved to me. you dont even know hgkjh <33

[da-ill-spot]

Saturday, December 10

Five Dollar Art Party | Tierra De La Culebra

Highland Park, CA

Tickets!

#Five Dollar Art Party #shows #concerts #events #hiphop #Art Water #Tierra De La Culebra #soul #art #live art #graffiti #graff #murals #family #peace #community #west coast #Abstract Rude #Cal-S-thetics #Protextor #Zane One #MSMMMCG #Rhys Langston #Rhea #Free2Express #Bahgo74 #JIZM #ANDI #Hollow Visions #CityMindFunk

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. what life is like for miles!42

a/n: i honestly didn’t mean for these to get so angsty oopsies!! i kept adding on so they’re also very lengthy wc: 1,751

contains: mentions of grief

Everyone thinks he’s rude and impossible to approach—but that’s a common misconception. In reality, he’s actually quite shy and simply prefers to keep to himself. His quiet nature often causes him to come off ill-mannered, which is completely unintentional on his end and partially the fault of those who assume what he’s like instead of actually getting to know him.

He used to be open to making friends and spending time with peers, but after everyone found out his dad died— which was impossible to prevent considering the man who used to drive him to school now had a giant mural made in his honor— he began receiving a ridiculous amount of pitied stares in the halls, began hearing hushed whispers about how hard things must be for him at home now. And even though they were, he hated that he was being treated differently by those he once kept close to him, like a charity case. As if he were fragile and would break— like he often did when he was alone.

His old friends were supposed to be his distraction, something to take his mind off how he now had to grow up faster than he’d liked. Something to remind him that his trauma hadn’t aged him as much as he feared; that he truly was still a kid at heart. But instead, they served as a constant reminder of the worst thing he’d ever had to live through— skated around him like he’d blow up the second they said the wrong thing; responded with heartfelt condolences instead of laughing with him whenever he’d tell a funny story about his dad. So eventually, he drifted away from them and began keeping to himself all together.

Don’t put him in a box because of his prowler side hustle, this boy is smart as hell!! Especially with one parent now being gone and his mom struggling to pay the bills? He takes his academics very seriously, he has no choice. He has to get it out the mud somehow and he doesn’t have the privilege of skipping classes as much as 1610-miles does. He’s working two years above his grade level in AP Calculus and AP physics, and has been accused of cheating on his tests a couple times due to how fast he completes them, as well as the fact that he has never once asked a question from the seat he chose in the back of the room.

It’s not something anyone would expect, but he enjoys baking a lot and he’s damn good at it too. When he was younger, he’d spent one summer with his Mamá Lena (Rio’s mother), who had him in the kitchen helping her cook and bake almost everyday and it just stuck. It’s a secret talent of his that never really comes up in conversation, and that you wouldn’t know about unless you’ve seen him doing it. His banana bread muffins using a recipe he took months to perfect taste like the gods themselves made them, and he’ll slip one into his mom’s work lunch whenever he makes them because he knows they’re her favorite.

He’s a lover boy at heart, if you were to look into his playlist, the songs you’d find in there probably wouldn’t be what you’d expect. Listens to bobby bland, which was heavily influenced by his uncle, old school rap, and he really likes love songs from the 90s because they make him feel calm, and allow him to imagine what his life would be like if he could have something like what they’re singing about. He’s terrified he’ll never be able to experience that due to his inability to open up to others. And often, he doesn’t even try to express the emotions that are tough to swallow, a firm believer in the saying that ‘once you’re down, it’s hard to get back up.’

Keeps his room pretty clean. It’s probably the one and only thing he has control over in his life, a constant for him. His room is his safe-haven so he treats it as such. It’s basically the same as 1610’s, just with a more matured look, a lot less color and less expression. He unfortunately lost that spark for a lot of his interests, so you won’t see more than a small punching bag, some boxing gloves hanging from the doorknob and few stragglers in the form of posters he didn’t feel like taking down.

He doesn’t like to argue, at all. He hates fighting with anyone he loves and he’s very quick to forgive them or squash the disagreement all together now that his dad is no longer here. When Jeff died, they were still on rocky terms from their previous dispute and even while years have passed, Miles still has yet to forgive himself for that. So now, he usually lets bygones be bygones, and never lets a conversation end on a bad note.

Continued growing his hair out once he realized it was a way for him to bond and spend more time with his mom. Within the little availability they do have, between her working doubles at the hospital, him being pulled in every direction now that he’s the ‘man of the house’—uncle Aaron’s words— and having to do things he’s not proud of to assist her while still going to school during the day, they make the time. Miles only gets it braided by her, and he enjoys the talks they have when he’s sat on the floor between her legs with his back to her. And when she’s done, regardless of how ridiculously embarrassing it is, and how he’s now over a head taller than her, he always lets her pinch his cheeks and call him her ‘handsome little man’. He hasn’t looked at a pair of hair shears since.

On that note, he is very, very defensive when it comes to his mother. Miles is not the kind to go around beating people up just for kicks; mostly because he’s not that kind of person, but also because even if he wanted to— he can’t.

In preparation for stepping into the prowler role Uncle Aaron put Miles into boxing/m.m.a classes when he turned fourteen, and he took to the skill very quickly. So well, in fact, that his hands can now technically be considered deadly weapons in the eye of the law due to his extensive training— which means he could get slapped with a ridiculous assault charge that would have him doing some time in a juvenile correction facility over a simple fist fight. (if he’s not masked as the prowler obviously).

But, some kid in his history class thought it’d be funny to make a slick comment about how Mrs. Morales was ‘single’ and ‘up for grabs’ now that his dad had passed, and the situation ended with Miles suspended for a week after he’d basically thrown his desk over to get to the kid, his knuckles bruised, and a tirade of complaints from the boy’s mother about his now-rearranged nose. However, after hearing the disgusting comment he had made about Miles’ mom, she was kind enough to not press charges and forced her son to apologize to the both of them.

That woman is his saving grace, literally. She stepped up in ways he didn’t even know were possible after his dad died, barely taking time for herself to grieve because she wanted to make sure her little boy didn’t fall apart. He doesn’t let anyone disrespect her and that’s always made known by him. He’s a mama’s boy.

They kind of have a titfortat thing going on, him and his mom. Like how she always stops in to ask him how his day was, if school is going well or if he needs anything, even if the time isn’t ideal and she’s talking to a sleepy Miles at 1am in the morning who can barely keep his eyes open. Or how his uniform is always freshly ironed and laid out for him in the morning, regardless of how exhausted she is and how badly she wants to crawl into bed after her shift. Or how when he’s sick, she’ll drive all the way across town to one of the only fresh markets that sells yuca root and white yautia so she can make him sancocho (a traditional puerto rican dish). It’s the one thing she knows always makes him feel better.

And Miles does nice things for her, too. Like draping a blanket over her sleeping form when she dozes off on the couch in front of the TV. Or making sure her phone is plugged in, so her alarm goes off in the morning, because sometimes she knocks out before she can bring herself to do it. He even goes as far as to secretly slip some extra cash he’s made from a recent job into the ‘RENT’ jar she keeps on her dresser— dropping a hundred in every now and then when she’s not there to see him do it. She’s never once asked him for help, but the one time he took it upon himself to offer it, he was shot down in seconds, and was made to promise her that he wouldn’t worry about it ever again. Her exact words being “You’re too young to worry about something like this mijo, okay? You take all the money you make from your after school job, every single penny, and you save it. Mama’s got this.”

But sometimes, she doesn’t. And Miles knows that she wants to be strong for him. For them. But it takes two, he knows that as well, so he helps out anyway.

And with prayers that they’re not short— Rio counts everything in the rent jar towards the end of the month, and a string of celebratory whoops and hollers will always sound from her room when she realizes they surprisingly have some extra cash that’ll allow her to take some days off and relax for once, and maybe even do something fun together. He’ll listen from his room with a knowing smile, more than happy to let his contributions remain undisclosed to affirm her efforts of providing for them the best she can. With her energy so depleted from how demanding her job is, she’s never suspected it was him discreetly assisting, and chalked it up to her forgetting how much she’d mindlessly dropped in there after each paycheck.

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡ #i kinda went crazy i won’t even lie #my favorite headcanon is the baking one!! #earth 42 miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles fanfic #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles angst #miles morales headcanons #miles morales fanfiction #42 miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse headcanons

[theunvanquishedzims]

Okay, I'm making mummies the new monster du jour

We all know the story: daring adventurer and nerdy historian discover hidden treasure in a tomb, and just need to survive the undead and their curses long enough to douse themselves in holy water or whatever to sally off into the sunset with their bags of gold and live happily ever after.

What about the mummy's side?

You're dead. You've been dead for millennia, had your organs removed and rites read, been embalmed and dressed and laid to rest amid vast and well-appointed rooms chock-full of wealth. You strode into the afterlife like the king that you are, and have been reigning ever since. The river flows with milk and honey, eternal virgins attend your every physical desire, and your generosity knows no bounds as you shower endless wealth upon your adoring people.

And then...it stops. The river dries up, sour milk rotting in rivulets across the sticky bedrock. The maidens have vanished one by one, carried off by callous, disrespectful hands. The gold that once towered in piles around your palace disappeared much more quickly, not a single coin or ingot left. And your people turn on you. Not in anger, but in fear, hands clawing you, gaping mouths screaming soundlessly, bodies flattening and fading like living murals.

Anubis snatches you out of the waking nightmare, to something much worse: judgement. What? You have been judged already! Your heart weighed against a feather, the wisdom and love you so carefully curated in life keeping it light enough to guarantee your safe passage into an eternal paradise.

Except not so eternal, it seems. Robbers, he tells you. You cannot believe it. Even the bravest, most brazen, most despicably faithless dogs would not disturb your rest. Raid your tomb, yes, take your finery, yes, strip your body of its ornaments and peel the gold off the sarcophagus, perhaps, but not you. Your body in its wrappings, your organs in their jars, should be left alone. They could dump your empty bones on the floor of the pyramid and walk away with every material possession your people saw fit to entomb you with, but nothing of consequence would be taken from you in the afterlife.

They have not just taken your possessions, says Anubis. They have taken you.

Taken the sarcophagus? Surely they would remove your body to lighten the load--

They have taken you, he says.

Removed me to some lesser grave, to set up some new king in a glorious pyramid he himself could not afford to build? Tacky, and rude, but it has been done before--

They have taken you, he stresses again.

...have I fallen so far out of favor with my people, with Egypt herself, that they would strip me of my title and my rest?

Your god crouches, and looks you gently in the eyes, and says again, They have taken you.

And then he adds: You have ten days to return.

And you awake on a boat, a horrific thing of metal and smoke, surrounded by treasures packed in wooden crates and straw, admired by an endless parade of foreigners who ooh and ahh over your dead body and do not, cannot understand what they are costing you, making you their macabre trophy of the dullest hunt you can imagine.

You will teach them what a real hunt is.

(The rest of the movie is a timed horror-thriller as the hero, trapped in his own desiccated corpse, shambles around London trying to find his heart and return to Egypt, while attacked on all sides by monster hunters and grave robbers who don't understand that they're the bad guys. It is an epic struggle to stay the course and not fall into a vengeful frenzy, to keep his heart pure enough to pass the feather again, to FIND his heart in the first place.)

#the mummy #new mummy #You Woke the Mummy: An Imperialist Horror #maybe the real friends were the monsters we made along the way #Anubis does not have a jackal head he just wears one to parties #the virgins are totally into it the king is very cute and flirty okay #they stayed chaste their whole lives to score some royal D in the afterlife let them have this

[th3-c0rps3-r0gu3]

Shadows.

Chapter one.

pairings: Natasha X Wanda, Natasha X umbrakinetic child!reader, Wanda X umbrakinetic child!reader, Avengers X umbrakinetic child!reader.

Warnings: swearing. That's it I think lmk if there's more.

Summary: Natasha and Wanda are used to the dark. But what happens when the dark isn't what they thought it was.

Umbrakinetic: the ability to move, manipulate,summon or control shadows or the absence of light. Can move through shadows or turn entire being into shadow.

3rd person.

Natasha woke up before Wanda which was unusual as her wife was always up before her and making breakfast. However Natasha often prefered when she woke up first. She enjoyed watching her wife sleep serenely. It was comforting and Wanda always looked absolutely adorable when she was asleep. However Natasha had things to do this morning and that started with a run. Natasha's days always started with a run no matter what.

The wind was cold against Natasha's skin as she jogged down the familiar streets. She ran her usual run. Natasha was a woman of rutiene and she liked it that way. If Natasha established a habit then that habit stuck. Unless it was Wanda. And today it was Wanda. Wanda was a woman who was proud to say that her and rutiene didn't belong in the same sentence unless it was with cooking. And Wanda being Wanda she had begged Natasha to try something new. Something different. And so now Natasha stood outside a small bookshop.

The bookshop had been a place Natasha had breezed by on her runs multiple times. However she hadn't taken the time to notice it properly. It was a rather wild bookshop. There was no order to it. There were murals on the walls of wizards fighting witches or dragons and knights in shining armour saving princesses. The bookshelves looked to be made of a dark oak wood and had intricate carvings detailed in them. And this was what Natasha saw through a window. And so deciding this is exactly what Wanda had meant Natasha entered the bookshop.

The smell of old and new books filled Natasha's sinuses. Somehow the whole store looked much more magical than it had outside the window. A kind looking woman in her mid 30s looked up behind a counter and smiled at natasha.

"hello there what can I do for ya?"

The first thing Natasha noticed was she had a thick Australian accent.

"Nothing in just looking around."

Natasha responded politely.

The woman simply nodded and smiled at her. There was only one other person in the store at the moment. A rather battered looking teen. Either 14 or 15 years old. However Natasha seemed to stare at the odd looking child. She had skin so pale one would think it white and hair blacker than the colour itself. But what intrigued Natasha most was the girls eyes. They were a pale grey blue but they almost seemed clear. Like coloured glass. The teen seemed to sense Natasha looking at her and looked up and straight at Natasha before shrinking into the bean bag she was in and burying herself back into the book she had in her hands. Her hands were another curious thing. They had black leather gloves on them. Looking away quickly Natasha moved to look at the shelves. She quickly managed to find the fantasy section and tries to find one Wanda might enjoy.

After a while Natasha has found 3 books. A fantasy one called six of crows by Leigh bardugo. A murder mystery book called a good girls guide to murder by holly Jackson and another fantasy book called the witch collector by Charissa weaks. Natasha held the books and walked over to the counter. The Australian woman looked up from the book she was reading herself and took Nats.

"these be all then?"

She asked while scanning the books.

"yeah."

Natasha glanced back at the teen in the beanbag behind her. She couldnt help it. Her appearance was so peculiar.

"if its not rude who's the teen?"

Natasha asked looking back at the woman.

"that's y/n. And if you dare say she looks freaky I will not hesitate to hurt you. Poor kids been through enough."

Natasha raised her eyebrow.

"what do you mean?"

"She's been living in the streets since she was 8 years old. And she refuses to talk about before that so one can only assume the worst."

The woman responded handing Natasha back her books. Natasha glanced back at the teen. The girl had looked rough before and now Natasha knew why. Concerned Natasha turned back to the Australian woman.

"So where does she stay?"

The Aussie womans eyes fluttered over to y/n before she sighed.

"she mostly sleeps where ever she can that's sheltered. I don't know about food though. I let her stay here and read even after the stores closed but she helps with inventory to compensate for it."

Natasha nodded.

"do you think if I offered her a home she'd except?"

The womans face saddened.

"I doubt it. I offered her the spare room to my own apartment but she refused. Said staying extra at the shop was enough. You can try though."

"I will. Thanks for the books... uhm"

"Sandra. My name is Sandra."

"thanks Sandra"

Now filled with determination Natasha took the books and walked over to the teen and sat down in the opposite beanbag. Seeing her the teen hid behind her book again.

"hello there."

Natasha said softly trying not to scare the kid. Y/n just looked at Natasha obviously trying to figure out why she was talking to her.

"hello"

Y/n responded quietly. Natasha figured she would be shy. She glanced down to the book in y/ns hands.

"what book are you reading?"

Y/n searched Natasha's face again before responding slowly and even quieter than before.

"Two can keep a secret by Karen m McManus."

Natasha nodded.

"So what brings you to be reading at a bookstore instead of a library?"

Y/n looked down at her book.

"I'm not aloud in the library."

She murmurs. This makes Natasha frown. The library is supposed to be for everyone.

"y'know your a bit young to be out in your own."

Natasha said. It was obvious small talk to build up to offering a home wasn't gonna work with the kid so Natasha decided to get to the point. Y/n frowns at Natashas words.

"I'm 15."

She said somewhat defensively.

"still young. A kid like you shouldn't be in the streets. I may not know you but I'm sure you know me."

"your the black widow..."

Y/n said softly.

"mhm. And I know that whatever you've gone through is probably shit. There's space at the tower for you to stay."

Y/n seemed shocked and her head shot up and she stared at natasha.

"I can't stay with you... your a superhero and I'm a freak..."

Natasha frowned at her words.

"I'm not gonna force you to come with me but I am going to tell you that whoever called you a freak has made a major misconception. But the offer still stands. I'll come back here tomorrow at 10 am."

Natasha said. Y/n just seemed more shocked before she gently nodded. Natasha stood up and glanced one last time at y/n before leaving the bookshop.

As Natasha walked back to the tower the realisation of what she had done hit. She had just offered a homeless teen a place to stay and now she needed to convince the others to let her keep that offer up. This was not going to be easy.

A/n: and that's the end of the first chapter. Lmk if you want this to continue though I'll finish it anyway because ideas are spinning through my head rn.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #black widow #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #black widow x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda x reader #wandanat #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat x fem reader #wandanat x reader #wanda x natasha #scarlet widow #Natasha X daughter!reader #wandanat X daughter!reader

[joelsmochi]

closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic. 

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him. 

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou smut #joel tlou #tlou #tortured artist!joel

[jishyucks]

Walls, Brawls, & Sudden Rainfalls ‣ hrj

‣ pairing: renjun x reader

‣ genre: enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff!, slow burn (!), college au

‣ wc: 23.6k (gawdamn)

‣ summary: Your first impression of Huang Renjun wasn’t the greatest. In fact, the first two encounters you did have with him were enough for you to conclude that he was just some cold-blooded boy who genuinely didn’t care about anyone else but himself. That was, of course, before the (damn) universe brings you both together to work on the local daycare’s mural.

↳ Alternatively where first impressions blind the fact that you two actually fit quite well together.

‣ warnings?: Brief mention of underage drinking, Renjun and reader argue really childishly lots, when I meant slow burn, I really did mean slow burn, very very brief mention of doing the dirty bc reader chooses to be dirty-minded (but they don't actually do it nonono)

‣ an:  this is the longest fic I've posted ever (so far), so it feels like I’ve incubated it in the womb, went into labour, gave birth, raised it, and now I'm setting it shi free and into the world lmaooo,,, anyways thank you so much to @hoonieji (my bestie) for reading over this and reassuring me that it was going great,, I hope you all enjoy this!!! <333

‣ taglist!: @hoonieji @nanaflwers @dandelionxgal @flowerpotrenjun @renjun-fairy @she-is-dreaming @mosviqu @hibernatinghamster @glamourizz — can't tag @markleeiloveyou @lovehowdream

ONE.

With the hundreds, hell even thousands, of people in university, there will always be a handful of rude, miserable people that you were deemed to run into sooner or later. 

Sure, not all of them mean to be rude. Often, there would be the occasional bump on the shoulder in the crowded corridors… Or there would be those newly woken up individuals who would give dirty looks, obviously not giving a single fuck. You’re a nice person. You understand those people since everyone did had bad days. But there was one man—cough—boy that genuinely had an attitude that needed to be fixed. 

You didn’t know his name, nor did you want to know his name, but you could easily pick him out of a crowd because of the smug look he always repped. Funnily enough, it was the very look you wanted to very badly slap off of his face. 

The only reason you knew of him was that he seemed to have a desire to be a menace to those who got in his way and unfortunately, you constantly ended up being on the receiving end of these situations. 

There was one morning you had been running late to class—no—you were sprinting to the auditorium in hopes of only missing the run-through of the previous class. Your field of vision chose to settle only on the doors of your class, which at the time was a huge mistake. The focal point blocked out everything else, causing you to run into the before mentioned boy in a rough manner. 

“What the fuck!?” You both were on the ground, briefly stunned at the collision, “This shirt is expensive!” You looked up and realized that dark coffee had stained the boy’s light-coloured shirt. The look on his face caused your heart to drop and eyes to widen. 

“I’m so sorry! I really am! I’m just late–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation,” he scoffed. He stood up, peeling the shirt off of his skin. It tented easily. 

“I can repay you…” You say quickly, speaking before you could even process what you wanted to say.

“Can you pay for a hundred-dollar shirt?”

You shake your head, but you think of alternative ways to repay him. Only him interrupting you even before you could begin listing them indicated that he wanted none of it, “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” And at that he leaves you stunned, belongings still scattered around your puzzled self.

“Well fuck you, then,” you mumbled. Rolling your eyes, you were pulled back into the situation you had been in prior to the encounter. Class was a lot more important than some douche anyway.

Another encounter between you both happened after about a month of the first. The Starbucks found on campus was not at its busiest, yet it was not quite empty either. The baristas and cashiers worked their hardest to satisfy their customers, walking to and from different stations behind the counter. 

“Hi, can I order a grande iced caramel macchiato?” You questioned, one of your earphones sitting in your hand. The cashier nodded, asking for your name and other necessary information before you paid. 

You thanked her before slowly moving towards the serving counter, taking notice of the boy when you did. He had his head down, attention directed at his phone’s screen. He, too, had earphones in, practically blocking out his surroundings. In a way, you were glad he didn’t notice your presence, the memory of last month’s conflict running through your head. 

You placed yourself at the corner of the cafe, away from the boy but close to the counter. When you ordered at a cafe, you would often pay attention to the baristas, watching as they mixed up the drinks. You could see yours being made, which had been quick as there were still people waiting for their drinks. 

When the barista finally clicked a lid onto the cup, you begin making your way to the counter, ready to take it and leave. She slid the designated smaller straw next to the drink, so you grabbed it before the drink, then made your leave. Little did you know, the drink you took wasn’t actually your drink. 

“Excuse me!” 

You genuinely didn’t hear the boy calling you because of music blaring through your earphones. And even though he was waving his arms to catch your attention through your peripheral vision, your attention was poured entirely on the drink you held snugly in your hand, poking the straw in. 

“Excuse me!” 

He finally caught up to you, grabbing your shoulder to stop you. The sudden contact caused you to jump, attention shooting from the drink and up to the boy. You don’t say anything, pausing the current bop that was playing. 

“That’s my drink,” he gestured towards the drink, “Well not my drink but my friend told me to pick it up for him.”

You look down at the name, seeing a Donghyuck printed on the sticker. You blushed and replied sheepishly, “Oh I’m sorry, I genuinely thought it was mine…” You hold it out to him, “Do you want it? I haven't taken a sip from it yet.”

“Of course I want it, I’ve been waiting for ages,” he mutters, promptly grabbing the drink from your hand. Without another word, he walks away, muttering a string of words you couldn’t quite make out. 

“What? No ‘thank you’?!” You yell back. 

He doesn’t turn back, and not because he had his music playing, but because he didn’t want to. You curse under your breath and walk back to the cafe, seeing that your drink with your name on it had been waiting for you. 

Though you didn’t have the right to judge an individual, especially since you didn’t even know his name, the two encounters had given you a bad image of him. Two encounters in two different situations… you were being polite in both situations regardless of how embarrassed you had been only to be returned with cold responses. Who did he think he was? 

“Li Shang.”

“I agree, one hundred percent,” you replied. Yeji held up a hand for you to give her a high-five, which you completed. The conversation topic on Disney Princes had been more entertaining than the chemistry homework due next week, “That’s why you’re my best friend.”

“Him and Prince Naveen,” she kisses her fingers in a ‘chef kiss’ type of movement, “That’s all I have to say.”

“Also!” You hold up a finger, pause for dramatic effect and state, “Tadashi Hamada.”

“He’s not a prince… but I will let it pass because it’s Tadashi Hamada,” she giggles. You watch her sit back in the library chair she pulled out from another table because it had padding for your butt, smiling. She drops her pen onto her textbook, “Taste.”

Before you could reply and add to her comment, a third presence appears to the right of you and the left of Yeji, which puts the conversation on pause. You turn to see Jaemin bent down to catch his breath. He had a wrinkled sheet of paper in one hand and his phone in the other, his bag open at the top. 

“Woah, are you good?” You asked, standing up and assisting him towards one of the seats as if he were one of the elderly you helped once in a while at the old folks home. He nods but keeps silent, taking in deep breaths. 

Once Jaemin finally caught his breath, he began to spew out whatever news he had for you or Yeji, “That’s the… most exercise I’ve… done in years.” He gulps and sighs out, “Anyways, Y/N you’re looking for a place to work or volunteer at right? Like art-wise or something? Kids? Puppies? I don’t know… I forgot what you were going for…”

You nodded, “Just any type of volunteer or temporary job… Yeah, I still have no luck.”

“Well, this is perfect for you then!” Jaemin flattens out the crumpled-up sheet of paper in front of you, “They need some people to help paint a mural for this daycare. No previous experience needed. As long as you can hold a paintbrush!”

Yeji leans in to get a look at the sheet, “Woah, you get paid too! That sounds like fun. I would do it with you if I wasn’t busy with these damn classes.” She sinks back into her chair and begins playing with the sheets of her textbook.

“I ran here because a bunch of people might want the job.” Jaemin says, “The daycare is literally just behind the campus.” 

You stand up, the adrenaline Jaemin previously possessed taking over your veins, “Can you watch my stuff!?” Your phone was already in hand and you were ready to sprint out of the library and to the daycare Jaemin had been talking about. 

“Of cou–“

And at that, you were gone and running towards the building. To your luck, the library was by the back of the campus, so the run wasn’t as far as you anticipated. You could sense other students eyeing you as you sped past, though you didn’t really care since you were merely a flash in their eyes. 

Once you had arrived at the daycare, you entered and made your way to the front counter, “Hello, I’m here for the painting job?” 

The lady at the desk looked exhausted, eyes halfway closed and face struggling to present a welcome expression, “Can you draw and paint? All that kind of stuff?” 

“Yes! That’s mostly why the job appealed to me,” you replied, “Do you need a resum–“

“You’re hired…” she mumbled stiffly, “Please fill this sheet out and show up here on Saturday at one in the afternoon for further instruction.” 

Smiling, partly stunned, you nodded before turning to leave. That was easier than you thought… all that running was worth it.

TWO.

You sat across the street from the daycare, contemplating whether it would be better to come early or right on time. Through the windows, you could see that they weren’t as busy as yesterday due to it being a Saturday. It wouldn’t hurt to show up early right? Standing up, you dust your butt off before making your way to the crosswalk. 

“Hello, I’m here for the job information. I was hired yesterday,” you explained, “My name is Y/N L/N.” The person (wo)manning the desk was a different lady from a few days ago. The woman held a smile on her face, one that reached her eyes so, to you, it seemed like a genuine smile. You squinted at her name tag, which read Joy. 

Huh… fitting…

“Oh good!” She exclaimed, “Now you can sit just over there as we’re waiting for another person.”

“Another person?”

“Of course! We’re not expecting one person to work on the entire mural alone. It’s larger than it looks, so we decided to hire anyone who asked. Those two were you two,” she explained the situation, “I’ll further explain the objective of the assignment when the other boy arrives.”

Your ears perked up as you nodded, Boy? A small little piece of you started hoping that, whoever this other person was, was cute. 

You hear the door open behind you, a small greeting leaving the lips of the smiley woman, “Oh! This must be him! Are you here for the job?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice replied. It sounded rather familiar, but you were unable to pinpoint who it could have belonged to. Curious, you turn to look at the owner of the voice. Once you had processed who had been standing a few feet away from you, your jaw dropped. 

You both speak at once, evidently shocked at the coincidence.

“You!?” 

You couldn’t help but feel the sudden impulse to quit the job before it even started. You’d rather accidentally fall into dog shit than work with this unnamed douche of a boy. 

“Do you two know each other?” Joy questioned, “That’s even bett–“

“N-no, not quite,” you interrupted, “We’ve just… had a few encounters on campus.” You choose to turn your body completely towards Joy so that you couldn’t accidentally look at the other presence. 

Joy nods, “Makes sense… Anyways, name?” She directed the question towards the boy, pulling out another sheet from a clipboard. 

“Huang Renjun.” It was funny finally being able to put a name to his face, especially after all this time. But you very much preferred ‘that boy’ over his name. 

You feel him approach the desk, standing beside you as Joy begins going over the job instructions. You two were expected to paint a mural over the next month, about two to four days per week depending on how long you both worked. The theme of the painting is what was expected from a daycare mural, something pleasing to the eye, especially the eyes of kids. The two of you had freedom over what you wanted to paint but were expected to get the idea checked over by Joy before the actual painting started. Once that was approved, they’ll provide all the supplies for the painting process to begin. Easy. 

If only you were working on the project with anyone else but Huang Renjun. 

“Any further questions?” Joy concluded, shifting her glance between you and Renjun. You both shook your heads, “Okay good. I think a rough deadline for the idea should be around the end of next week? The boss really needs this done in a month.” You both nodded silently before turning to leave the daycare. 

“How do you want to brainstorm the idea?” Renjun had muttered before you were able to walk off.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “How do you?” 

He scowls, “I guess we can just meet up here during designated hours?” 

“That makes the most sense, doesn’t it?” you don’t feel like replying to him kindly if he spoke with an underlying attitude. Someone really needed to teach him basic manners. 

“Whatever.” Renjun leaves you alone in front of the daycare, giving you a chance to roll your eyes behind his back. 

You choose not to walk away from the daycare until you’re sure he’s left, opting to use your phone and scroll through whatever notifications you’ve missed during the meeting. Your face is left in a painful grimace, one that you didn’t even feel you’ve rendered on your face. 

You can’t believe you’re working on a team project with this particular boy out of all people. Yes, it was a bit overdramatic, but you’re not quite sure how to work with someone you’ve only had bad encounters with. It also doesn’t help that he seems to have mutual feelings for you—which you find particularly ridiculous since you really haven’t done anything wrong to him on purpose.

It’s somehow the next day when you’re able to tell Yeji about the happenings of yesterday. Though the topic only came up when Jaemin questions you about the gig and Yeji notices how your face contorts into a stiff frown. The both of you are sitting in the dining hall, food half-finished but untouched for the past ten minutes.

“What’s up with your face?” Yeji questions, almost laughing out loud at your shift in mood. This is something you really liked about Yeji. She was talented at reading facial expressions. There could be the tiniest quirk in your brow and she’d be questioning you to world’s end. 

You purse your lips and stare back at her, “What face?” 

“This face,” Yeji contorts her face into an exaggerated glower, “What’s up with that? I thought you were excited about the painting gig?” Jaemin nods along to what Yeji said. 

You don’t reply for one long second, trying to figure out how to explain to your best friend what happened yesterday afternoon. “Do you remember that guy I was really pissed off about a few weeks ago?” 

Yeji pauses to think, “The guy with the coffee?” 

You think about it and realize that both encounters you’ve had with Huang Renjun involved coffee. “Yeah, him! Today, at the meeting, guess who came as my temporary partner for the project.”

“No way!” Yeji’s eyes open, “That’s a whole coincidence! No wonder why you looked all pissed.” You can tell by the new wave of expression on her face that she feels sorry, “Is he still… douchey?”

Your eyes widen as you nod, leaning forward, “Yeah, but what’s new?” You’re about to roll your eyes, mouth opening with an intention to add more, but Yeji’s eyes shift from you to something behind you. She holds her gaze there for a few moments before her brows furrow in confusion. Her eyes flicker back to you.

“You know it’s not good to be talking bad about someone behind their backs right?” You turn and see Renjun with a friend of his. “Someone’s ending up on Santa’s naughty list.”

Your brows knit together, “You’re one to say something…”

Renjun throws you a look before taking a long sip from his drink. You can’t help but look at the beverage, an iced matcha latte, and feel yourself craving it. It looks good.

Renjun clears his throat, “Anyways, we’re meeting tomorrow.” His friend stands awkwardly behind him, looking like he just wants to be there to eat. 

“That doesn’t even sound like a question,” you point out. 

He shrugs, “Because it’s not… I have places to be.”

You look over at Yeji who’s witnessing the attitude of the one and only Huang Renjun. Even you can see that Yeji’s shocked at how Renjun’s interacting with you.

“Fine, whatever,” you wave him off, “Whatever makes you leave.”

“Good, because I wasn’t even going to give you a choice. I’m showing up even if you’re not there.” At that, Renjun and his (poor) friend walk away, leaving both you and Yeji rather stunned. 

In the corner of your eye, you see Yeji turn to look at you, so you look back, noticing her sorry expression, “Good luck tomorrow, Y/N.”

You thank her. Not because it was what people usually replied to the comment, but because you knew you genuinely needed it.

THREE.

Upon entering the daycare and being directed into a secluded room by Irene, another employee who ran the desk, you find Renjun sitting hunched over a sheet of paper. You could see his hand was working fast and that his attention was focused mostly on whatever he was doing. One side of the room gave you and Renjun a look at the main area of the daycare. 

“You’re late,” he muttered, not looking up. 

“You’re early,” you retorted. The clock at the corner of the room tells the truth. You had only been five minutes late. How much brainstorming could the boy have even done in that span of time?

He doesn’t reply to your response, slumping back in his chair to continue his brainstorming. You can’t help but make a face behind his back, slipping into a chair at the same table but across from him, refusing to sit next to him. You didn’t want him looking over your shoulder during your creative process, or else you’d lose your mind. 

But then you remembered that you were here to work with him. “You know, we met up here so that we can work on the idea together,” you point out, “But you do seem like the person who wouldn’t know what the word cooperation means.” Not even two minutes into this so-called meeting and you want to leave. 

Maybe you should just quit.

“You don’t even know me?” Renjun lifts his head towards you and scoffed, “So you can’t say that.” “You’re right,” you nodded, “I don’t know you, but I’ve bumped into you enough times to know you don’t give a single fuck about those you don’t know.” You pull out a pencil from your bag and take one of the spare sheets of paper sitting in the middle of the table. You start to write out random phrases that come to mind, whether it be inspirational or a pop culture reference. 

Renjun scoffs, “I’ll have you know, most of our encounters happened because of you.” You can see he’s adding colour to his draft, giving you no direct attention, “This all would be avoided if you weren’t an accident waiting to happen.”

“You know there’s always better ways to go about those same situations,” you spit back, “Because, I don’t know, accidents happen? Other people wouldn’t make big deals out of them.” 

Renjun mutters a quiet ‘whatever,’ under his breath, huffing out in frustration as he continues with his draft. At this point, you’re halfway done with your draft, which consisted of a cute scene of kids and a generic playground background. It was a bit mediocre, but you thought simple was cute. You both continue on in silence, letting the sounds of the kids playing drown it out. 

The silence wasn’t awkward. In fact, you could listen to the serene, no-sound room as if it were a hit song you’ve been obsessing over the past week. Anything but Renjun’s voice was a blessing, especially in situations like this. 

After about half an hour, Renjun looks over at your draft, “You do know kids can’t read, right? At least kids attending this daycare.”

You scowl. “Yeah and?” You continued with your business, “Haven’t you seen that movie ‘The Pursuit of Happyness’?” 

Renjun thinks for a hot second, “No.”

Your eyes shot up at him, surprised that he hasn’t seen the classic. When you weren’t in the mood to watch other movies, you’d naturally gravitate towards rewatching that one. It was a good movie, one that made you cry, yes, but you liked the underlying meaning behind the movie. “That explains everything.”

“What do you mean?”

You ignore his question completely, “There were words on that daycare’s mural, I don’t think it’s wrong to add some words to the mural, Huang Renjun. Besides, lettering is what I’m best at.” 

Renjun glares at you. “What if I don’t want words on the mural?” He quickly glances down at his own picture. It was more of a realistic picture, one of the skies with balloons floating through the scene. Attached to some of the balloons were toys or items associated with being a kid. It was simple, but he found it rather cute. To him, it beat your average picture of kids by a playground.

“What if I don’t want… whatever that is?” you childishly argue back, “Look, I know my idea is simple, but simple is easier and simple is usually best. Your picture has so much shading… imagine the two of us having to paint that.”

Renjun tries to hold back a laugh, “Are you serious? My picture’s obviously better than yours.” 

You both immaturely argue for another twenty minutes, pointing out the most ridiculous reasons for why your own pictures were one-hundred-and-ten percent better than the other’s. And it was consequently the stubbornness that both you and Renjun possessed that leaves you both with no decision by the time the shift was near over.

Your eyes drift to the clock sitting above the window, “Time’s almost up and we still haven’t figured out what we want to do. Let’s just settle with mine.” You push the picture towards the centre of the table, eyes holding your hopes of your idea being chosen. Maybe Renjun will finally break. 

“I don’t think we should,” Renjun shrugs, voice monotone, “Let’s just… decide on it the next shift. I really don’t want to deal with this—or you—right now.” Renjun picks his phone up and takes a picture of his and your pictures sitting in the middle of the table for reference.

You follow in pursuit before snatching your draft from its spot. You feel a sense of relief knowing that you can finally return to your Huang-Renjun-less life. “Fine, whatever you want. I don’t wanna deal with you either.” 

The shift abruptly ends with Renjun taking his leave first, leaving the room without another word. He bids a quick goodbye to Irene, who has no knowledge of what just happened before exiting the building entirely. 

Renjun feels nothing but irritation walking back to his dorm room. Days ago, he remembers being excited about the gig. He gets paid to do something he truly loves, all while giving such a flat looking building some colour to make it pop, which clearly was a win-win for both him and the daycare. But the fact that you’re there with the apparent purpose to contradict everything he’s planned, the excitement was simply sucked out of it all.

Renjun finally settles back at his shared dorm room, hanging his bag on the back of the nearest dining room chair before sitting himself at the couch, where both Donghyuck and Jeno were playing Super Smash Bros. Although they were rather loud, he’s just glad to be back in an atmosphere he knows he can relax in. 

“Hey, how was your painting thingy?” Jeno asks, eyes glued to the screen. In between Jeno’s question and Renjun’s response, there’s rapid clicking coming from the two boys’ controllers. 

“It was… fine, I guess,” Renjun mutters. He pulls up his phone and mindlessly swipes through social media. 

Both Donghyuck and Jeno don’t fail to notice the bummed tone in his voice. Donghyuck speaks up, “‘I guess’?” There’s more clicking, “You suck at this, Jeno.”

“Remember who I’m working with?” Renjun hints, “She literally contradicts everything I say and do for no fucking reason. It’s draining.”

More clicks. Then Jeno finally replies, “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Maybe she’s not aware about what she’s doing?”

Renjun sighs, “I think she knows what she’s doing. I just think she’s doing it to spite me. You should hear her arguments. They’re so senseless and they make me want to laugh.”

On his phone, Renjun pulls up the photo he’s taken of both of your drafts and enlarges yours. This is the first time today that he’s able to properly look at your picture and he can’t help but actually like it. No, he still doesn’t like your idea about the kids and the playground, but the words you had chosen to letter over top the main picture. 

Adventure Is Out There. Although it was pulled directly from the movie Up, the quote works perfectly well with the daycare’s name, The Adventurers. He liked it. But he wouldn’t admit that to your face. 

Renjun zooms out of your picture to show both of your drafts once again, eyes glancing between both images. The gears in his head begin turning, Renjun’s creative process in the works, as begins mustering up an idea that could possibly work for the both of you.

“How about we take your quote and add it to my picture?” 

It’s two days later and Renjun’s monotonously suggesting the idea that had developed in his mind some nights ago. No other ideas have been brought up since then and Renjun wants nothing else but to start on the project. 

You look up at him with a raised brow, “Oh, so Huang Renjun’s finally admitting that his picture is plain as shit?” You’re not against what Renjun’s suggesting, only because what he was thinking made sense. The balloons that his drawing had reminded you of Up. It did go well with your quote, plus you were able to incorporate your want of lettering. 

Renjun narrows his eyes at you, “It’s not ‘plain as shit.’ I just want to get this over with.” He reaches for a brand new piece of paper and begins drawing a second copy of his drawing. 

You sigh. “Fine whatever. But I get to suggest something about it too.” You eye how quick he was to copy down his drawing, head pivoting back and forth to replicate it. 

Renjun chooses not to look up, “What is it?” Although he was willing to hear you out, there’s still a splash of irritation in his voice. 

“Don’t make it so realistic.”

His head is brought up to look at you, “And why not?”

“It’s a daycare,” you say flatly, “Do you not remember that? Where’s the ‘cute’ factor in making it look realistic? This isn’t a commission from the city, Huang Renjun.” 

You have a valid point, Renjun thinks. He admits he’s been treating this as more important than it really was, but that’s just how he was. “Fine. It will be easier to paint anyway.” Renjun turns back to the new drawing, making it a little more kid-like. He refrains from colouring the picture before sliding it in your direction, “The quote.”

Pulling the new draft towards you, you pick up your own pencil and start your part of the drawing. Looking at Renjun’s sketch, you realize that you can’t place the words exactly how you had it on your original draft. There were areas that you didn’t want to cover. 

“After you’re done, I’ll colour it,” Renjun mutters, “Write down the supplies we need, then we can leave.” 

Only you using your eyes to look at him, you reply, “Sure.” And when he looks back down at his phone, you roll your eyes. Someone needs to tell him to simmer down with his attitude. Then maybe you can tolerate him easier. 

You pass the sheet of paper back to Renjun and sigh. There’s a sense of relief in your chest when you realize that this part of the process was over. Thinking back to two days ago, the way you and Renjun argued over what to do for the mural, you thought that there was no way you were getting it done in time, at least not with both of you being satisfied. 

But that’s all done and over with. Luckily this was the hardest part of the project. 

Right?

FOUR.

“You’re gonna be there for how long?” Yeji peers over her laptop’s screen, eyes wide at what you just told her. 

“Four hours,” you answer, “That’s not even that long, Yej.” You’re laughing quietly as you put your sneakers on, half-assedly tying the laces. The walk there is around ten minutes and it’s already 1:48. You can already hear Renjun’s ‘you’re late,’ along with his deadpan expression.

“I know, but I’m going to be here alone on a weekend afternoon,” she whines. You watch as her face quickly changes expressions, “Wait do you want me to bring you a snack later? Rub it into Renjun’s face that you have a great best friend who brings you food?” She bats her eyes and angles her face to convince you into saying yes.

You shake your head, “It’s only four hours today cause we’re finally starting the mural and we want to get the base done today. And I’ll be fine, I promise. Maybe invite Jaemin here for the time being.” 

“He’s off somewhere with his friend,” Yeji sighs, “But whatever you say. I’ll miss you!”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Bye Yej. I’ll miss you, too.” And at that, you’re off to the daycare. 

The peaceful walk to the daycare can be the calm before the storm, the storm being Huang Renjun. The idea made you laugh a little bit, childishly picturing Renjun like how animators would draw angry anime characters with a crimson face, steam blowing out of their ears and nose, and pupil-less eyes. You feel like that’s the only emotional state you’ve seen the boy in and you can’t help but curiously imagine how Renjun’s smile would look. 

You shake that thought out of your head before you let it run further into nonsense, finally arriving at the building. Through the glass doors, you can see Renjun sitting by the front desk. Upon entering, Joy, who was sitting at her computer, looks up with a bright smile, “Good afternoon, Y/N.” Renjun does nothing but let his attention waver over you for a quick second before going back to his own business. 

“Hi, Joy,” you greet back, “Sorry to keep you waiting.” Renjun finally stands up and stands at your side.

“Oh, no, no! You’re right on time and I will speak to you guys very quickly before I let you guys get to work,” she rounds the counter and leads you both to the meeting room like always, “So since the draft was approved, the supplies you needed, plus ones I’ve added are just in here. Grab what you need and you guys are free to start.” She shows you a closet near the back of the room, opening the door to reveal the many supplies that were ordered.

“Thank you, Joy,” Renjun nodded.

“It’s no problem! If you guys have any concerns, you know who to go to!” Spinning on her heel, Joy flashes one last smile.

“Chalk, white paint, string, ruler,” Renjun mumbles, taking the supplies up into his arms. 

You grab the paint brushes, “Why do we need half of what you just said?”

Renjun’s walking out of the room, paying almost no mind to you and your question. 

“Huang Renjun,” you say firmly, “Can you answer my question?” You both are outside at this point, “Or… or else I’ll chuck this brush at you!” Although it was a joke, you subconsciously knew you would if he seriously didn’t open his mouth within the next minute.

“So I can draw a grid?” He speaks to you as if you were stupid.

Oh, he’s going to get it, you think, but your thoughts and your body think and do different things. Your body decides to stay grounded where you were, “And why would we need a grid?”

Renjun huffs and turns to his bag. He fishes out the draft you both had made last week, only there’s a graph lightly drawn over it, “So we can replicate the picture onto the wall.” Renjun thought this over the past few days. If he and you wanted to mural to turn out exactly how you both had drawn it, eyeing it wouldn’t be the best to go about it. Hell, even drawing out a rough sketch of it could be difficult through eyeing it. 

“Can’t we just free-hand it?” You’re not understanding why Renjun wants to make the job more difficult than it was. There were only two of you. If there were maybe four of you working on the mural, then sure, go ahead and draw a graph, but there were only two of you.

Renjun shakes his head, “I think it’s worth it to draw the graph, that way there’s no chance of messing up.” He fiddles mindlessly with the string he’s been holding. You can tell by the expression on his face that he’s serious about this. You want to tell him that, ‘bro, this is a mural for a daycare, it doesn’t need to be one-hundred-percent perfect,’ but Renjun looks like he’s ready to fight for what he wants. 

“Fine, let’s draw the graph,” you say. 

Renjun looks at you confused. Why’d you back down so quick? “Huh?” 

“But you do it all on your own.” 

Ah… There it is.

“I’ll just sit here and wait for you to finish.”

Renjun wants to laugh out loud, not because the situation was funny, but because he can’t believe you’re actually saying what you just said. “Are you serious?”

You sit down at a nearby bench and nod, “Why would I be joking? You sure do act like you know what you want to do… so, go ahead. Do it.” A spiteful smile rises upon your lips and you wave for him to go on with his task. Being the stubborn boy he was, Renjun gives you one firm look before turning towards the small ladder. He drags it towards the right end of the wall and begins preparing the materials.

You watch him out of curiosity, wanting to know how he’ll manage to do it all on his own. You want to see if he’ll ask for your help, or end up wanting to free-hand the rough sketch in end. But as you do observe Renjun, it’s clear that he’s not going to ask for help or give up.

Renjun measures out string that’s about the height of the wall, 3 metres tall, and then the length, which was near 4 and a half metres long. Grabbing measuring tape, Renjun uses the ladder to measure and divide the wall into foot-by-foot squares, marking the corners of the squares with dark chalk lines. The job’s going to take long, that’s for sure, and watching him move up and down the ladder, while he tries his best to keep his marks aligned, you can’t help but feel bad for making him do it on his own. 

But then again, he wasn’t asking for help. 

Renjun on the other hand is struggling and he hopes you don’t see it. Yes, two hands were enough for the daily tasks he has grown accustomed to, but two hands weren’t enough to do this very task efficiently. There’s a voice at the very back of his brain that was itching him to ask you for help, but as always, Renjun and his stubborn ass refuse to do so, even if he’s on the edge of falling off of the ladder. 

“Can you hand me the black paint?” Renjun asks about forty-five minutes later. His hairline is drenched from sweat and the lack of expression on his face reveals how tired he was, “Please.” He hopes that you’d at least help with this. 

Without another word between the two of you, you stand up and pick up the bucket of black paint. You quickly plop it down next to the foot of the ladder before looking up at him, “Are you done with the graph?” You try your best to sound disinterested, eyes moving across the wall.

Renjun blinks down at you, “Does it look finished?”

There’s a caring instinct in you that notices the exhausted look in Renjun’s eyes. His eyelids are drooping, and he’s sniffling from the constant moving he’s been doing. Renjun’s sweating profusely from the sun beating down on the both of you, and you’re brought to wonder if he was prepared to be worked up to this degree. 

When your eyes meet his, you’re instantly pulled from your thoughts and you remember that you’re not supposed to give a single fuck about Huang Renjun, even if he’s working his ass off like this. He looks like he’s waiting for you to answer or leave to go sit back down. But a rogue idea somehow assembles itself in your head and you decide to just go with it. You roll your eyes, “Well, I’m going to the washroom if you aren’t.”

“Whatever.” He gives you one last glare before turning to the black paint and the string. 

You start making your way to the front door of the building, sending Renjun sneaky glances. The second he’s paying you no attention, both direct and peripheral, you make a break for it and start sprinting towards the centre of campus. There was no doubt that you look like a madman right now, zooming past students who were still on campus despite the day of the week, but you didn’t care. If you want to pull this off, then you need to do this quick—and quick means running like you were in a life or death situation.

Finally reaching your destination, you decide to take a breather, hands on your knees and everything. Your mind wanders back to the day you applied for the gig, getting deja vu from the exhaustion you’re feeling right now. 

Once you finally are able to catch your breath, you make your way into the building and sigh at the air conditioning. 

“Y/N! Hi! The usual?” The Starbucks worker, one you’ve obviously seen plenty of times, looks at you in an odd way but goes with the flow nonetheless. She’s smiling at you, finger hovering over the screen in front of her as she waits for a response.

You nod and add, “Add an iced matcha latte to that too. Make it venti, please.” She nods and continues on with the usual routine. 

You left as quickly as you came, although this time, you’re sprinting with a bit more caution, not wanting to spill the drinks you’ve used your own money for. You can’t help but wonder what Renjun was thinking right now—what were you doing in the washroom for so long? 

The two drinks you were holding in both of your hands said it all, though there was still no explanation why you decided to sacrifice some of your time and money for Renjun. It was just the nice person instinct inside of you that decided to do so. 

You’ll complain about it to yourself later.

When you finally return from your little mission, you’re lucky enough to arrive when Renjun’s distracted with the graph. You notice he’s done the vertical lines within the time you were gone.

“That was a long washroom break,” Renjun muttered rather loudly. He’s pressing the paint-soaked string against the wall, face angled slightly to the side in focus, “I was beginning to think you ditched me.”

You shoot him a glare behind his back and contemplate whether you should throw the drink that you bought for him at him. Instead, you say nothing and put the drink down next to his things, making sure it was in a spot that was safe from the surroundings. 

Renjun looks back at you, instantly noticing that you were now holding an entire Starbucks drink in your hand, completely missing the one sitting by his things. “Didn’t know they had a Starbucks in the washroom.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm and hints of irritation. He still can’t believe he’s actually been working on the graph for almost two hours on his own. 

“Oh yeah, they just opened one a week ago,” you shoot back. You plop into your previous place and sit there, taking out your phone to distract you from Renjun. 

You don’t realize how much time has passed when you see a pair of feet stop in front of you. You’re brought to look up at the owner, “What do you want?”

“I want a break.” Renjun answers flatly, “I’m done with the graph. Now work on transferring it.” He holds out the same draft he had shown you earlier, waiting for you to take it. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to show his shoulders and he’s using a small towel, that was originally supposed to be for the paintbrushes, to wipe his forehead. 

“Sure” was all you said before snatching the draft from his fingertips. 

All the hard work was done for you. Transferring it was easy. 

Gathering the supplies you needed, chalk, paintbrushes, and white paint, you get going on transmitting the draft onto the wall. The moment you start the rough sketch of the mural, you feel a wave of nostalgia hit you, remembering the countless activity books you completed as a kid. You can distinctly recall the pages where one side displayed a cute drawing of an animal or character of some sort, overlaid by a graph, while the page next to it shows an empty graph in which you were instructed to redraw the completed picture. This was exactly like that, only bigger and not for leisure. 

Your delight in starting distracts you easily from Renjun, who you unknowingly finally notices the drink you had gotten him not even thirty minutes earlier. Although he’s a bit puzzled by the drink, remembering damn well that he never got the drink himself, he lets his line of sight drift to your half-finished drink sitting by your things. When realization begins settling in, he does one more thing to confirm his thoughts.

Twisting the drink in his grasp, Renjun faces the sticker label towards him, eyes instantly finding what he was looking for. 

*Y/N*

His eyes flicker up to you, standing firmly at the top of the step ladder, unaware of the fact that his eyes have widened and the corners of his mouth have climbed higher on his face. Despite the fact he’s thankful and a bit sorry that he was giving you attitude the second you got back from your ‘washroom break,’ the larger part of Renjun that’s still certainly irritated with you doesn’t say thank you.

Not out loud at least.

FIVE.

Painting a mural required many steps because painting on a giant wall was different to painting on a smaller, feasible canvas. You and Renjun were lucky enough that the wall had already been painted white, which you guess covered whatever was painted underneath.

Two shifts ago, you both had managed to finish the outline of the image you both had prepared for the mural, and the shift after that, you both opted to outline the main subjects of the mural with the base colours. 

Although no problems had really arisen between the both of you (if you didn’t count small arguments about what shade of said colour a balloon should be), one weird thing you both noticed was the fact that none of you will willingly start on the same side as the other. You were no professional artist, nor have you been painting your entire life, but you knew damn well that the process of painting an image often involved starting at one part of the painting (usually the top) before working towards the other end. But regardless, the mural was, to your surprise, looking well done. 

Today was the third day, and counting, of painting said first layer, and if you were being honest, you were having the fun you expected when you first applied for the gig. But you knew it was probably because you and Renjun simply chose not to speak with each other, aside from the simple ‘where’s the thicker paintbrush’ or ‘can you hand me that (mural painting tool here),’ there was an unspoken almost-truce between the two of you. 

Leaning towards the wall, you apply lavender-coloured paint in short strokes, following the shape of the balloon you’ve been working for the past eleven minutes. You have music playing through your headphones, the volume just above half, and you can’t help but bop your head to the music. 

“It’s almost five,” Renjun says quietly to you. He’s been working in silence the past few hours, but he almost loses track of time because of how caught up he’s gotten with painting. If it hadn’t been for the watch on his wrist, he would have gone overtime. 

You don’t reply to him, continuing with your painting while Renjun begins to clean up. He finishes up with what he was working on before climbing down the ladder. He rinses the brush down and dries it, placing it into the paintbrush container that was provided for you both. Noticing that you haven’t moved from your spot, Renjun calls out to you again, “Hey! It’s almost five. We need to start cleaning up.” 

Renjun sighs when he realizes you still can’t hear him, forcing him to walk up to you to catch your attention. He tugs gently at your jeans, which almost immediately catch your attention. You pull one side of your headphones off and glare down at him, “What do you want?” 

“I said it’s five,” Renjun reciprocates your attitude, “Start cleaning up.” He turns away and starts gathering his things. 

You blow a stray piece of hair from in front of your face and roll your eyes, though you are surprised that Renjun had the decency to let you know it’s time to go. You climb down your own ladder and do just as Renjun did earlier before carefully placing everything into a large storage bin. Then, once you were sure all the supplies were gathered inside the bin, you go to retrieve the step ladder, folding it so that you could use your shoulder to carry it. Renjun stands at one side of the bin to help you carry it, already having his belongings hanging from one shoulder.

It takes you both no longer than a minute to return the supplies to the closet, leaving with a goodbye to Irene, but no exchanges between the two of you (unsurprisingly). You let Renjun leave first, staying back to text Yeji where she and Jaemin were.

At the library studying!

Jaemin brought brownies 

Say less. 

You arrive at the library within the length of two songs, immediately finding the two sitting in the area that you all usually sat at. You were expecting them to be deep in focus, table drowning in pages and textbooks of their respective classes, but instead, you catch Yeji telling Jaemin to ‘shut up before we’re kicked out.’ 

“I thought you guys were supposed to be studying,” you snort, taking the spot next to Yeji. After standing for hours straight, being able to finally sit down felt good in the knees. 

“Yeah, we were, but then Jaemin decided to bring up the topic of ugliest animals and we’ve been arguing ever since.” Yeji glares at Jaemin, “He claims that axolotls are the ugliest, but I say they’re cute.” 

Jaemin starts laughing but you send him a look that was similar to Yeji’s, “Axolotls are cute, what are you even saying!?” Yeji’s eyes widen as she brings a hand up to cover your mouth. She shushes you.

She removes her hand from your mouth and you repeat yourself, but lower your volume, “What are you even saying? They look like they’re smiling.” 

Jaemin gasps, “Excuse me? Name an animal uglier than an axolotl.” 

“Easy.” You shrug and answer flatly, “You.” Obviously joking, you wave your hand as if to shoo away the statement, “Just kidding. A blobfish. Those are ugly as shit.” 

Jaemin’s brows furrow as he leans forward towards his laptop to search it up. The way his face contorts itself makes you laugh, looking at you as if he’s seen the most disgusting image known to man (which probably did), “Shit, you’re right.” 

You nod, “Exactly.” 

Yeji laughs because she knows she won the argument thanks to your help. She quickly moves on with the topic, twisting the chair to face you, “So, how was your shift today?” Yeji’s expecting to hear something entertaining, especially since you’re working with Renjun. 

“It was fine,” you say, “But it’s been like the past few days where me or Renjun don’t even talk to each other except for maybe the start and end. We work on the opposite sides of the mural anyways, so there’s no conflict. I’ve just been listening to my own music, too, so even if he does want to talk, he has to make an effort, which I know he won’t do.” 

“Oh,” Yeji says, “Well, at least it isn’t as bad as those first few days. You guys just both sound done with each other.” You nodded and play with your phone in hand, not noticing the way Yeji’s attention diverts to Jaemin, “Oh right!”

“Hm?”

“Jaemin, tell Y/N what you were telling me about Renjun!” Your ears perk up at the mention of Renjun and possible gossip. Jaemin, though introverted, loved to branch out which meant he knew people through people. You wonder what type of stuff he’s heard of Renjun through acquaintances. This should be good. 

For the hundredth time within the hour, Jaemin is distracted from his pending paper, but he doesn’t mind. He’d do anything to get away from actually working on it. Besides, he still has a week to work on it. “Oh, right!” He sits up and slides his computer to the side, “It’s interesting actually.” 

The way Jaemin starts has you leaning in out of curiosity. This is probably what Yeji feels when you’re preparing to tell her about your day at the gig. “What is it?”

Jaemin lets out a ‘haha,’ then begins, “So, my friend Jeno knows Donghyuck because they went to high school together, and Donghyuck was the guy that was with Renjun that day at the dining hall, so we all basically know each other. I just don’t know Renjun as well because the dude is M.I.A. almost all the time.”

“Mm-hmm, go on.”

“I was telling Jeno how you were doing the painting gig with Renjun—don’t worry I didn’t say anything ’bout how you sorta loathe the guy—and Jeno was saying how Renjun’s always using his free time doing stuff like that.” Jaemin stops talking as if he’s explained every single detail he can about his small story. 

“What stuff?” You gesture for him to keep going because you’re missing a handful of information, “You can’t just end it there, the fuck?”

Jaemin laughs again, “Okay, okay, sorry. But in fairness, I was curious too so I said the same thing and asked Jeno to explain it a bit more.” The brown of Jaemin’s eyes visibly move upwards as he tries to recall what Jeno told him, “He told me that Renjun is always M.I.A. because he’s been volunteering at different places. He used to work at an animal shelter downtown, then quit to volunteer at the homeless shelter for women and children. But he quit that too, now he’s been volunteering at the retirement home near here. I guess he took up the painting gig for money though.”

You burst out laughing, “Ah, Na Jaemin…” 

“What!?” 

“Thank you for the laugh, Jaems,” you say, “But that’s such a bad joke. There’s no way Renjun’s done those things. If it is true, we’re not talking about the same Renjun.” The Renjun you know doing all that stuff? Please… it sounds like something straight out of a book. 

“His name is Huang Renjun, right?” Jaemin’s head tilts to the side. You nod. “Then, it’s him.” You gawk at your friend, “I’m sorry, it’s just… hard to believe that Renjun—the same guy who acts like some douche to total strangers—has done all of that.” It’s hard to picture it all, but it explains why Renjun decided to take up the daycare gig. It was all adding up now, but you’re not letting the realization settle that easily. “It was hard for me to believe it, too, especially with what you’ve told us about him.” Jaemin uses his arm to prop his head up, “But, I trust Jeno. There’s no reason for him to make all of that up.” Jaemin has a point. You don’t know who this ‘Jeno’ is, but there really would be no use in making this up. 

“You’re not making this up, are you?” You ask Jaemin. It’s still seriously hard to believe that all of this information was plausible. It’s as if Renjun, who you always viewed in a bad light, was now picked up and dropped under a new light. One in which you couldn’t even pinpoint if it were good or bad. Curiosity was getting ahead of you and you didn’t like it.

He shakes his head, “Why would I? Ask Renjun if you really don’t believe me.” 

“No thanks…” You shake your head, “There’s no way I’m going to ask him about anything. Especially not that.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaemin pulls his laptop back to its previous position, “Anyways, I need to get back to writing this paper.” 

With Yeji turning back to her own work, you’re left alone with your thoughts and the newfound idea of Renjun actually being… nice. It coincided with your earlier idea of Renjun repping a smile instead of the seemingly permanent scowl on his face.  No, you weren’t suddenly switching up with how you felt with Renjun because, despite the fact that there is this huge possibility that he spends his free time doing generous deeds, it didn’t automatically dismiss the way he’s been treating you. You guess it was just nice knowing that this sort of mini-hell you’ve been going through because of Renjun can finally be put to a stop.

°•. ✿ .•° 

“For Renjun?”

Renjun looks up from his phone before making his way to the counter. He quickly stuffs his phone into his pocket and grabs the drink he’s been craving for the past few days, “Thank you.”

“Have good one!”

“You as well.”

Renjun makes his way out of the cafe, cold drink in hand. At the back of his head, he wonders where Donghyuck is, because according to the time, his class should have been finished ten minutes ago and he still hasn’t texted. That wasn’t like Donghyuck at all. Usually, he would be bombarding the boy with spam texts asking where he was even though he already knew where Renjun would be waiting.

Even with that thought, Renjun shrugs it off, knowing that Donghyuck would find his way to him somehow. He decides to sit down at a nearby table, placing his bag on the chair next to him before fishing his phone back out of his pocket.

As Renjun finally decides to take a sip out of his drink, his mind frustratingly wanders back to that one shift when you’d bought him the drink without his knowledge. He still doesn’t know how you managed to get him his usual, especially since he’s aware he’s never told you it. 

He rakes through the depths of his brain to recall when you could have seen him with the drink. The one time you bumped into each other at this Starbucks, it was Donghyuck’s drink he was getting, so there was no way you saw it there. The one or two interactions after that, he doesn’t remember having a drink in hand.

Then he remembers. The day before the first shift. 

How the hell could you have remembered that? Were you that attentive? 

Why am I thinking so hard about a damn drink?

Maybe it was because the stupid drink was the reason why Renjun’s been feeling a pang of guilt everytime he’s with you. It took that one small random act of kindness to draw Renjun’s attention to the fact he was the one who often started the arguments and bickering between the two of you and you simply just returned his attitude. 

“Hey!” Suddenly, a body leaps out from behind him, almost weighing both Renjun and the other person down. It takes a moment for Renjun to realize who it was. He doesn’t even need to turn around to look. In fact, he’s not even startled by what Donghyuck had hoped was a jumpscare.

“What’s up?” Renjun questions, “What took you so long?”

Donghyuck shrugs and plops into the chair in front of Renjun, “What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” Renjun retorts. He takes another sip out of his drink and tries to act it off. 

Donghyuck shakes his head, “You’re thinking about something. I know because your eye is twitching.” He brings his finger way too close to Renjun’s eye, “I can see it. Now you have to tell me.”

Renjun gives Donghyuck a look before glancing back down at the iced matcha latte sitting right in front of him. Sure, Donghyuck knows of you, but he doesn’t know of the interactions between the two of you. Renjun just doesn’t see the importance of telling Donghyuck these things. But maybe telling someone will get Renjun’s gears turning. 

So Renjun tells Donghyuck. From the coffee encounters, to the gig, the rough drafts, the drink, and painting. He makes sure not to miss a detail, trying to avoid sounding biased. He wants to know what Donghyuck’s going to say about this situation and he knows that sounding biased wouldn’t grant answers that fit with the situation. 

“It’s the fact that she still found the will to do something nice for me even though I’ve been a literal ass to her,” Renjun taps his index finger against the lid of his drink, “It’s not even that big of a deal but it’s been bugging me.”

Donghyuck sits in silence for a few moments, trying to muster up the perfect thing to tell his friend. “I really don’t know what else to tell you except that you’re stubborn as hell.”

Renjun’s taken aback, “What?”

“Sure, she probably felt bad for making you do the grid thingy on your own, but you’re right. You have been an ass,” Donghyuck bluntly continues. 

“So everything that’s lead up until now… it’s my fault?”

“Well, not completely,” Donghyuck points out, “Both of you guys seem to want to spite each other. Plus, you both seem really stubborn, which, adding both of those together, equals a shit show. But, if I were being honest, you started the whole hating each other thing. I feel like if you were nice to her, then she’d be even nicer to you. A bigger person move would be to apologize and be nice.”

It’s once in a blue moon that Donghyuck’s words made sense. Renjun thinks it through—if he were to apologize, or start being nice to you, how would you even react? Wouldn’t it be odd for him to just switch up like that? 

Renjun sighs. He feels like ripping his hair out. Maybe he won’t apologize just yet, not when his feelings are foggy. And maybe he won’t actively do nice things, only until he finally senses you wouldn’t react weirdly. He’ll just stop trying to spite you. 

“You’re right,” Renjun nods. Donghyuck grins proudly at his friend.

Maybe that’ll do it. 

At least he hopes it will.

SIX.

Painting day… five? Six? You’ve lost count if you were being entirely honest. 

But it’s not that it mattered. 

What mattered was the extremely ironic fact that you had somehow forgotten your earphones at your bedside table when you made it your number one priority on days like these in order to avoid any sort of conversation (or argument) with Renjun. But then again, there was probably a reason why the world had the audacity to pull such a thing. 

Since that day at the library, you had not been able to kick the thought of Renjun doing angelic things during his free time when he’s literally been the human embodiment of bird poop on a windshield to you. The curious part of you was itching to ask him about it, see if the way he spoke about it would bring out that hidden angel in him. But when you continue to think about it, you weren’t sure if you would be overstepping some type of imaginary boundary that the both of you had mutually set up. Was there even a right time to ask him about it all? You can’t imagine a time where you and Renjun would even be close enough to have a conversation with the topic. Even now, just physically, Renjun still chooses to paint near the other end of the mural. 

Well, as far as progress took him.

“You know if you painted as much as you’ve been staring at me, we’d be done this mural.” Renjun’s voice knocks you back into reality and it’s only then that you realize that you’re blatantly looking at him. 

Feeling a rush of heat run through your cheeks, you look away, “Sorry.” You quickly look away and try to make yourself busy with the area you were painting at, brushing the paintbrush despite already having painted that part.

“There’s no paint on your brush,” Renjun points out. He wants to laugh but he tells himself not to because it isn’t ‘on brand.’ Pshh… as if that mattered… but it did to him.

“Oh… oh right,” you laugh awkwardly and dip the paint into the closest colour, bringing it up with no thought.

“And that’s the wrong colour,” Renjun points out again. 

You look over at the mural and see that you’ve painted an entirely different colour on top of another colour. You gasp and put the brush down, “I’ll just… repaint it.” 

There’s silence as you hurry to clean your brush, using a dirty rag to wipe off the wrong paint so that the remaining remnants of it can dry out quicker. You don’t notice Renjun side-eyeing you, contemplating whether he should say something about the constant mistakes you just made. But then he remembers what Donghyuck told him.

“Are you okay?”

You’re thrown off from the words that just left Renjun’s mouth. You almost snap your neck when you turn to look at him, eyes wide, “Huh?”

He isn’t looking at you, instead keeping his attention steady on what he’s painting, “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

He’s an empath too? Wait, is that even how an empath is?

“Anyone can see you’re thinking about something.”

And a mind reader?

You are very much close to panicking, blinking at Renjun with no words to say. You’re contemplating whether this was the right time to tell Renjun what you know about him and ask him about it. “It’s nothing, it’s just…” 

Renjun turns to look at you for half a second, then turns back to the wall. It’s like he was prompting you to say whatever you were wanting to say. 

“I was just curious,” You start, “I heard that you volunteered at the retirement home near campus?” There was no other way to put it. You hope that you don’t sound creepy, as if you’ve been stalking him recently. 

“Hmm?” This gets Renjun hooked, “Where did you hear that?” 

“Jaemin told me.” 

“Ah~ Jeno’s friend,” Renjun replies. Although the conversation has, so far, been awkward, you subconsciously knew it was an improvement from the bickering you both did. It was more civil, and you were actually glad it's taken a turn towards that direction. “What about it?” Renjun holds back the attitude that otherwise would have been evident if he weren’t trying to be nice to you. 

You shrug and tighten your lips toward one side of your face, “Like I said. I was just curious.”

Renjun tries not to take anything of what you said, turning back to his painting.

Then you quickly add, “Do you have–uh–any stories?”

Renjun looks at you again and he can feel his interest in this conversation rising. He’s had many stories that he wants to share with his friends, but when he does share them, he’s left with the realization that no one’s listening. “I have a few actually.”

“Can I hear one?” You asked, “Sorry…. I have a soft spot for the elderly… you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Renjun shakes his head, “I’d love to, actually.” You begin to paint once again, this time properly, while you wait for Renjun to begin his story.

“My favourite story since I’ve started volunteering at the retirement home is probably when someone had the genius idea to play hide ‘n seek with the active elders.” Renjun snorts at the memory. A small smile rises up onto his face, but you don’t notice. He continues, “I was the seeker, which wasn’t a good idea since I was new and I wasn’t really familiar with any of the residents there, but I thought it would fun, so I still agreed.

I counted to fifty, and there were rules where they were allowed to go and everything. Just on the main floor, and I remember the activities director made it clear that they were only allowed on the first floor. So when I went to look for them, I found all of them pretty quickly, except one.”

“Don’t tell me he… you know…”

“No he didn’t die!” Renjun gives you a look, “Why in the world would that be my favourite story?”

You shrug, “I mean, you seem like the kind of person to.”

Renjun lets this comment slide and continues, “I looked for him for almost an entire hour. One entire hour. It got to the point where a lot of the other volunteers dropped what they were doing and helped out. I was actually panicking because where else could an old man be in a building that wasn’t too big. Then the phone rang and the desk lady answered it, all she heard was snickering and I knew right then and there that it was that man. He was playing us.”

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly, “Wait, so where was he?”

“We gave up looking. We knew he’d come out sooner or later. It was just enough for us that he was alive,” Renjun retorts, “RIght before my shift ended, the same man walks in through the door with a whole box of beer in one hand and ice cream in the other.” Renjun’s laughing now and the sound takes you by surprise. It was probably the first time you’re hearing him laugh. 

You begin laughing along, “That sounds straight out of a movie! How the hell did he get out unnoticed?” 

Renjun shrugs, “Beats me. But I like to think that as my favourite story because he fooled us all. And no one knows what he did in those hours he was gone.”

“I get why it’s your favourite.” You can tell just by the way Renjun told his story that he enjoyed these things. You’d think that, because the old man caused so much chaos, he would not deem that as his favourite moment, but you were wrong. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Then a close second would be the times they ask me to sing them their favourite songs. You can really see how playing something as simple as here comes the sun affects their day.”

It didn’t occur to you, at first, that Renjun just indirectly told you that he can sing—though you weren’t sure if he was good or not—but you were still dumbfounded, “You sing?”

“Sometimes,” he hums, “But it’s really nothing. Old people are impressed by anything.” Renjun puts the paintbrush down and flicks his wrist up to check the time, “Anyways, time’s almost up. We should start cleaning up.” 

And you both do. You both go through your usual cleaning routine before dragging all everything back into the daycare’s small closet. Once you were both were ready to leave, you go your separate ways, saying goodbye each other with small, subtle waves.

And you know what was funny about all of this? 

For the first time ever since you both met, there was zero negative intent behind any of your guys’ thoughts and actions.

SEVEN.

One new thing that you’ve learned from Renjun was that he was a pretty good storyteller, and alongside that, he had lots of stories to tell. 

Wait that’s two things. 

Nevermind that… The last two shifts of painting were pleasingly occupied with Renjun going on and on about his experiences at his volunteering opportunities. He jumped from talking about dogs giving birth to dressing up as an elf for an event at the children’s hospital—it’s like he’s lived so many lives in one. 

A small part of you was jealous of the fact that he was able to experience all of this in such a small amount of time, but hearing these stories through him made up for that pint of jealousy. After one of his stories, Renjun had stopped what he was doing and turned to you, “Do you have any stories?” 

You were slightly taken aback by the question, “Me?” It was a genuine question. 

He nodded before putting down some strokes of paint, “Yeah. Do you have any stories?” There’s a tone in his voice that told you that he was being serious. He wasn’t being the Renjun that you’ve grown to know the past few weeks—but then again, maybe that Renjun wasn’t who Renjun really was. 

“Not really,” you replied, “But don’t worry about me.” 

“It doesn’t need to be like my stories,” he pointed out, “Just a story.” Renjun gave you time to think of a story, providing some prompts for you so that you were able to come up with one on the spot. 

“How about a time when you thought you were actually done for?” 

At that, you feel a memory surface from your first year of university when you, Yeji, and Jaemin were caught underage drinking in Jaemin’s dorm by the RA, so you told him the story. How you all were completely drained from your first set of midterms and how drugs weren’t the best resort. So why not drink? You remember Jaemin had gotten a bottle or two of soju from his friend from a frat and he’s been keeping it for ‘times like these.’ In the middle of the small binge, someone knocked on the door, and you remember Jaemin saying he was expecting somebody and was stupid enough to not actually look out the peephole before opening the door. 

“And guess who it was?” you questioned. 

“Ummm,” Renjun lined one of the pictures, “His friend?”

“Nope,” you shook your head, “It was an RA. Out of all the people. It really had to be an RA. We were caught and he threatened to tell a higher-up, I’m not sure who.” Though it wasn’t that much of a problem, you remember your seventeen-year-old self feeling fear that was probably harnessed from tens of people. You were scared—no—you were horrified. It hadn’t even been two full months into the semester and you’re already in trouble.. “You should’ve seen how me and Yeji were begging for forgiveness. It was probably the deepest bow I’ve ever bowed.” 

“What happened, then?” 

“Right in the middle of our apologies, the RA and Jaemin started laughing like maniacs,” you recalled, “Yeji and I looked up and they were laughing at us.” You click your tongue against your teeth, “That motherfucker Jaemin pranked us. The RA wasn’t an actual RA.” 

Renjun bursted out into laughter, “Are you serious?” 

You brought yourself to laugh, “Yes. I was so close to ending my friendship with Jaemin. But he treated us to food the next week so… It’s kind of a stupid story but I can still remember how I felt when it happened.”

“No, I get it,” Renjun replies. He stands back from the mural to look at you, “Especially knowing how seriously they act on underage drinking, that must’ve been scary.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s mainly why Yeji and I were freaking out,” you nod. Realizing that you’ve finally finished the section you’ve been working on for the afternoon, you put the paintbrush down and pick up a rag. 

“Are you done for today?” Renjun questions. You look over at him and he’s still putting down strokes of paints, “What time is it?” 

You’re still trying to get used to you and Renjun getting along despite it being a good two weeks since you both had chosen to become civil with each other. But at the same time, it felt like weight was being taken off of your shoulders. It wasn’t like Renjun was a burden, but every time you had a shift at the daycare, you never really had the motivation to go because of him. 

But it was different now.

“There’s still like fifteen minutes before shift ends,” you say, glancing at your phone, “Wanna start cleaning?”

Renjun nods, “Let me just finish this and I’ll be right behind you.”

°•. ✿ .•° 

“Afternoon, Joy,” Renjun enters the daycare with a gentle smile, “How’s your day been?”

Joy grins from behind her computer, “Great, I guess. Yours?”

“Not bad.” Joy nods in response, “I’m sorry, I should have said this sooner, but today’s shift has been moved last minute.” She moves her rolling chair to the side so that she’s able to give Renjun all her attention.

Renjun frowns, “Why’s that?” He’s not sure if he could even think of a reason why a shift could be cancelled and moved, “Have you told Y/N?”

“Forecast says there’s going to be heavy rain today, so I think it would be better not to put new paint on the mural in case it gets washed off easily,” Joy states. At the end of her explanation, you enter the building with a quick greeting, situating yourself next to Renjun.

“But isn’t the rain for tonight? That seems to be enough for the paint to dry.” 

“What’s going on?” You asked obliviously.

Renjun nods, “Our shift’s cancelled for today because of the rain.”

“Yes, but it’s better safe than sorry,” Joy sighs, “But you guys can go and have a rest day for today. I’ll see you both in a few days!”

Without another word, Joy swings herself back to her computer and you and Renjun leave the building slightly confused. The sky looked perfectly normal on the way here. The air was still. There was no sign of a storm happening tonight. But Joy’s statements were confirmed when you pulled out your handy-dandy cellphone and tapped at the weather app. 

“She’s right,” you hold the phone for Renjun to look and he simply nods, “I guess I’ll see you next shift?” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, you wait for Renjun’s response. He nods. 

“Yeah, I will.” Then you and Renjun begin walking down the same direction. You both hesitate before taking another step, giving each other a look. “Where are you going?”

“My dorm room.” “Oh, me too,” Renjun laughs awkwardly, “Uh… wanna walk together then?” 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” you joke as you begin walking. Renjun follows shortly, keeping a good distance between you both. He chooses to walk your pace, keeping his eyes trained on the pavement in front of him. Although he feels like it should be awkward, there’s a comfortable silence between the both of you. 

It’s when the air starts feeling more humid than earlier that Renjun notices that it has started raining. At first, he didn’t mind it. The way the rain fell onto his head softly tickled him, but he liked it. It felt like soft kisses, if that even made sense. He looks over at you and he notices that you’re not bothered by the rain either. 

“It’s like Joy has superpowers,” you say, “One second, the sky’s blue, now it’s raining.” You only hope that the rain doesn’t get worse than now. Your dorm room is still a bit of a walk away and you’re not in the mood to get drenched. 

Renjun nods, “Next thing we know, it’s pouring.” 

And as if someone had snapped their fingers, the rain gets heavier, pelting you and Renjun from above. The raindrops completely contrast how they just were, thick and feeling like punches instead of the shower of kisses. You gasp and slip your bag off, bringing it into your arms to protect your expensive belongings inside. 

“What the hell!?” You say over the loud pitter patters of the droplets. You don’t know why you’re frozen in place. Perhaps it was the rush of cold water washing over you.  

Renjun thinks differently, opting to make a break for it. He glances over at you in near panic, noticing immediately that you’re not moving at all. Then, without thinking, Renjun takes no longer than a second to pull you along with him, sprinting down the narrowing pathway as it leads to the nearest building. He swings the door open, careful not to hit you in the process. When he takes out a key identical to yours, you realize then that this was his dorm building, “I think you should stay in my dorm while you wait it out. You might get sick.” You hesitate and think this situation through. Going to Renjun’s dorm? Were you even that close? What if–

“If you’re thinking about what I think you’re thinking, no I’m not,” Renjun grumbles, “Let’s go.” He waves you in and you’re led to impulsively deciding that, yes, you will accept his offer. And it’s mostly because you don’t want to be drenched in the rain, nor do you want to stand in this hot vestibule for however long the rain will last. 

“I hope the dorm isn’t messy, but it’s mostly my roommate who’s messy.” It sounds like Renjun’s speaking to himself but you know he’s trying to warn you. He’s walking a few strides in front of you, looking back subtly to make sure you’re actually following him down the hall. 

Soon, you find yourself walking through Renjun’s front door, greeted with a waft of some kind of candle scent. You can’t really pinpoint the smell to its exact fragrance, but you can describe it as homey–something warm and welcoming. 

“Lonjoon!” A voice exclaims from the small couch, “You’re ho– oh, hello?”

You recognize the boy who stands up from the couch as Donghyuck, both from the times you’ve encountered Renjun and from Jaemin. You wave awkwardly, “Sorry for intruding.”

Renjun speaks up, “Y/N’s dorm building is by the edge of campus and it’s pouring outside. I offered for her to stay here while we wait for it to stop.”

“I don’t mind,” Donghyuck grins, “Hmm, so you’re Y/N? I’ve heard a bunch of things about you from Renjun! I’m Donghyuck.”

Your brow cocks and you give Renjun, who’s sliding his shoes off and fixing them to the side, a look before turning back to Donghyuck, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he says, “You’re just as pretty as Renjun sa–”

Renjun throws his damp hoodie at Donghyuck’s face with the goal of shutting him up, “How about you go to your room and we take the living room?” Renjun approaches his best friend, holding him by his shoulders before pushing him in the direction of one of the rooms. It’s funny simply because he doesn’t even wait for him to reply. 

Once he has gotten rid of Donghyuck, Renjun turns on his toes to face you, “Sorry, that’s just how he is… don’t listen to him, he makes stuff up all the time.” And although Renjun’s actually telling the truth—because no, he’s never called you pretty in front Donghyuck—he knows Donghyuck’s comments are believable to those who aren’t used to his shenanigans. 

There were two ways you could go about it. Ignore him and make the situation less awkward, or tease him and see what he says. Either choice would be funny, especially because you could see that this boy is on edge with what his friend just said. But since you’re feeling nice, you choose the former option, “So, what do you plan on doing while we wait for the rain?” 

Renjun quietly sighs in relief, “We can put something on to watch? I’m just not sure what we should watch though.” He makes his way to the couch and he gestures you to sit in the spot next to him.

It’s crazy how your mind works in times like these. At the back of your head, you almost make sure to keep an array of movies to watch, ones that you’re sure everyone would be content with. But with Renjun, one movie hovers above the others because you could still recall your astonishment when this whole adult man hadn’t seen the one movie you adore with your heart.

“How about the Pursuit of Happyness?” you say, “You haven’t seen it… so why not now?” 

Renjun nods, “Yeah, sure. That sounds good to me.” Within a few clicks of the remote, the movie begins and Renjun’s offering you some snacks he managed to pull from the kitchen (or that have already been there, courtesy of Donghyuck). The rain outside is still going at it, but the movie masks the sound of the raindrops striking repeatedly against the windows. 

Renjun’s incredibly entangled in the film. You can easily catch this in the way his eyes were steady on the screen as he leans towards it. He mutters comments every now and then, ones that complement your own thoughts of the film. 

“It’s… it’s just going downhill,” Renjun frowns. His eyes finally leave the screen about half way through the movie, “I can’t believe you’re making me watch this. If it has a bad ending, I’m holding you against the emotional damage I’ll be experiencing.” 

“I mean you did agree to watch it,” you point out. Biting your lip, you hold a laugh back despite the movie not even being comedic. It’s Renjun and his current state that’s making you laugh. It’s new territory for you, if that was even the right way to describe it. 

So far, you’ve only met the stubborn and spiteful Renjun, and most recently, the generous and compassionate Renjun. His actual character, you’ve learned, sits in the middle of both of those. But the one you’re watching this movie with was different. He was vulnerable, ready to cry whenever the movie finally pushes past his breaking point. But you’re glad to see that he isn’t afraid to show it to you, especially since you both were still just starting this odd friendship.

“What the fuck. I can’t do this shit. What the hell?” You snap out of your mini trance and you realize why a string of profanities are leaving Renjun’s mouth. It was the very scene that had you bawling like a baby the first time you watched it, and tearing up now. The scene at the subway station. 

You let Renjun watch it, keeping silent as you pay attention to the screen, too. You could feel your heart ache, the scene grasping it, as your mouth grew into a frown. 

In a hushed tone, Renjun questions out loud, “Please tell me that this is the worst it gets?” Looking over at Renjun, you notice that he’s actually crying. There were tears streaming down his face and he’s sniffling like he’s caught the annual flu. 

“I don’t want to spoil it,” you retort, sniffling yourself. Looking around, you spot a tissue box sitting at the centre of the coffee table in front of both of you. You reach for it, holding it out to Renjun. 

“Thanks,” he sniffles. Once Renjun’s finished blowing his nose, he falls silent again, attention all on the movie. He’s so attentive that you know thoughts are running through his head at an unreadable pace.

Next thing you know, the movie’s end credits are rolling and Renjun flops into the couch’s cushion, “I get why you were surprised when I said I haven’t seen that movie.” He turns his head to face you, “Because that was a good movie.” 

The way Renjun’s looking at you causes you to shrink under his gaze, though it wasn’t in a way where you were cowering. You felt… shy? There wasn’t a word that was coming up that described it precisely, but shy was alarmingly close. “I’m glad you liked it.” He stretches his lips into some form of lazy grin. There’s a very brief silence between you both but it was enough for you to recognize that the rain had stopped, or at least, it had gotten weaker over the past few hours. 

“Oh the rain’s stopped,” you say quickly, “I guess I’ll get going then.” Within seconds, you’re up and grabbing your belongings. Then, you’re at the door, slipping your sneakers on thoughtlessly. At that point, you’re aware that it’s almost dinner time and the sun’s probably setting if you could see past the clouds. 

Renjun follows you to the door, “It looks dark out, do you want me to walk with you?”

If your life were a reality TV show, this would be when the camera unsteadily zooms into your face as it simultaneously changes expressions into one that’s a mix of confusion and shock. “No, it’s fine, there’s probably some people walking from class.” The door’s open behind you and you’re ready to sprint out. But Renjun stops you. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he grins, “I’ll see you around.”

“Goodnight, Renjun.”

Renjun waves and shuts the door. He lets out a huff before turning around to find Donghyuck standing there with the most irritating smirk sitting on his face. 

“What?”

Donghyuck gasps, “Nothing!” 

Renjun pushes past him to turn the TV off before going to fold the blanket he was previously using, “Then don’t make that face if you don’t have a reason.”

Donghyuck snickers and shakes his head in a way that only irked Renjun even more. He chooses not to say anything else because he knows that Renjun’s mind works fast enough to work two and two together. 

That’s how it usually works, at least.

EIGHT.

Routines are meant to be routines. 

Every shift you and Renjun were supposed to arrive, bring the supplies you needed to the wall, paint, realize that it’s time to clean up, and then leave. While you both painted, Renjun’s role was to tell one of his many experiences and your usual role was to listen. If not, comfortable silence or music will often fill that silence. 

But today was different. 

You and Renjun were finally painting the second layer of the mural, and although it initially wasn’t necessary, the second layer of paint gave the painting a bolder look. So you both went for it.

The day was going as it usually would. Renjun had finished a more recent story from the old folks’ home, going on about how he’s excited for Thursday. “Throwback Thursday. We play music and shows and films from their times. Even if they already do that anyway, it’s a bit more special because practically all the residents attend.”

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun,” you say genuinely, “I can’t imagine the nostalgia they go through.” You squat down and dip the paintbrush into the paint. 

“How about you come with me, then?” Renjun offers, “Are you busy on Thursday?” He stands and waits for your reply, watching as you freeze suddenly at his question. You only freeze because this isn’t how it usually was. He’s supposed to say something like ‘it is fun’ or go on to tell you a story about a previous throwback Thursday. But asking you to come with him? 

“Me?” You verbalize, “Come with you?” 

“Yeah!” Renjun nods, “They love getting all the help they can get.” He carelessly strokes the brush against the wall and watches as the concrete completely disappears underneath the paint. “And it would be cool for you to be there. That way we can share one of these stories.” 

“Um…” You don’t like using agendas, but right now would have been the right time to have one. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ll let you know before then, though. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Day of is fine, too.” 

The minute you get home, you feel a strong urge to tell Yeji about the invitation. But knowing Yeji, you know damn well she’s going to convince you to go.

You guess correctly when she peeks over her laptop and over at you after you’re brief ramble about it. “Didn’t you say that you and Renjun were on better terms now?” You nodded. “Well, I think there wouldn’t be any harm in going. Imagine how horrible you’d look if you rejected that opportunity.” 

“Renjun would understand,” you say quietly.

“Well, do you want to go?” Yeji questioned. 

You blink at your best friend, “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s just…” You pause and try to think about why you’re stressing about something that wasn’t even that big of a deal. Renjun literally just invited you to volunteer. It’s not like he asked you on a date (and why would he?). It was just the idea of him actually asking you to spend time with him outside of that gig that made you stop and think.

“There’s your answer.” 

“Huh?” your head tilts to the side, “Answer? Where?”

Yeji snorts and turns her attention back to her laptop, “You just said ‘it’s not that I don’t want to go.’ That implies that you do wanna go. Then go.” 

With a little bit more pushing from Yeji, you find yourself standing in front of Renjun’s dorm building that very Thursday with a tote bag and your head filled with thoughts that you couldn’t even comprehend. If you focused hard enough, you could pick out ones about what today’s dinner will be, how the residents were like outside of Renjun’s stories, and what the retirement home looked like. There were traces of what remaining tasks you needed done for the mural and if you’ve somehow left assignments unfinished. Then there were ones of Renjun and–

“Sorry for making you wait.” You jump and find Renjun appear in your field of vision. He’s fixing his crossbody bag over his shoulder, then you watch has he fixes the cap on his head, “I’m excited! Let’s go then?”

You and Renjun make small talk on the way to the retirement, which you admit, thought would be further away. But when Renjun told you that it was just a walking distance from campus, he wasn’t lying. The walk only lasted about ten minutes and the next thing you know, you’re telling the lady at the front desk your name.

“Alright, here’s your volunteer badge,” she slides you a laminated tag, “And here’s yours, Renjun!” You follow Renjun, who pins his own name tag to the left side of his chest. He pats it before saying goodbye to the lady, turning to you to see if you were set to go in. 

Renjun leads the way into the main lounge area. It was a rather large room, one wall being entirely windows. By the front, or what you believed was the front, was a big fireplace, and by that fireplace, a small grand piano. On top of the fireplace was a big TV that was currently playing the news, not that anyone was paying attention. 

Scattered throughout the room sat tables and padded chairs, some of which were occupied by residents. It was almost exactly how you imagined it, almost book-like, or ones you’d see in movies. It was cozy, yet not too cozy for it to be suffocating.

“Oh, Renjun, you’re here!” A slightly older guy seems to appear from the side, waving, “And you must be Y/N? Renjun told us you might be joining. Nice to see you actually did!” He sticks a hand out and grins, “I’m Taeyong. I coordinate a majority of the activities for the facility.” 

You shake his hand, “Nice to meet you, Taeyong. I’m a little nervous.” 

Taeyong shakes his head, “Don’t be! Everyone’s pretty nice here, especially in the afternoon.” He lets out a quiet laugh, “Well anyways, we just called down the other residents so we’re just waiting for them to come. Then we start exactly at five.”

Taeyong turns to Renjun, “You’re taking over for music right?” Renjun nods and cracks his fingers as if he’s about to go step into a boxing ring. 

“I usually take the role as emcee, but I was told I had other duties to go about for the next hour,” Taeyong says carefully, “Y/N, would you mind being the emcee? I promise you it’s not that bad. I even have cue cards if you need it.” Taeyong holds out a small pile of flashcards, holding them out to you.

Renjun lights up at the idea, “It would be fun if you did it! All you have to do is prompt the songs and the residents will raise their hands. Then you go up to them and hold up the mic to their mouths for their answer. Sorta like a game show host.”

“I guess I can try,” you say carefully. What was the worse that could happen? 

“Great!” Taeyong claps his hands together, “Thank you so much, Y/N. I appreciate it!” He hands you the cue cards and goes to leave, “Have fun guys!” 

Once Taeyong was gone, Renjun turns to you, “I know it’s a heavy job but don’t be afraid to step out of your comfort zone. I promise you, the old folks have gone through a lot, so slip-ups won’t matter to them at all.” 

You nodded, “I hope so. You better help me up there if something goes wrong.” You give him a look of warning, though it was playful and meant well. Renjun knew how Throwback Thursdays worked—this was your first one—so you don’t really have a feel of how it should be brought out.

“I will, don’t worry,” Renjun ensures, “How bout this. I’ll do the introduction and then you go from there. That way, you’re not super lost.”

“That would help,” you grin. 

Soon, little by little, the residents begin filling the room, taking seats at what you understood as their usual seats. They chattered amongst themselves, having conversations that mostly consisted of today’s weather or the news that was playing on the TV. From a nearby table, you overhear two ladies lightheartedly trash-talking each other, arguing over who would get the most correct songs for this week’s Throwback Thursday.

You can’t help but laugh at the bickering. Renjun notices this and smiles to himself. He’s glad you’re enjoying it so far. “There’s a leaderboard, if you’re wondering why they’re so serious about this,” Renjun points out, “Well not really an official one, but they keep track of it themselves. I don’t even know how but they do.” 

“That explains it,” you laugh, “I think it’s cute.” 

Renjun nods, “It is. They remind me of kids sometimes. They get happy over the smallest things. I admire it.”

This comment makes your heart do a ball change—two quick beats before settling back into its normal rhythm. It was just endearing seeing Renjun be all soft around what he loves doing. It only hits much harder when this wasn’t the Renjun you initially knew. 

First impressions were not always the best impressions.

“I think we can start with the intro,” Renjun nudges your elbow. He starts making his way to the front of the room. You trail right behind him, respectfully greeting the residents as you make eye contact with them. They obviously weren’t familiar with you, but they still smiled nonetheless. 

Renjun grabs the mic, turning it on before giving it a light tap to test it, “Good afternoon everyone! Can you all hear me?” You see some of the residents nod, others verbally responding with the loudest whoop they can let out. “Perfect! How’s everyone doing this afternoon?” There’s a chorus of different answers, but you can tell that they all were content with their day. 

“I’m happy to hear that! Welcome to this week’s Throwback Thursday! I think you’re all familiar with me, my name is Renjun!” Renjun turns to you, and gestures, “Today, I have my partner Y/N with me to help out! Can we give her a warm welcome?” Similar to earlier, they enter a chorus of replies, greeting you with waves and smiles. This made you feel much more comfortable. 

“Okay! So you know how all this works, I play a song on the piano, and if you know it, raise your hand. I’ll trust Y/N’s judgment on who raised their hands first. She’ll come up to you all and then you can give her the answer! Everything clear?” Again, a chorus of replies. “Then let’s begin!”

Renjun hands the mic over to you, whispering a ‘have fun’ and a ‘you got this’ before sitting down behind the piano. 

You look down at the cue cards given to you by Taeyong and find that it was the list of songs that Renjun was going to play for the night. There were about twenty songs listed down along with the artist. You felt a sense of relief wash over you. 

“Hello everyone! Are you all ready for the first song?” you question. You still feel a bit nervous, but from how Renjun went through with the intro, you knew exactly how you want to host. The residents cheered and you can feel the anticipation. It was nice that they were all willing to participate. “Okay, this one is really easy, so get your hands ready! Renjun, cue the music!”

Renjun smiles and nods, placing his hands on the keys for the first song. He begins playing it effortlessly and you’re a bit taken aback by the way he was playing the song well—it was My Girl by The Temptations. Renjun had only played the intro when hands were already shooting up. Your eyes naturally fall on a man seated near the windows, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose.

You grin and quickly make your way over, “I believe you had your hand up first!” Your eyes find a last name on his walker, “Mr. Moon. What’s your answer?” 

You bring the mic up near his lips and nod for him to answer. Before he speaks, he leans forward, “It is My Girl by The Temptations.” 

Although you already knew the answer, you still look down at the flash cards, “My, my, my…” You pretend that the answer is wrong, frowning and letting your voice trail before switching up, “My Girl by The Temptations is correct! One point for Mr. Moon!” 

You hear some of the other residents chuckle at your improvisation, clapping out of joy. You don’t notice as you walk back to the front, but Renjun’s smile grows wider. 

“Next song!” You read it, and hum, “This one’s a few decades newer, but I know you all will know this one!” You turn to Renjun, quietly signalling for him to begin the song. You watch the residents as they wait for Renjun to start the song’s snippet. Again he plays the intro, an easy-to-recognize sequence bouncing across the room. 

A different man raises his hand first, so you move across the room swiftly. This man doesn’t have a nametag, “Do you know the answer, sir?” 

“Of course I do, I remember going to their concert back in the day!” He speaks through the mic. The people around you react, eyes widening. 

“Oh, so you should very well know it, right?” You question, “Were you a fan of them?” 

“A big, big fan,” the man uses his hands to speak, throwing his arms to gesture something large, “Good ‘ol days. But anyways, the answer is Open Arms by Journey. One of my favourites.” 

“I guess you already know that the answer is correct!” you laugh, “Can’t argue with a fan. One point for you, sir!” He nods his head in pride before you turn to walk back to the front. At this point, you’re gaining more confidence despite it barely even starting. In a way, the interactions came naturally.

“The next song is one that might not come to you all easily since it’s a bit newer, but I guarantee that at least one of you will know it,” you say through the mic. 

Renjun begins with the intro, and you’re familiar with the song because you’ve heard your parents play it plenty of times in the car growing up. So far, none of the residents had brought their hands up to answer. You’re actually quite surprised to see that no one was familiar with the song’s intro. 

Renjun continues to play the song. 

Then he begins to sing. 

You remember when he had first told you about his time here at the retirement home and how he sang for the residents. You remember him completely dismissing the fact that he did sing for these people and after that, the subject wasn’t really brought up. 

Now that you’re here and volunteering with him, you finally get a chance to hear him sing. 

“Oceans apart… day after day… and I slowly go insane…” 

What the fuck. 

You almost say this out loud and through the mic in front of many many elderly people and you suddenly feel compelled to slap yourself. 

Renjun’s voice was unexpected, but it was beautiful. You really didn’t have any idea of how his singing voice would sound but now that you’re hearing it, it perfectly matched his speaking voice. It was satin-like and captivating—a voice you could and you’d honestly like to listen to all day. 

“How can we say forever?”

Your eyes drift to Renjun, who’s focused. His eyes are on the music sheets sitting in front of him. The expression on his face is calm and gentle, words of which could also describe his singing. You hope Renjun doesn’t notice that you’re looking at him, because if he did, it would be humiliating. 

“Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you…”

Then your heart does this thing. 

It was very similar to the little skip that it did earlier, but now, instead of falling back to the rhythm it usually followed, it only sped up in tempo. 

What the fuck. You repeat to yourself. Your eyes widen before dropping to your feet in panic. Because it really shouldn’t be doing that. Not at this point in time. 

“I raised my hand first!” One of the ladies knock you back into reality and you realize that a few people have had their hands raised. She was speaking to another woman sitting at the same table and you recognize them as the two women from earlier. You smile sheepishly, almost forgetting what your job is and opting to listen to Renjun and only Renjun for the rest of the game. You apologize, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite notice. Can we play a small game of rock, paper, scissors to settle this fairly?” 

They play the game as you make your way up to them. Once it was settled, you bring the mic up to the winner, the lady who claimed she raised her hand first. “What do you think the song title is?”

“Oh, I know what the song title is,” she chuckled, “Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx.” 

“I love the confidence!” You say, laughing, “You are correct! One point for you, ma’am!” The woman cheered, ecstatic she got the point. Then, like before, you return to the front and you start at the beginning of the cycle for the next songs. 

You try your best to keep yourself together, especially when the song’s difficulty requires Renjun to sing part of it. He had a voice to be proud of. You have no idea why he didn’t choose to brag about it. But maybe that’s just Renjun. 

What’s ironic was the fact that Renjun was almost as charmed by you as you were with him. However, it wasn’t because of the way you sang, because if you were ever asked to sing, you’d warn them about temporarily losing the sense of hearing, but it was simply through the way you interacted with the residents. The best word Renjun could find to describe the way you spoke to them was genuine. 

You genuinely seemed to enjoy speaking to them, making small talk throughout the game so that you kept them entertained. Renjun also concluded that you were actually a pretty witty person. Jokes and fitting comments were flying out of your mouth whenever you pleased, giving the residents a reason to laugh hearty laughs.

Though it really didn’t appear to be that big of a deal to anyone else, Renjun found it endearing. It was simply just a trait that he found worthy of adoring. 

Renjun slumps behind the piano relieved that the instrument was helping him hide the smile that was uncontrollably growing upon his lips. And if you see him with that big, fat, doting smile, he wouldn’t know what to do.

At the end of the game and its conclusion, you actually find yourself feeling bummed that it was over. You stand at the side of the room, watching as the residents either take their leave or decide to stay in the lounge room a bit longer. You bow to the ones who cross your path, thanking them for being great participants. 

“Will you be back next week?” a lady stops to talk to you, “You were refreshing to have. That young boy, Taeyong, follows the same script and it does get very tedious after a while.” 

“I would love to, actually,” you say, frowning, “But I’m not sure if I will. Renjun invited me to join but I don’t know if this is just a one-time thing.” 

“Oh, well,” she smiles sadly, “If you ever decide to return, you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” you mirror her expression before she walks away. 

In her place, another lady stops and reaches for your hand, “Thank you for a wonderful time!” 

You shake your head, “It’s nothing, really. Renjun played a large part as well, I shouldn’t take all the credit.” Over her shoulder you see Renjun speaking to a few of the male residents. 

“Oh! Speaking of that lovely boy, are you two together?” Her head tilts to the side in curiosity, “You two make quite a cute couple!” 

Her comment makes you freeze in shock for a short moment. You and Renjun? A couple?

“Oh!” you shake your head, almost to the point where you could feel your head coming loose from the rest of your body, “We’re not dating! It’s nothing like that. It’s really the opposite! We only started being friends not too long ago!”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she only picks up your last comment, “You ever go to connect a plug to a socket without looking?” You nod your head but she could tell that you’re confused. “You miss it a couple of times, making small adjustments so you can get that damn plug into the socket. Then, finally, right when you get it in, the electricity runs through it to serve its purpose.” 

“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying, ma’am.”

“I’m saying that it doesn’t matter when you guys started ‘being friends,’” she laughs lightly, “If two pieces fit together, then that’s that. I know a match when I see one.” 

And without another peep, the lady walks away, singing a tune under her breath.

NINE.

“Is this enough?” Renjun’s pouring paint into one of the paint trays at the bottom of the ladder. 

You look down from the top of the ladder, “That looks like it, thank you.” You paint a few more strokes down before climbing back down to grab the newly filled tray. The goal for the day was to finish the second layer so that over the last few shifts, you and Renjun could focus on details and finishing touches. Judging by how much work was left, the two of you were probably going to end up working overtime. But none of you minded. 

“You know, some of the residents were asking for you when I returned a few days ago?” Renjun watches as you pick up the tray. When your feet find their way onto the first step of the ladder, Renjun unconsciously steps forward to keep the ladder steady, “I think they really loved your company.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward at the recent memory of you and your interactions. Not one inch of his bone regretted inviting you. 

“Really?” you light up, “I enjoyed their company, too.”

Renjun replies, “Yeah, really. I guess you made a really good impression on them.” Then Renjun makes a witty, lighthearted comment, “Unlike you did on me.”

You laugh and look down, “The feeling’s mutual.” 

Out of interest, Renjun lets this burning question leave his lips, “Why did you hate me so much anyway?” Then he shakes his head, “I mean I understand why, but I wanna hear your side of the story.” 

You take a seat on one of the middle stairs of the ladder and rest your head on your arm, “I guess… everytime we ran into each other, you weren’t exactly the nicest. I remember I apologized when I accidentally bumped into you that one morning before class and you made a comment about me not being able to afford your shirt or something even when I apologized.” “In fairness, it was before an eight AM and that shit was hot,” Renjun defends, “But you’re right. I could’ve handled it better.” He doesn’t even remember why he blew up that morning. But he does remember a feeling of remorse the moment he arrived in class and was able to reflect on what he just did.

“And that one time when I took Donghyucks’s drink,” you face palm because you don’t know how you even managed to do that, “You didn’t even say thank you when I gave you the drink when I could’ve taken it. Especially since it was you who had gone up to me.”

Renjun’s face heats up. He really was a whole douchebag to you. “I was in a hurry. But I could’ve handled that better, too.” Renjun pauses and drops his head to look at his feet, “I think my apologies are long overdue. But I really am sorry for both of those times. I don’t know… they were sorta both in the heat of the moment… but if I could go back, I’d treat you better. Maybe we could’ve gotten along faster.” 

“You’re forgiven,” you reply seriously, swinging your legs, “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t made any progress.” You look up at the mural and remember how your relationship with Renjun had been when you both started it. It was almost the complete opposite. “I think I owe you an apology, too. It’s not like I’m completely innocent either.”

Renjun turns to go back to his spot, “You don’t even need to apologize. You were just treating me the way I was treating you.” 

“Doesn’t make it okay,” you stand up and dip the paintbrush in paint. 

“True, but still.” Renjun raises his head to look at you, “But I forgive you too. Even though I still don’t think you need to say sorry.”

You don’t say anything else. Instead, you playfully roll your eyes. Despite your reaction, you’re actually glad that you and Renjun were finally at that point where you could joke about about the past. Being able to openly share how you both felt, and just conversing about it proves that your relationship with him has shifted. It’s relieving.

“Hey Y/N?”

You look through the ladder and find Renjun staring up at you. His hair is falling back, fringe brushing past the corners of his eyes. He looks pretty. “Yeah?”

“It’s getting late,” he says, “Want to wrap up and get something to eat?” 

You’re compelled to make a ‘like a date?’ comment, but you hold back. You and Renjun just made complete amends. You can’t be that bold just yet, “Sure. Where to?”

°•. ✿ .•° 

A handful of bites and sips of pop later, you and Renjun are walking back from the closest fast-food restaurant from campus. The topic of conversation had been jumping from one to another, keeping the atmosphere comfortable and busy. Currently, it was about the pet peeves that came along with your roommates despite still loving them with all your heart. 

“Sometimes,” Renjun sighs, “Donghyuck, he literally doesn’t wash the bottom of the cups cause he thinks that only water rinsing it is enough. He only scrubs the rim of the cup. Once, I was filling my cup with water and I see remnants of dried out coke floating from the bottom.” 

You gasp and make a face, shaking your head, “That’s disgusting! Imagine if you didn’t see that. You’d just be ingesting dried coke.”

“He learned from that,” Renjun shrugs, “Cause even he experienced it. He always scrubs the bottom of the cups first now.”

“Good,” you retort, “Because I was going to tell you to remind me never to drink from a cup when I go over to your guys’ dorm.” Renjun laughs but he can’t help but interpret your comment in a way that could be considered overthinking. “For me, Yeji used to wash her clothes without putting them with like colours.”

“How is her wardrobe not fucked up?” Renjun sends you a look, “Especially her white clothing.”

You shrug, “Beats me. But that one time I caught her, I felt like her mom teaching her right from wrong. I have no idea how she’s never been told off in all her years of life.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, that, or Donghyuck’s old habit.” You shake your and head and look down. You wonder if Yeji had any pet peeves about you. What would they even be? You didn’t feel like you were doing anything pet-peeve-worthy. But then again, Yeji didn’t see anything wrong with mixing her clothing up. 

When you see your dorm building growing in your field of vision, your eyes widen and you turn to Renjun, “We missed your building!” You stop in your tracks and try to do a one-eighty to go back to Renjun’s building. The two of you were so caught up in conversation that you missed it. 

“No I did it on purpose,” Renjun shakes his head, “I wanted to walk you back.” A tickling sensation subtly appears and disappears in your stomach. 

“You really didn’t have to!” you say shaking your hands as a way to deny his kind action, “The campus is safe anyways! I could have walked on my—”

“I know it is, but I wanted to,” he shrugs, “There’s a difference.” He’s right. There is a difference. Because it’s one thing to walk you home with some worry that you’d get into some form of accident, you know, to ensure your safety (which you understood as basic human decency), but it’s another to want to walk you home. Even with the knowledge that you’d be safe because there were other students probably walking the same way, he wanted to walk you home and it was probably because he wanted to spend more time with you. 

You don’t know how to react to that implication.

He starts walking towards your building, hands stuffed into his sweater’s pockets. When he senses that you weren’t following, he turns back, “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” you sigh, “I zoned out.” 

You speed up to reach his side, trying to process whether or not you were overthinking or not. Before you know it, you’re at the doors of your building and you’re fishing your keys out of your pocket, “Thanks for walking me here, I guess.”

“You guess?” Renjun laughs softly.

“I mean like, it was unexp��”

“I’m joking,” Renjun rolls his eyes playfully, “I wanted to.” There it is again.

“Anyways, I’ll head in now,” you say, avoiding any awkward silences, “Goodnight.”

He grins, and you swear you see his eyes twinkle, “Goodnight.”

When you reach your dorms, Yeji’s standing at the entry way, arms crossed with a smirk, “I saw Mr. Renjun drop you off… care to explain?” 

“What are you even doing staring out the window?” you glare at her and kick your shoes off. Walking past her, you tug your bag off your arm and plop it beside the couch, “And explain what? He just wanted to drop me off.” 

“Key word is ‘wanted’,” Yeji walks up to you and digs her index finger into your shoulder, “I’m getting this psychic-netic sense that he’s starting to harbour feelings for you.” You want to laugh because Renjun? Feelings? For you? It’s laugh worthy. “No way. We just made up.”

“Yeah, but you both were all chill before today,” she rolls her eyes, “He’s probably starting to like you like you like him.”

“What are you even talking about?” You’re ready to escape this conversation. Mentally, you’re in a position that runners take when they’re about to begin a race, but in front of Yeji, you’re stiff as a rock, grounded and eyes wide as you react to what she just said. “Nothing,” she shrugs, “You didn’t deny it though.” Yeji cackles and makes her own great escape, sprinting into her room before shutting the door. 

When Renjun finally gets home, he’s greeted with a bear hug from his own roommate. 

“I thought you died or something!” Donghyuck yells, “Why are you home so late?”

“I had dinner with Y/N and walked her home?” Renjun’s confused. He leans forward and notices tears in Donghyuck’s eyes. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or feel bad because he’s never seen his best friend in such a state, “Are you actually crying? Look I’m sorry, I actually forgot to update you.”

“Yes! I’m crying,” Donghyuck glares at Renjun, “It’s not like I splashed my face with water or anything.” Donghyuck wipes his ‘tears’ away and ‘sniffles’, “If I knew you had a date, I wouldn’t have sobbed my eyes out waiting for you to get home.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Renjun hurriedly denies, “It was just a friendly dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Donghyuck waves off, “Friendly dinner my ass.”

“It was!” Renjun’s ready to jump Donghyuck, “We worked for a long time today and we also formally apologized to each other. It was fitting.”

“You know what?”

“No, I don’t know what.”

Donghuck clicks his tongue against his teeth, “You like her.”

“What even makes you say that?” There’s a bazillion things running through Renjun’s head, but none of those things were coming to a single conclusion that made sense with this conversation with Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, “The past few days, when you walk through that door from the gig or just being with Y/N, you have this sickening—but cute?—I don’t know… love-struck? Charmed?—Whatever you’d call it—look on your face and it’s painfully obvious that you’re starting to have feelings for her.”

Renjun gulps. He’s at a loss of words only because he’s never heard or seen Hyuck say something so serious in his life, “You’re lying.”

“No. I’m not. I can’t believe you haven’t realized it yourself when you’re usually more emotionally intelligent than me.”

Stunned, Renjun thinks it through. 

Sure the word ‘love-struck’ doesn’t really describe what he’s feeling for you, only because he knows it hasn’t gone that far. He thinks back to the day it suddenly rained, when you both watched The Pursuit of Happyness and he let himself be vulnerable in front of you. Then to the day at the retirement home and seeing your interactions with the older adults. Those few times you were too immersed in painting to comprehend what was happening around you… Hell, he even thinks back to the time you had gotten him that damn Starbucks drink despite how horrible he treated you that day. 

What did all these days have in common? Sure, all these days involved you and him, and progression in the relationship between the two of you. But the thing that persisted was how his chest warmed up in a way that was almost entirely unfamiliar to him. Shit, it has happened so many times that it has become familiar. 

Renjun sighs and he looks at Donghyuck with a defeated look, “I think you’re right.” 

“About?”

Renjun gets deja vu. He remembers the conversation he had long ago with Donghyuck about his attitude towards you. Never would he have thought that it would get this far. 

“My feelings for Y/N.”

TEN.

It was the final stretch. The mural needed no more than final details and cleaning up before it was finished. And after this, you and Renjun would be finished the project. 

You’re excited to see the mural in all its glory—no unfinished patches and pending layers. You can already taste the satisfaction, especially because both you and Renjun had worked your asses off finishing it. 

But there was an elephant in the room. 

It wasn’t a massive elephant, but it was there, sitting right in between you and Renjun and you didn’t know how to address it without him misinterpreting everything. 

The elephant: What would become of the two of you after all of this has ended? 

You look over at him with that lingering thought. 

It was rather baffling because your relationship with him appeared to be nothing more than two co-workers—maybe a little bit more than that. No. That’s wrong. You guys were friends—at least that’s what you considered him. You could easily tell he considers you one of his, too, but you weren’t sure that you were at that point where you would speak to each other after all this is over. 

You’d hate to see your relationship with him falter after everything. 

You’re hoping Renjun’s feeling the same way, simply because he hasn’t said anything all shift. Just a mere ‘hi’ was all that slipped out his mouth towards you, and a soft ‘thank you’ when Joy had come out to congratulate you both for almost completing the project. Otherwise, he hasn’t done more than breathe and paint. 

“You’re quiet,” you say playfully. You’re not sure if you were overstepping boundaries but you wouldn’t have said anything if you weren’t comfortable with Renjun. 

The noise in Renjun’s head nearly blocks your voice out completely, but you’re lucky to have caught his attention. “Hm?”

You finish the details of your current part of the painting and move onto the next. It was one step closer to Renjun, “I said you’re quiet. Is something up?” It’s a good sign that Renjun wasn’t shooting any sort of remark your way, but you can tell he’s avoiding eye contact. You haven’t seen Renjun so out of it. 

“No,” he replies, “No, I… I’m just thinking.” It was Renjun’s turn to finish an area. He takes a hesitant step closer to you to complete the details of a new area. 

 Dot. Dot. You use black paint to add details to a bear’s face. Its eyes. It looks a lot better than it did just moments ago. “Can I ask what about?”

Renjun pauses and thinks about his answer. You. He’s thinking about you. But he’s not sure if it would be odd for him to be honest and up-front. Renjun’s adding details to a toy car. Dot. Line. Dot. Dot. “Things. I’ll tell you when I get it sorted out.”

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. You move on to a toy train. Line. Dot. Two lines. Although you’re still truthful about what you just said, you’re still curious about what Renjun was thinking about. Things was such a broad term. It could be about anything—dogs, the colour periwinkle, even his best friend Donghyuck. But you guess you’ll let him marinate those thoughts. 

“I want to tell you,” he says gently, “They’re just all jumbled and shit.” The best way to describe his thoughts was like a box filled with stray wires. All of them have been thrown in carelessly and now they’re knotted into one messy ball. He can’t even follow one wire if he tried. 

Now you want it out of him ASAP because what the hell is going on in his head that’s causing him to act like this that would be making him want to tell you? Dogs? Periwinkle? Donghyuck? Although you’re panicking on the inside, you remain calm and give a hum in response. You’ll just have to wait until he’s ready.

Time flies and the shift is finished, leaving just a smidge of work left needing to be done for the final shift. Even with the mural not complete, it was already at the point where it did look finished. But with the sun setting, you’re not able to catch a good look at the work with its deserved lighting. 

“I’ll walk you home,” Renjun says from behind you. You’re surprised he even offers to do so, especially since he seemed to be preoccupied with his thoughts. Despite this, you don’t refuse because you’re not sure if this would be the last time Renjun would be walking you home. Besides, you want to spend as much time as you can with him. 

“How are those thoughts in your head?” you question. You both are halfway to your dorm and Renjun’s been mute the entire way. This was your way of pushing some sort of statement out of him because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. 

Renjun huffs and hums to indicate that he’s thinking of a response, “Do you ever think a certain way about something but…  I don’t know, you have some sort of conflict with yourself about those same thoughts and feelings?”

You pause and think about what Renjun’s trying to get at, but he’s being unclear, “In what context?”

Renjun turns to look at you, “It’s hard to put it into words but it’s like… new thoughts you feel like shouldn’t even be there but are there. It’s not like they’re forbidden or bad, but it’s just weird.” He sees your building growing close. 

“Hmm…” A part of you knows exactly what he’s talking about, “I get what you mean.” 

“How would you handle them?”

“I think that those feelings wouldn’t be there in the first place if you weren’t actually feeling them… or considering them at least.” If you could laugh out loud right now, you would. But you weren’t really risking looking like a maniac in front of Renjun. Your response to Renjun was something you’ve been telling yourself ever since Yeji had you questioning your own feelings for your friend a few nights ago. You only came to actually accept them now. 

“But I don’t think you should overthink whatever’s going on up there,” you bring a finger up to his temple and tap it gently, “Chances are that it isn’t as big of a problem as you think.” Then you laugh, “You know, this is one of the things that gave me a bad impression of you at first. You think too much.” Renjun playfully rolls his eyes in response.

You walk ahead of Renjun to open the door. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you with brighter eyes because you’re right. Renjun let pessimism win and its got his mind preoccupied with what can’t happen when there was still chances of you reciprocating his feelings (or at least, what he believed were feelings).

“Wait,” Renjun stops you at the door. He’s standing at the bottom of the steps with you at the top and he realizes now that there’s no turning back from what he’s about to do, “I have my thoughts sorted out now.”

“Okay…” You let the door go and turn to him expectantly, “I’m listening.”

Renjun swallows the saliva in his mouth and he feels his heart pick up in pace. Yeah…  here goes nothing. “You know when I first met you, I really didn’t think for a second that I would even like you as a friend. Almost everything between the two of us clashed, but now looking back at it all, we were being stupid and childish.

“That one day when you bought me a drink during our shift… I think that’s when I knew that there was a chance for us to not hate each other. I know it’s a small gesture, but it was the fact you did something nice despite the fact we weren’t getting along. It was sort of a wake up call for me. 

“Then everything since then and up ‘til now… the conversations we’ve had, the walks back to the dorms, the visit at the retirement home… I feel like my feelings did a whole one-eighty.”

Renjun takes a step up towards you and exhales a quiet breath, “I…I think I like you. A lot.” He doesn’t know where to look. “And it angers me thinking about how the mural is going to be finished because then I won’t have an excuse to see you anymore.” His head drops for a quick second before he tries to gather his last few drops of confidence before finally looking up at you, waiting for a response of your own.

You’re taken aback by Renjun’s confession, simply because you genuinely didn’t see it coming. It’s hard for you to create the perfect sequence of words to say to him. Your mouth hangs open and all you can say is, “Renjun…” 

Renjun’s heart drops immediately with the implication that whatever you’re going to say is bad and he stumbles backwards, almost falling back from the stair he was standing on. “I’ll… see you next shift.” And at that Renjun’s walking away.

°•. ✿ .•° 

You’re sitting across the street from the daycare, staring at the almost-finished mural. You’re waiting for Renjun to come and judging by the time on your phone’s screen, he’s twelve minutes late, which was funny because he never was late. Not even once. 

You can see Joy sitting at her desk through the window while there are kids running around in the play area behind her. You wonder if she’s wondering where the two of you are. It’s the last shift of this gig and you guys are late. Shouldn’t you both be early to get it over with?

Huffing you decide to make your way in. It wouldn’t hurt to get the supplies ready without Renjun. That way, when he arrives, you both can start. 

“Afternoon, Y/N,” Joy looks up and around her computer screen, “Last shift!”

“I know!” you say excitedly, “I can’t believe it. Sorry for being a bit late.”

She shakes her head, “It’s no problem at all. You guys are almost finished, anyways.”

The door behind you squeaks open and you turn to find Renjun slipping through the doorway. His face shows no expression when he makes eye contact with you, but greeting Joy, he offers a small smile. They have a quick exchange, similar to what you just had with her, before you both are sent to grab the supplies. 

It felt negatively nostalgic, the way he was avoiding eye contact with you as you bring everything out. It was awfully similar to when you both still didn’t get along and you didn’t like it. 

You peek at him through the corner of your eye, heart skipping a beat. You can tell he’s forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He’s leaning in extra close to the wall, shoulder blade turned towards you in hopes to not to feel tempted to talk to you. 

But it was odd. Only because he’s grown so used to your conversations. 

The silence goes on for a while (it was just eighteen minutes, but it felt much longer), and everytime you think Renjun’s finally going to say something, he doesn’t. There’s some kind of heavy atmosphere engulfing the both of you and you could feel yourself practically suffocating because of it. 

You decide to take matters into your own hands. Besides, you were the reason why he wasn’t talking in the first place. You were the reason why there’s this sort of tension between the two of you. “You know you left before I could even give you a proper response.”

Renjun’s breathing hitches at the sound of your voice, his movements halting simultaneously. “Judging by how you first answered, I didn’t think there was anything to hear.” He keeps doing whatever he was doing, but in his peripheral vision, he can see you turn to look at him. “I listened to you,” you say, “So now it’s only fair you listen to me.”

Renjun hesitates for a moment, but he slowly drops his hand before turning to look at you. 

“That night, I was going to say that I felt the same about you,” you say nervously. You’re straight to the point, only because you knew Renjun deserved to hear what you knew he wanted to hear three nights ago. “I just… couldn’t find the words to tell you that. Cause hearing me say that, it’s actually lame as hell compared to your confession.”

Your heart decides to use the inside of your chest as a drum and next thing you know you’re facing the wall. You try to busy yourself by finishing the last part of the mural’s details. Your cheeks heat up and you continue tentatively, “I can’t even exactly remember when my feelings for you started to become more than friendly-type feelings? I don’t even know if that makes sense… I just… started to notice that I couldn’t even handle these weird tickling feelings in my chest when I’m around you and I could not, for the life of me, stop them, but it’s not like I wanted to. Fuck, this is embarrassing.”

You’re starting to ramble. Cute, Renjun thinks, holding back a smile.

Putting the paintbrush down, he swiftly places himself next to you. As distracted as you were with your long, long train of thought, you don’t notice him standing next to you. 

“But I remember, at the retirement home… one of the old ladies put the idea of you and me being a couple in my head and I didn’t hate the idea of it… I think that’s when I actually realized that I liked–” You muster up enough courage to look at Renjun and you’re met with him looking down at you with adoration—the same ones the night that he confessed, “—you.”

There’s an entire marching band of butterflies in your chest and you’re sure as hell that Renjun can hear them with how close he was. The look in his eyes makes you want to melt into a puddle right in front of him, but you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. 

“You have some paint on your face,” he says softly. You gasp and foolishly try to spot the smudge of paint on yourself. 

If only you knew that Renjun was shamelessly lying. 

Without another word, Renjun reaches for your face, lifting it up with the inner edge of his thumb. Then he whispers, “I-I’ll get it for you. If that’s okay?” 

You’re too stunned to even say anything. All you’re able to do is nod. 

Renjun brings his lips down to yours and as if your heart conducted the band of butterflies in your body, they halt for a beat and a half before taking over once again. His lips press against yours softly at first, and once Renjun recognizes that everything happening within this very moment was perfect, he allows himself to fall into the kiss, bringing you two closer. 

The paintbrush in your hand falls to the ground and your hands instinctively find their way up to Renjun’s shoulders, using them to pull you up closer to him, deepening the kiss. 

It truly was perfect—if you ignored the fact that the two of you were probably being watched by anyone and everyone in the daycare—but the moment felt perfect. 

When you both finally pull away, Renjun’s eyes scan your face before he breaks out into a smile, bringing you to mirror it. “Did you get it?”

He nods. “Yeah… I did.”

BONUS SCENE!

When Renjun asked you to come back to volunteer for another Throwback Thursday, you were no fool to refuse. You’ve actually been waiting for him to ask you to join him again right after the first one ended—Renjun was just a few weeks late. 

“That concludes this week’s Throwback Thursday!” You say, looking over at the residents, “I really want to thank you all for participating and I hope you all enjoyed it.” You can see the residents smiling, clapping their hands. 

As the residents start to file out of the room, you turn the mic off, and you spin around to look at Renjun who’s seated behind the piano, “You almost made me cry.” Even after hearing his voice for the first time, you’re still taken aback by how captivating Renjun’s singing was. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of it. 

Renjun’s brows furrow, “What do you mean I almost made you cry!?” He stands up and approaches you in subtle panic, “Did I hurt you in some way or form or–“

“Jun,” you laugh, “Your singing almost made me cry.”

Renjun pauses and steps back, “Oh… then I guess that’s a good thing?” You nod and bring a finger up to poke his cheek which was pulled into a semi-pout. Seeing your finger from a mile away, he attempts to bite it gently but quickly retracts. 

“Y/N! Sweetie!” You’re attention is pulled from Renjun to the same lady as last time. The one who made the ‘couple’ comment. She’s gotten a hair cut since you last visited, so you almost don’t recognize her, but she has the same smile. She’s waving  for you to come to her and you do without hesitation. 

“You don’t know how happy we all were when Renjun said you were coming in today!” She exclaims, “That’s why there were more people that came in today because they heard good stuff from last time.”

“Do you think I lived up to those ‘good things’,” you question, “I would have done better if I knew people had expectations.”

She nods. “I believe you did. Everyone had fun today.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear then.”

You watch as her eyes flicker between you and Renjun, who was gathering the papers from the piano, “I’m sensing something’s going on between you two.” A smirk appears on her still-youthful face and you suddenly feel your cheeks heat up. 

“You were right about last time, “ you say shyly, “We’re dating now.”

She lets out a sound of delight, hands coming together to make one loud clap sound. “Oh I told you so, sweetheart! This is what I love to see! Does this mean you’ll be coming more often?”

Renjun joins you two quietly and you nod, “I sure hope so.”

‣ an: hey you! you there who finished my fic! I love you sosososososo much for taking your time to actually read this entire thing (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ) <— [that’s me ugly crying] but I really do hope you enjoyed it,, maybe let me know what your fav part was? If you didn’t enjoy it (even a lil smidge) I’m sorry about that (༎ຶ⌑༎ຶ) I’ll do better next time I swear (despite that though, I’m still thankful you read it <3)

#bless the fact I actually got this finished over break and now onto another fic #this one was a monster sized fic like what the hell it was only supposed to be like 15k words #did it even feel like 23.6k words tho #lowkey not tbh #Nct #Nct dream #Nct imagines #Nct dream imagines #Nct dream scenarios #Huang renjun #Renjun #Huang renjun imagines #Renjun imagines #Huang renjun scenarios #Renjun scenarios #Nct dream blurbs #Nct blurbs #Renjun blurbs #Huang renjun blurbs #Nct renjun #Nct fluff #Nct dream fluff #Renjun fluff #Huang renjun fluff #My writings #My nct writings #Kpop #Kpop imagines #Kpop scenarios #Kpop blurbs

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 21

Description: After your almost disastrous encounter in the O'Hara household, you spend some time debriefing with Janey, and Miguel asks for a second date.

Pt 22

So, you what, jumped out a window?” Janey drawls, her expression both intrigued and unamused, her image freezing for a second as she moves to a part of her apartment with better Wi-Fi.

“No, I hid in his bathroom until he’d convinced Gabi to go play in her room, then sprinted into my own. Janey, it was so embarrassing, I looked like a fucking toaster strudel.”

Janey chokes on her drink. “Not a toaster strudel…”

You bury your face in your hands. “I seriously have a problem, like I need to stay away from him. That cannot happen again, it just can’t.”

A text pops up on your phone, making it vibrate.

Mr. O’Hara: Hey, I’ve been thinking about yesterday and I acted inappropriately, could I take you to dinner tonight, to make up for it? I know a place, it’s a bit out of the way, but there’s no chance anyone from Gabi’s school will see us.

You changed his name back from Miguel to Mr. O’Hara, wanting to remind yourself of the professional boundaries.

“Y/N?” Janey asks, waving her hand, trying to catch your attention.

“Yeah, sorry, anyways, I need to get a handle on myself, I swear I haven’t been this…ya know…in ages.”

Mr. O’Hara: My treat, obviously. I think I make three times what you make.

Mr. O’Hara: Shit, sorry that was rude.

Mr. O’Hara: Anyways let me know.

“I mean, technically there’s nothing in the rules that say you can’t date a parent, it’s just frowned upon.”

Y/N: I’d love to pick me up at six?

Mr. O’Hara: Absolutely, I’ll see you then.

“Yeah, but still.” You glance at the clock, it’s five ten, you definitely need to start getting ready. You pick up your phone and move into your bathroom, continuing to chat with Janey as you get ready.

Six o’clock on the dot, Miguel is at your door. He’s dressed casually, which is a relief because so are you.

He hands you a bouquet of flowers, roses, a bit basic, but beautiful. “Again, my apologies, and I’m glad you’re letting me take you out, I really do like you, y/n, as cheesy as that sounds.”

You take the flowers and quickly put them in a vase before following Miguel down to the parking garage.

It’s a long drive, maybe an hour from your place, but once you arrive you understand.

It’s a small restaurant out of the city, a bit run down, but the neon sign is bright, and you can already smell food.

“This is the best Mexican food in Neuva York and the surrounding area, my mother used to take my brother and I here on our birthdays.” He explains as he opens the door for you.

The restaurant is beautiful, hand painted murals, wood carved booths, warm lighting, and soft music streaming through the speakers hidden amongst the beams that hold up the ceiling.

Once you’re seated and the waitress takes your order, you sip on your water awkwardly. It’s been a while since you’ve been on an actual date.

“Do you like Mexican food?” Miguel asks, looking at the drink menu, his eyes darting to your face every other second.

“Yeah, yeah, my mom is actually from Texas, so we’d get Tex-Mex every time we went to visit her family. I know it’s not the same thing, but…”

“Gabi said your mom has lived in Nueva York her whole life?” Miguel’s eyebrows furrow and you bite your lip.

“Oh umm, so my mother, was born and raised in Nueva York, but my stepmom is from Texas. She married my dad when I was a baby, she’s basically the only mom I’ve actually had. My bio mother sued for joint custody when I was a kid, but I…I didn’t want to live with her. Scheduled visits were enough for me.” You explain, cursing yourself for even mentioning your biological mother to Gabi.

It was a rough day for her, after you learned about her mom from Melissa. You only told her to make her feel better, to let her know she wasn’t alone, but now you were kind of regretting it…

“I don’t talk about her much, she’s—she’s just a lot.” You wave your hand in the air dismissively and plaster on a smile.

“I thought my stepfather was my dad until I went to high school.” Miguel admits, setting down the drink menu.

“Oh?” You’re a little shocked, but hey, you’ve almost fucked multiple times, you’re close enough to share childhood traumas.

“My boss is my father, my mother had an affair with him, I have a half-sister, Monica who is a notorious gossip, but might be my best friend, maybe my only friend? I’ve got coworkers I occasionally get drinks with but…”

You giggle, half at the way he says it, half out of nerves. “Sorry, sorry, please go on.”

He gives you a sheepish smile. “It’s pathetic, I know, a grown man whose best friend is his sister.”

“No, no, I think it’s sweet.” You reassure him.

“And what about you? Siblings? Friends?” Miguel scoops some salsa onto a chip.

“I’ve got a younger brother, he’s a pilot, never around, always sending photos from exotic places, and then Janey, she teaches with me, and she’s my best friend.” You stir the queso in front of you with the spoon provided, watching as the jalapeños sink into the cheese.

Miguel nods. “The tiny black woman with the brightly colored outfits?”

“Everyone is tiny compared to you. But yes, she is short.” You defend Janey playfully, knowing Miguel doesn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s not my fault I was blessed with the stature of a Greek god.” Miguel shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You roll your eyes. “It must be so difficult for you.”

“It is, actually, do you know how many old ladies hit on me?”

You laugh at that, picturing giant, buff Miguel running from grandmothers chasing him down with their canes and walkers. “I am so sorry for your struggle.”

He laughs as well. “I appreciate it.”

“Is your mom still in Neuva York?” You ask, taking a bite of a queso covered chip.

“Yeah, I have her set up in this nice apartment, it’s quiet, she can get her groceries delivered to her if she wants, there’s a pool she and Gabi go swimming in, and she’s on the building’s HOA which is always entertaining.”

“I can’t imagine the stories apartment HOAs have to tell.”

Miguel pitches up his voice, laying on a thick Mexican accent. “Mijo you will never guess, the man upstairs, with the little dogs, a killer, the police came today, took him away. Dios nos salve a todos.”

“That means like God save us, right?” You ask, trying to remember what that Catholic dude from Law and Order: SVU used to say.

“Close, God save us all.” Miguel smiles at you, then the waitress when she sets your food down.

Your waitress’ face tints red, and you feel a wave of jealousy wash over you. You wait until she’s gone, then continue the conversation. “Wait, was he actually a murderer?”

Miguel chuckles. “No, his dogs have been killing birds, squirrels, and other small animals outside the building. He’s been cleaning them up, but apparently disposing of them in the wrong dumpster. Maintenance in the building just wanted to show him the right one to use.”

“Ah, I see.”

“My mother has a wild imagination; I think she gets bored sometimes.” Miguel says. “I should take Gabi to visit her more often but…”

“Being a secret superhero takes up a lot of time?” You joke in a hushed voice, looking around to make sure no one is paying attention.

“Exactly.” He takes a bite of his food, carnitas.

“Sure, keeps you out late, on the street, rooftops, balconies…” You trail off, taking a bite of your quesadilla.

Miguel swallows hard. “I like keeping people safe.”

You nod. “And you’re good at it, I’m glad to have a superhero living in my building.”

“Thank you.” He says softly.

For a moment, you wonder if anyone ever thanks Miguel for what he does. You’re sure people thank him when he saves them, but outside of that? When he’s just patrolling, watching over the city?

“Last time I talked to my mom, she was complaining about my dad keeps the house too cold, and that there’s nothing good on TV anymore.”

“She’s right, there’s nothing good on TV anymore.”

“There’s some good movie though, like that one that came out a bit ago, based on a comic book?” You wrack your brain, but can’t remember what it’s called.

“I only see the movies Gabi wants to see.” Miguel admits sheepishly.

“Well, good thing she’s got good taste.”

You both walk back to Miguel’s car, hands brushing against each other, pinkies almost linking then shying away at the last second.

“Thank you for this, it was nice.” You say, looking up at him, the moon a halo behind his head, dousing him in an ethereal glow.

“No, thank you, I know we’ve kind of gone about things backwards, and that you’re Gabi’s teacher, but I…I really do like you, y/n. I enjoy spending time with you, I like hearing your stories, and telling you mine…”

You take the plunge and link your hand with his. “I like spending time with you too Miguel.”

His fingers interlace with yours. “My work is having a gala in a few weeks, would you come with me? As my date?”

Janey is never going to let you live this down.

“Yeah, sure, sounds like fun.” You tell him, heart skipping a beat when he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it.

“I’ll give you more details as I get them, but I promise it will be a night to remember, even if all you remember is my coworkers getting drunk off their asses.”

You thank him when he opens the car door for you, then he slides into the driver’s seat.

Miguel walks you to your door, lingering in its frame as you hold each other’s gaze, silly lovesick smiles on your faces.

“I should go to bed.” You say, making no attempt to break away from his gaze.

“Me too.” Miguel echoes, also not moving an inch.

“Thank you, again, for dinner.”

“It’s no problem, I’d like to do it again if you’d let me?” He tilts his head to the side, a soft smile on his face.

“I’d like that.” You tell him before you finally take a step back and into your apartment. “Goodnight Miguel.”

He grabs your wrist, gently, reverently, and presses his lips to your palm, the warmth of his face feels nice of your cold hand, the slight stubble tickles your skin, and his lips are soft. “Goodnight y/n.” Then he releases you and turns to go into his own apartment.

You shut your door, face burning. How was it, that out of everything Miguel’s done, that’s what makes your head spin a thousand miles in every direction imaginable?

He really is something else, huh?

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @needsleep3000, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue , @marcelineormars

#meg's writing #miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #cute date night!!! #the stepmom is my TX girlies rep

[dr0wning-in-hell]

One Of a Kind- Xavier Thorpe

Summary: Y/N is a rare creature, something that’s thought to be extinct. She’s hated by all Normies, and maybe even some Outcasts, but one Outcast in particular thinks differently of her.

Warnings: a bit of angst, some fluff, probably some cursing,

Word Count: 2.9k+

Characters/Pairing: Faye!Reader x Xavier Thorpe, Mentions of Principal Weems, mentions of Tyler

Prompt: simply that Y/N feels like the biggest Outsider amongst Outsider, but Xavier is there to prove her wrong and let her know that she’s just a one of a kind.

A/N: Reader is similar to Maleficent, but without the horns. :) Has magic and those giant wings that I freaking adore

New Masterlist| Color Prompts| Prompt List| buy me a coffee!!

Y/N had been found on the outskirts of the forests in Europe before she was sent to Nevermore. Principal Weems was the one who originally found her anyways, so she thought it was her duty to take care of her and give her shelter, not just because she was an Outsider who was hated by half of humanity, but because she was one of the rarest creatures she had ever laid her eyes upon. 

That was when Y/N was 12, until she was brought to Nevermore she had spent her time as a child hiding in dense forest areas that no one could possibly get to, secret caves that held her own hideaways far from the Normies of the world. When she was brought to the school for Outcasts, she felt like a freak. Everyone at the school was pretty, popular, they all looked semi-normal, but not Y/N.

No, Y/N had to have fangs, longer and sharper than any vampire’s, naturally long nails that should have counted as talons, and ginormous black wings that shrouded her body. Y/N was, in her eyes, a human bird. 

From the moment she stepped foot onto campus all eyes were on her. At that young of an age she was scared, she scared herself and everyone else, but as she grew up she turned that frightened little girl into a power to be reckoned with. As everyone at school watched her grow into this confident young lady, they also became less scared of her. She had her times where she’d lose her temper and lash out, her magic uncontrollable as she’d stomp away and wreck everything in her path, but they knew she was just like them in that sense. Unable to control how they felt because there was not a single person in the world that understood what it was like to be an Outcast. 

By the time Y/N was 16 she had learned that it was just better for her to stay on campus at all times than to go into town and try to be normal with everyone else. The Normies may be able to hide their hatred for the Outcasts at least somewhat decently with the others, but with Y/N she could always see the look of disgust on their faces from a mile away. Every time she’d try to go into town with a few people from school she was always picked on, bullied, and it wasn’t even just the Normies who did it. She’d be invited out as a joke several times, it wasn’t until the third time she was made fun of and abandoned in town that she realized no one would ever truly except her for what she was. 

Outreach day was approaching and Y/N was dreading going, but Principal Weems was making Y/N volunteer this year by having her paint a mural of Nevermore and the town of Jericho together in harmony. The thought made Y/N gag. Why would she want to celebrate such a stupid day that obviously had no meaning to anyone in the long run?

If this wasn’t mandatory then Y/N wouldn’t be going and setting herself up for embarrassment. Rude comments ran wild in her head as she mocked what some people in town were going to say as she showed up to celebration. 

She packed up her painting materials in a duffel bag and then headed to the Quad, where all the other students would be getting their assignments. When she walked into the Quad everyone had already begun hoarding together in their cliques, so Y/N just stood next to the wall and waited till they were all dismissed. One thing about having these giant wings was that she couldn’t ride on the bus with everyone else, instead she was going to have to fly herself down the town. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the crowd of students, watching as they opened their assignment letters. Some students were happy but others seemed upset about what they got. One of those people was Xavier, someone that Y/N admired from a far but would never confront face-to-face. He must’ve been upset about what he got, the same going for his friend Ajax.

Feeling as though she had intruded on people’s private conversations, Y/N picked up her duffel bag and headed towards the front of the school. Little did she know that as soon as she walked away from the bustling students who were rushing towards the busses, Xavier had looked up from his assignment card and watched as the black winged beauty turned away and walked away. 

Xavier didn’t see Y/N again until everyone was in the town square to listen to Principal Weems and Mayor Walker go on about how important the day was and how they created a new statue in honor of the town embracing the Outcasts. 

It was complete bullshit and everyone knew it. Y/N must’ve gotten bored listening to their speech, because once they were all dismissed to go to their jobs for the day, the Faye was no where in sight. Xavier sighed as he trudged over to the Weathervane for his assignment. Working in the same café as Tyler, his tormenter, was not how he wanted to spend the day. 

When he walked into the café his eyes landed directly on the winged beauty. She stood in the corner awkwardly looking down at her phone as she waited for her order name to be called. Once she heard her name called out she went to grab her drink quickly and bolt from the small building. Y/N didn’t even look up as she brushed past Xavier and out into the open. 

The taller boy watched as she walked with her head low, going to the designated area for the portrait she was to draw. It was the same wall that Xavier had painted on last year, on this exact day. The thought of her putting all this effort into a portrait and then possibly having it destroyed just like he had done to him, angered him more than it should have. Taking in a deep breathe he walked over to Tyler, who also didn’t looked too amused that he was in this situation as well.  

An hour, maybe two at most had gone by before he saw what Y/N’s painting looked like. It was amazing, to say the least. The wall Y/N was using as a canvas was a mirror image of the town on that exact day. Both the town and it’s people joining together with the students of Nevermore in celebration of Outreach Day. The thing that pulled it all together? The heavily detailed painting of Joseph Crackstone in the center of the town. It was perfect for that day, and exactly what Principal Weems wanted out of the feather winged girl. 

As Y/N stood a few feet away from her painting, admiring it and criticizing it, she could hear the words that the towns folk were saying. 

“What a freak.” Some mumbled. 

“Who let the little birdy out of her cage?” Some would tease menacingly. 

“If there were a contest for being the biggest freak of all the freaks, she’d for sure win.” 

One would think that on a day like today, these small minded people would put their snide comments to the side and at least pretend to be decent, but no, in fact they were even worse. Usually she could handle those harsh words, but for some reason today was just the day for her to snap.

Bawling her fists she began to pack up her painting supplies, anger consuming her as she thought about all the horrible curses and spells she could use on these lesser people. Y/N was so overwhelmed with anger that she began to shake which caused her to drop some spay paint. 

Before she could reach over and grab some asshole had to kick it so hard that the can busted open, spraying Y/N and ruining the bottom half of her painting. With tears blurring her vision and anger blurring her judgment, she stood up quickly, her hands glowing a bright green as she threw the Normie against the wall opposite of her. She growled lowly, her eyes glowing the same green as she began to close off the person’s airway with her magic. If it weren’t Xavier to snap her out of her trance, Y/N for sure would have murdered the man. 

Y/N’s eyes stopped glowing, along with her hands, her gaze moving from the man she was choking to Xavier who was standing in front of her with a very concerned look. For a split second Y/N’s eyes looked at the man, her growl scary enough to send him hurling around the corner and down the sidewalk. 

Without a word she took a step away from Xavier and turned back to her supplies. She through the busted can into her bag, zipped it up, and then tried to walk away. As she was a few steps away from the tall blonde, he reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. Y/N stopped and turned to look at the boy, confusion grazing across her face. 

“What? You gonna make fun of me too?” Y/N’s words were harsh, but Xavier knew that she was still angry. 

Letting go of her wrist he lets out a soft sigh, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” He said looking at her and watching her expressions. 

Y/N looked taken back at his question, as if no one had ever asked her that before. “I’m fine,” Y/N huffed. She was clearly lying, but why on Earth would she open up to someone she barely knew, so easily? Xavier’s look on his face was basically saying, ‘really?’ He knew she was lying and was hoping she would just talk to him a little bit, even if this was their first time really talking. 

Letting out a huff of frustration, Y/N let her walls fall down as she looked away from the boy. “Fine, no, I’m not okay. I’m pissed.” She paused and waited for a response but only got a nod telling her to continue. “This is all just so stupid, it bullshit. No one cares about today, they just care about the money they get from this stupid day.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she looked up at Xavier. “No one actually cares, they never will. We will always be the freaks and outcasts to them, they will never see us as equals.” 

Xavier could practically see the steam rolling off her skin, seeing how angry she still was. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make her feel better, so instead he gently took her duffel bag from her and offered to take her to the Weathervane.  It took a moment for  Y/N to consider the offer, thinking that this was just going to be another joke, but once she realized that Xavier meant no harm she agreed and the two began the short walk to the coffee shop. 

It was a good thing that the café was slow that day, or else Y/N and Xavier probably wouldn’t have been able to talk as much as they wanted to. The other great thing about it being slow was the fact that wasn’t a lot of people around to gawk at Y/N and make rude remarks about her looks. The only other person in the building was Tyler, but he could care less what the Nevermore students were doing, especially Xavier. 

Xavier and Y/N sat at a booth close to the counter, both of them feeling the tension as they squeezed into their seats. Well, Y/N squeezed into her seat because of her wings, Xavier was fine. 

It was quiet at first, the two just looking around and avoiding each other’s gaze for the first few minutes before Xavier decided to speak up. 

“Your painting looks great, by the way.” He smiled softly, hoping that she’d realize he was here to talk to her and not belittle her. “The detail in it is amazing.”

Y/N was a bit taken back by the compliment. She wasn’t used to people saying nice things to her, let along talking to her at all. “Thanks, though I’d rather see that stupid statue burn than to paint it, thanks.” Anyone who was listening to their conversation would know that she was joking, she was being serious. 

Xavier chuckled a bit and nodded in agreement, “Trust me, I know how you feel.”

Y/N snorted at his response. How could someone like him? Someone who looks normal, understand how she felt? The only odd thing about him was his father, and the face that he could make his artwork move or come to life. Xavier looked confused at Y/N’s slight harshness and watched as tried to lean back a bit in the booth, crossing her arms as she looked at the wall.

“Hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but you most definitely don’t know how I feel.” Her words were harsh, and completely true. While Xavier could have anything he wanted and grew up only being know as the son of a famous Outcast, he would never really know what it’s like to feel like Y/N. To be tormented for how he looked. It’s never a problem that he has ever had to deal with.  

Silence filled the space between them once more, both of them unsure of what to say next. Xavier studied Y/N’s face, memorizing every curve, mark, and point there was. To him, someone she barely knew, he thought she was the most beautiful and unique person on this planet. Even though he didn’t really know her all that well, his heart wanted to know more so he could get closer to her and learn to understand her. 

Y/N’s eyes unfortunately wandered over to the window where she could see the townsfolk pointing and gawking at her. The anger that had slowly started to subside started to come back stronger than before, her eyes starting to glow that vivid green color. Xavier’s eyes followed hers and once he noticed what, well who, she was staring at, he immediately when to  calm her down. Without thinking or hesitation, his hands grabbed hers softly, like she was made of the finest porcelain and he didn’t want to break her. 

“Don’t worry about them,” he said softly, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the backs of her hands. The action startled her at first, but then she found it calming. Her eyes stopped glowing, her heart went back to normal and she no longer felt like ripping out those peoples throats.

“Why do you care so much?” Y/N asked with a tilted head, “You don’t know me, so why do you care so much?” It was a genuine question she wanted the answer to, but Xavier wasn’t sure if he could really tell her why he cared.’

The boy gulped, trying to find a way to word his thoughts in a way that didn’t sound creepy or stalker like. There was a long pause before he said anything, it was when she went to pull her hands away from him that he sputtered out the truth. “I’ve always liked you, thought you were the most mesmerizing being to ever lay my eyes upon. I’ve watched you, since the moment I started going to Nevermore, I- I just didn’t know how to approach you. I was nervous.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, thinking he was joking and was put up to this as a joke. “You’re only saying that to say it, you don’t mean it.” Her eyes averted downwards towards her lap, trying desperately to focus on anything but the feeling of her hands still holding his. “No one thinks that of me, I’m a monster.”

Xavier’s gentle squeeze on her hands was enough to pull her Y/E/C eyes back up to his blue eyes. “I don’t think that.” The warry look on Y/N’s face was enough to tell him that she really had never been told that in her life, “I promise, if I truly didn’t think that, then I wouldn’t have said it in the first place.”

The shaky sigh that Y/N let out worried him. Had he gone too far? Did she find him repulsive now? Was this all too creepy?  

“I don’t think you understand how much that means to me,” When their eyes met he finally saw the tears that brimmed her waterline. Carefully, he reached up and swiped away the stray tears that managed to slip down her flushed cheeks. The soft smile that Y/N let Xavier see was something he’d remember forever. He’s the only one who’s seen her cry, who’s seen her smile, who’s been so kind and genuine to her. 

This was the beginning of something new, for the both of them. It would be rocky in the beginning for sure, but both teens could tell that they’d let out the best of each other in the long run.

#imagine #preference #angst #fluff #reader insert #faye!reader #magic!reader #netflix's wednesday #Wednsday imagines #Xavier Thorpe #Xavier Thorpe x reader #Xavier Thorpe angst #Xavier Thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe imagine #Outcast!reader #percy hynes white #Percy Hynes White imagine #Percy Hynes White x reader #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #netflix orignal series

[kisilinramblings]

After the Wish - Adrien's side

Hi, everyone! Are you ready for some scene analysis? Like the title says, this post will focus on Adrien's scenes following the Wish.

Before I start though, I am very well aware the ending bring a lot of very passionnated and very opinated minds. This is why I am asking to please keep an open mind and keep things civil. I won't tolerate any bashing or rude comments. Both on this post and in my inbox. Keep in mind this analysis in my own interpretation of the shots and scenes based on my cinematographic knowledge as well as my viewing experience and memory of the 5 seasons of Miraculous.

I am sharing this analysis because I love the show and because analysing helps me better understand what I see.

Also, this is a leak free analysis. I only analyze and make conclusions based on what it is shown to us on-screen.

So, if you are ok with staying respectful and open to see the episode through my lens, you are more than welcome to continue reading.

Without further ado, let's go!

After the whole universe was engulfed by the light of Gabriel's Wish, the white screen fade to a close up of Adrien sleeping. Marinette's head then block the shot temporarily before Adrien awaken, smiling. We can guess she kissed him.

This shot personally reminds me of the fairy tales in which the knight kisses the princess to awake her from her curse. And it isn't coincidental if the very first image we see after Gabriel made the Wish is Adrien. There is meaning in that. In fact, I want to point out the shot choice itself because I find it unusual.

We are facing a tight close up facing directly Adrien while he is sleeping and then awakes. Normally, we are more used to a medium shot which allow to see the character is lying down and frame both characters. The camera is also normally placed on the side and not directly facing one particular character. Again in order to see both actors at the same time. Think of Disney Snow White or Sleeping Beauty for example.

And even in more modern ones.

You know which other character in the show who had their eyes closed, often shown in a frontal angle and who we were anticipating to wake up? Émilie.

Except this isn't Émilie who awakes, but Adrien.

Not only this tight close up gives a lot of importance and relevance to him, but Adrien is so in our face that it feels like nothing around him mattered, not even the kiss Adrien received. What matters is Adrien. Solely him. And Adrien is smiling.

Then the camera starts to expand little to little to unveil Adrien's "new world". In cinema, we are quite used to start a scene is with help of wide shot before cuting to closer shots. Here, it is the other way around. Which confers a sense of mystery to the scene.

The first thing Adrien sees is Marinette, the girl he is in love with, at his side, bathed by the summer sunlight. The light choice hints we got a time ellipse between this moment and the previous scene.

As Adrien rises up we see their friends having fun in what we guess is the Agreste Mansion Garden.

The artists are painting a mural inspired by Delacroix's famous painting Liberty Leading the People where the characters are remplaced by La Résistance members and led by Ms Bustier depicted as Liberty herself. She is leading the youth to freedom, to a better future.

The rest of the class and their allies are playing in the pool or chilling together.

This series of shots show us the Agreste Mansion garden flourishing with life. In the background, the flowers are all in full bloom, the plants cover most of the gray stones of the mansion, garnishing those with vibrant green tones. On-screen people laughing and having fun.

Hawkmoth (Party Crasher) : I don't feel any negative emotions. There's only... Joy? What is going on in my house?!

This series of shots shows how we are at the opposite at how life used to be for Adrien. His friends can come over and party with him. We see members of both his family and found family. Adrien isn't trapped inside his home-prison anymore. He isn't isolated anymore. He is surrounded by people who love and care about him. And Gabriel is absent from the picture.

Like Bug Noire said earlier during this episode, Adrien already had all of that before the Wish. Adrien went to school and made friends on his own. He wanted to have a birthday party at his home (Bubbler). He wanted to hang and have fun with his friends on multiple occasions. But Gabriel was always the biggest obstacle for Adrien to have those moments, those memories.

It is Gabriel who kept his son isolated. Because Gabriel was living in the past and was unable to move on with life while Adrien decided he wanted more in life than being stuck inside a cocoon. And at the end of Revolution, Adrien knew what he wanted :

Adrien : Father, please, I know what I want. Let me live my life here in Paris with Marinette and my friends. Gabriel : You must go through with this like an Agreste. That's what your mother would have wanted. Adrien : No, I'm sure that Mom would have just wanted me to be happy.

And, in the end, Adrien's wish is fulfilled.

One last sidenote before I continue concerns that one shot.

Despite not being in the center of the shot, Nathalie seems to be doing better than the last time we saw her. She has a least more colors and has gained her red streak of hair back. Her pose however seems... limited. Maybe her body is still weak from the illness afflicting her. Maybe it is due to budget constraint. Or maybe it is both. And remember what Bug Noire said to Gabriel at the end of their fight : she estimated Nathalie had only a few hours left. And we are weeks from now. Either Bug Noire was wrong in her prognostic or Nathalie survived.

Émilie : Adrien will be well surrounded. He'll have you Nathalie, and he'll have his father, if Gabriel agrees to give up on his madness... and on me. Adrien will have all the love he needs to be happy.

Anyway, the group pauses their activities to watch a new show called "Monde Nouveau" (litteraly "New World") and hosted by Alec.

Alec as we know, has changed to become an icon about being yourself and making your dream come true. And him being the host of that new show instead of a character like Nadja, means that we are looking at an happy and positive vision of things.

He interviews Caline Bustier, now both Mayor of Paris and mother of a girl named Harmonie. She shares her program for a better future to us, the audience.

As she talks about her eco-rules, we see sketches supporting her vision. At the bottom right, we recognize the Tsurugi company logo, but next to it there is a new one we haven't seen before.

Next, we see an unveiling of the statue of Gabriel Agreste, which confirms that Gabriel has died. His statue is made of recycled Alliances put out of commission after Monarch's last attack.

Gabriel's statue is his entire height. Gabriel was already a tall character when he was living and his statue is even taller than him. His chin is up, proud. It is almost like he is superior, looking up like that. The camera slight low angle also contributes to this impression I have. Also, he holds a pencil like the designer he is.

Tomoe : Beyond the visionary entrepreneur and the genius creator, it's the hero we celebrate today.

This is how the Parisians in-universe see him. They are unaware of Gabriel's secret identity. They are unaware of the truth. They only know of the image the professional him gave away and they believed he died in an attempt to stop Monarch.

I want to point out the fact Gabriel's statue is made of Alliances. The very tool he uses to try and defeat Ladybug and Chat Noir. He turned Adrien and Kagami's image into avatar for this product against their will to sell both the Alliances and an illusion. He deformed the truth with their avatars by presenting them as a couple (Revelation), or make deepfakes out of them (Representation and Conformation). Now, Gabriel's statue, his image, is made of the very same tool he used. And the Alliances, despite being put out of commission, still contribute to blur the line of what is truth and what is false in regards of his character to the masses.

With this statue made of Alliances, the parisians are honoring the "perfect" and "pure" image they have of Gabriel. I cannot help but think that this huge statue is bound to create great shadows. And even if the real Gabriel is gone, something of him remains and will continue to have an impact.

Tomoe then talks about continuing Gabriel's legacy. To us, the audience, those words have an ominous double meaning as Tomoe was Gabriel's ally until the end and helped him in many of his schemes. And she confirms she will continue that work.

Caline then gets to talk about her new school model which pleases very much everybody as they cheer all together. It will allows Marinette, Adrien and all their friends to remain together while allowing them to explore and grow in the field that please them respectfully.

Then we cut the the sun setting as the cheers are fading away. It is the end of the day and everyone has gone home.

Adrien is now alone in the garden where his mother's statue used to be. White butterflies are flying around. Marinette joins him as he is fidgeting with his parents' twin ring.

Marinette : You are not wearing it? Adrien : When Ladybug gave it to me, she told me how my father helped her defeat Monarch. At the risk of his life.

With this, we know that Ladybug granted Gabriel's dying wish.

Gabriel : Marinette. Make sure that Adrien never knows about the villain that I was, but instead, that he remembers the times I tried to be a good father.

Was it Marinette's place to accept that burden to cover the truth? To acquiesce to her archenemy's demand? Of course not, but that is how kind she is and how flawed she can be. For Adrien's happiness, Maribug is willing to do so. We, as the audience, know it can only last so long the secret is sealed. And no one among Gabriel, Marinette, Nathalie, Félix, Kagami nor Plagg is aware the secret was already breached outside the family circle.

But for the time being, everyone who knows will keep the fact that Gabriel was Monarch a secret.

But even without the truth, Adrien is conflicted about his feelings towards his father. We see that as Adrien answers Marinette's question, he leans a bit towards her, but there is no contact. His eyes are fixated on the ring. Adrien is distant and inside a bubble of doubt about himself. There is a weight, a legacy, he associates with that family ring that he is not sure if he can bear.

Adrien : I don't know if I'll ever manage to be like him.

It is only when Marinette puts her hands on his, covering the ring and the expectations that come with it, that Adrien finally look at her, brought back to here and now. Marinette reassures Adrien he doesn't need to be like his father. Adrien can just be himself, without having to live up to any expectations placed upon him.

Marinette then proceeds in slips the ring on his finger. Adrien is free and in control of who he wants to be, of what he wants to do, no matter his background. The past doesn't matter anymore. He can just focus on what is ahead of him.

In this short shot reverse shot, we see a bit of Marinette's head in Adrien's shot, however in Marinette's reverse shot, she is framed alone.

This bit has of a shift in the discussion. Marinette made contact with Adrien, entering his "bubble". She has established a connection in their discussion. Her words are reaching him and moving him.

Adrien : You always find the right words, Marinette. When I'm with you, I feel so... free!

And now they are in synch. Both say "I love you" to the other at the same time, which make them laugh. And Adrien wraps Marinette's hand as if he never wants to let her go. As if he will protect and cherish her with all his might. She makes him that happy.

As the white butterflies illustrate, there is no negative emotions around. Only pure hapiness. Only love. And they are kissing where Émilie's statue used to be.

Émilie's message in Collusion : Adrien shouldn't have to suffer the consequences of our mistakes. Our little prince has the right to create his own vision of happiness.

In other words, Monarch did not win. Émilie won. Gabriel has used the Wish, yes, but his wish was different than the one he wanted to make for 5 seasons. And it is not unusual for Gabriel to do everything in his power to grant any of Émilie's wishes. And her final wishes were : for Gabriel to let go of his madness, to not bring her back, and for Adrien to be happy.

And the ghost of Émilie can now rest in peace and stop haunting these walls. And Adrien can fully love Marinette the way he wants without any obstacle in the way anymore.

And all points to the Power of Love has ultimately won. Even the most important characters in those scene all have a link related to love.

Adrien was created by love. Ms Bustier promotes love as one of her teachings and she was akumatized twice out of that very emotion (spread love, protect the children's future). And she got elected as Mayor. Alec who interviews Ms Bustier is also another character who is now full of love and care. And Marinette fought for love. Even the Agreste Mansion Garden is associated to love. Gabriel and Émilie got a scene there during Evolution. Marinette and Adrien got a romantic date there as well. Heck, this is even where Nathalie shares she was ready to help Gabriel out of love.

Love may falter or even fades away for a time, but right now, in Adrien's scenes, love is fully blooming.

Back to the scene, as Marinette and Adrien kiss, the camera zoom out at the shot crossfades, giving the impression their kiss is everlasting. And ultimately fades to white...

... before the white suddenly cut to Nadja Chamack's news report where she interviews Professor Du Bocquale about the international event that had happened.

Using both the news reporter and the scientific, we transitioned to Marinette's Guardian of the Miraculous pov. The sentimentality and dream life is over, it is time to get back to the facts and reality. The Happy Ever After is not quite accomplish yet.

And that will be developped in second eventual part because I am reaching the limit of images allowed in one single Tumblr post ^^;

Anyway, thank you for reading this far and stay tuned!

#miraculous ladybug #ml season 5 #ml s5 spoilers #ml spoilers #ml s5 finale #ml s5 finale spoilers #ml the last day #ml re-creation #ml s5ep26 #ml analysis

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey (Ch7)

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: Following Homelander and Layla's disastrous morning after, she bumps into another hero at Vought Tower. Upon seeing the state of her, Starlight offers solace and the opportunity for Layla to put herself back together before she faces the world. Shortly thereafter, Homelander erupts on live television, changing public perception of him forever.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, panic attacks, references to sexual assault, excessive drinking. this is where all major canon deviations begin! 🖤

Halfway down the hall, Layla hears something crash and shatter in the penthouse behind her. She nearly loses her footing, but by some kind of miracle, she maintains her composure through the walk to the elevator.

She swallows back the taste of her own blood, wipes the tears from her cheeks, and viscerally feels the looks she garners from the handful of bewildered Vought employees she passes. The building isn’t nearly as empty as she would have hoped it would be on a Saturday. Such as it is when the heroes all live in-house.

She presses the button and waits, bitterly musing all the while how utterly ridiculous it is to have two elevators for a building with one hundred floors.

It’s been years since Layla has faced a walk of shame like this. She’s been so careful to curate her experiences–her entire life–in order to avoid this dreadful humiliation. She knows the picture she paints: a skewed and wrinkled dress, her jacket draped haphazardly on her shoulders, bruises scattered on her body, mascara tracks down her cheeks. It’s an ugly, empty feeling.

However, it’s easier to focus on that ugliness than it is to process everything that just happened. She isn’t ready to replay the events in her mind just yet, to backtrack the descent from a blissful morning-after to the bloody mess she stumbled out of.

She touches her tongue to the stinging slice on the inside of her mouth, closing her eyes.

You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.

Looking up, she sees a mural above the elevator depicting the heroes of the Seven. Never in her life has she wished more for Transluscent’s power of invisibility. She stares at the painting of Homelander. It doesn’t really look like him, the jaw too wide and too square. His hair is too blonde, lacking his darker undercut. It’s like some kind of caricature of him.

Then again, she’s hardly the expert on the man. This morning taught her as much.

Unfortunately, she isn’t invisible. That much is clear when she physically feels someone stop near her, senses the tentativeness in the air as she hears them take a breath before addressing her.

“Uhm, I’m so sorry, excuse me,” comes a gentle, feminine voice. Layla screws her eyes shut, and forces herself to remember how to be a person. “I’m not trying to be rude, but you… Is there anything I can do for you?”

Opening her eyes, Layla prepares her best placating smile, but she comes short of it when she actually looks and sees who’s talking to her.

Starlight is beautiful. Flaxen locks tumble over her shoulders in loose curls, and she stares with such warm, big brown eyes–so overwhelmingly full of empathy and concern–that Layla is temporarily stunned. She’s thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in such a state by someone so lovely, so widely adored, so much younger, that she flushes.

“You’re so sweet, no, I’m okay,” she says, self-consciously adjusting her coat. She lowers her voice when she says, “It’s worse than it looks, I’m…” She hesitates, trailing off. Starlight has taken a small step closer since she started talking.

She looks wholly unconvinced, and if Layla were in her position, she knows she would feel the same. She pushes out a strained smile, and gives a small shrug, fighting desperately against another bout of tears the longer she’s stared at by those mournful, painfully understanding eyes. The connection is so immediate. It’s raw and human in a way Layla realizes she desperately needs.

“Listen, I’m not trying to overstep, it’s just that I’ve been where you are,” she says gently. Layla recalls the Deep, and Starlight’s very public campaign against him. It’s no wonder she’s responding so urgently. “And if you want, you can come to my apartment,” she offers, standing right next to her now, her voice hushed. “You can get cleaned up, get changed. I have lots of clothes. You’re totally safe, okay? I promise. I’ll be there the whole time.”

Layla wants to tell her that it’s a misunderstanding, but the words don’t come to her. She glances at the illuminated dot on the elevator. Still over forty floors down. The thought of withstanding the ride all the way back down, pretending not to notice the way people are staring at her, makes her nauseous. Fearing that if she opens her mouth, she’ll lose her poise completely, she only nods.

“Okay! Okay, come with me,” Starlight says, putting a hand on Layla’s elbow to help guide her. Starlight walks with impressive command, seeming tall despite her relatively diminutive stature. As they walk together, it isn’t Layla that catches their attention. It’s the shining star at her side. She’s grateful for the cover of her glow, feeling less and less like she wants to disappear into herself.

They don’t speak on the way to Starlight’s suite, but her hand does remain on Layla’s arm. She swaps sides with her when they pass a group of employees, offering them a friendly greeting, throwing in a wave. She makes for a radiant distraction, every move purposeful.

It’s the kindest thing Layla can ever remember a near perfect stranger doing for her.

They reach a distinguished door that perfectly suits Starlight’s ensemble, embellished with white paint and accents of gold. She inputs a passcode that she doesn’t seem concerned with obscuring from Layla–0163–and the door automatically swings open. She leads the way inside, and the door closes behind them.

Only then does Starlight leave her side, walking ahead of her. “Let’s grab you some things really quick, you can just pick whatever, I’ve got a ton of promotional stuff if you don’t mind looking like a walking advertisement for Vought, but really, take whatever you want,” she says, gesturing for her to follow.

Starlight’s apartment is stark and modernistic, full of sharp angles and sleek lines. The archway to her living room is made of thick speckled marble, and beyond that, an accent wall of pure gold. It’s intensely opulent, and while it may suit her hero colorscheme, it’s considerably colder than Starlight herself seems to be. It’s not unlike Homelander’s penthouse in that regard: it speaks only of the image Vought wishes to present.

Following along, Layla says, “Thank you, Starlight. I’m Layla, by the way.” That causes Starlight to stop dead in her tracks, turning around. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, right, hi. You don’t have to–you can just call me Annie,” she insists, laughing at herself. “Wow, I am so tunnel visioned sometimes.”

“Annie,” Layla repeats with a smile. The name suits her far more than this apartment does. “Thank you.”

Annie returns a warm smile before resuming the task at hand. Her room is just as luxurious and sleek as the rest of her apartment, but unlike the other rooms, it’s clear she’s made this space more her own. There’s a pinboard hanging above her dresser with over a dozen photos pinned to it. Below that, a framed photo of Annie in her younger years, donning her classic Starlight attire, standing next to a woman Layla assumes might be her mother.

Etched into the frame is:  “He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.” Psalms‬ ‭147:4

“Okay, so, for real, help yourself to anything,” Annie says, gesturing broadly to the closet. “It’s kind of funny that I even have all of this when they only ever want me in the Starlight get-up.”

Upon closer inspection, sure enough, Annie’s closet is largely of a variety of high-end brands, specifically in crossover with Vought’s brand. Ever prone to opulence herself, Layla can’t help but touch the sleeve of a cardigan that catches her eye. It’s white with a faintly shimmering metallic trim, and slightly bulbous gold buttons. It looks designed very specifically for Starlight, and by a renown French designer no less.

“Go for it,” Annie encourages.

“This is a Balmain,” Layla says, looking at her in earnest astonishment. “This is easily worth thousands of dollars.”

Annie turns a slight shade of pink, looking just as surprised. “Oh, uh… Well, it was–it was a gift, you know. Promotional stuff. A crossover thing, I think, I just… It’s not really me. It’s nice, though! And if you like it, you should take it. I don’t think I’ve ever paid more than fifty dollars for a sweater. I’d just get it dirty,” she says, the words tumbling from her lips like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs. “You seem like you’d make better use of it than me.”

“Have you worn it before?” Layla asks, easing the garment from the velvet hanger that it rests on. Annie shakes her head. “Have you even tried it on?” Another shake of her blonde tresses. Exhaling an amused little breath, she puts the cardigan into her hands. “You should. It was made for you.”

“It was made for Starlight,” she corrects, but there isn’t any trace of disdain in her voice. Instead, Layla recognizes a sense of melancholy in the way Annie stares at the garment.

Starlight–Annie–provides a stark and mystifying contrast to Homelander. There is an aura of disconnect between who she is, who she wants to be, and who the world has made of her. Layla had expected her to be something of a princess: sweet, but aware of her royalty. Not embarrassed by it.

Homelander desperately wants to be the king of his kingdom, but the crown has fallen around his throat, and he chokes violently against it.

“I’m sorry, that sounds ungrateful now that I’ve said it. I just mean that it was made for me to wear, but it wasn’t made for me. It’s–I don’t know, it’s strange being me, but… Not me,” she says, holding the cardigan between her hands, absently moving her thumbs along the smooth, exquisitely soft fabric.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Layla assures her, turning back to the closet. There are more Balmain pieces, as well as a handful of Cucinelli, and even a Burberry gown. There must be hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging in this closet. 

“You have a strong sense of yourself. That’s good. This world will eat you alive if you don’t,” she says, combing her fingers through the rows of clothing. Her hand stops on a simple white blouse–still costly, she knows from the feel of it that it’s made of viscose–and plucks it from the rack. She finds a long patterned skirt to match it. “For what it’s worth, I was happy to see this look of yours come back,” she says, gesturing to Starlight’s current ensemble, her signature cape and dress returned to her. The body suit with a plunging neckline and thigh high heels had looked ripped straight out of a playboy magazine, not a superhero lineup. “It suits you,” she continues, finally looking back at Annie, who’s smiling up at her with those big warm, shimmering brown eyes of hers. 

Annie nods, idly hugging the cardigan to her middle. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

Layla smiles, folding the clothes she’s selected over her forearm. “That said… it’s okay to enjoy your spoils a little bit,” she says, nodding her head towards the closet. “You’re not any lesser for indulgence. I know, I know–strong women don’t care about pretty clothes, the ones who do are vapid airheads, hell on earth because Eve ate the apple, yada yada. But I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. She whispers, “Sometimes an apple is just an apple, and apples… are delicious.”

They both laugh, the undercurrent of unease that had been lingering since the moment they met finally abating.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're, like, dangerously easy to talk to?” Annie asks, hanging the cardigan back up in the closet. Layla notes that this time, she moves it amidst the clothes she regularly wears.

“Yes, people love to tell me things,” she muses, following when Annie beckons her towards yet another room. She’s made an entire career off of making people feel comfortable enough with her to divulge some of the darkest, most secret aspects of themselves. A little girl talk is a welcome reprieve.

 The bathroom is as lavish and impersonal as the rest of her apartment, feeling more like a hotel than a personal residence. There are tiny wrapped soaps and Vought branded bottles on every shelf. There are neatly folded stacks of pristine white towels, all of which are embroidered with a golden S. The level of detail to the place is almost unnerving, especially given how very unlike Annie it all is.

Much like with Homelander’s penthouse, it’s like walking through a meticulously crafted custom enclosure, not a home.

“Again, help yourself to whatever, I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” Annie says from the doorway, offering a little wave.

Layla thanks her, and once the door shuts, she lets out a long, deep breath, her eyes falling shut. Her whole body feels heavy and aching, more exhausted than she can put into words. All she wants to do is lie down and never stand back up, but beneath her dress her skin feels tacky, and her muscles are yearning for the soothing caress of hot water.

She scrounges up the will power to undress and climb into the shower, taking her time to wash away the events of the last 12 hours from her body. The same can’t be said of her mind. Her fingers linger over bruises that have only grown darker, pressing lightly against her tender flesh. Homelander may as well have written his name, these marks ensuring she won’t forget their night any time soon.

It was so very nearly perfect.

She plays it over in her mind again and again, her body on autopilot through washing her hair. His son, the mother of his son, his relationship to them, his relationship to Layla herself, to his own name, it was all… “Complicated” was what he’d called things with his child. That seems to perfectly sum up just about everything in his life. She had tried to spare them the mess of an argument, falling back on familiar coping mechanisms–disconnecting and evacuating to find perspective–but the situation had escalated so rapidly from that point, she can barely track it even in hindsight. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he had begged, looking smaller than she'd ever seen him. ”It’s my birthday.”

She doesn’t know how true that is. She’s always assumed the yearly birthday bash Vought celebrates on July 4th was a corporate thing in line with his personification of America, not his actual birthdate. She doesn’t know if this is a further entanglement of John and Homelander, or if there’s something deeper–something more sinister–at play.

Perhaps Starlight can shed some illumination on the matter.

Finishing the shower leaves Layla refreshed, albeit still weary. She draws her hair into a sleek updo and applies her favorite red lipstick as both comfort and armor. She won’t let any more of the world see her in shambles.

Stepping out into the living room, she finds Annie waiting patiently at the circular dining table, pouring over what looks like a script, though she closes the binder when she sees Layla approaching. “Hey!” Annie greets brightly, looking equal parts relieved and delighted. “Hey, wow. You look amazing,” she says, standing.

“I have you to thank for that,” Layla shoots back, reaching to take her hand, which Annie readily offers. “Thank you, Annie. Really. This meant more to me than you’ll ever know,” she says, squeezing her hand between both of hers.

Annie flusters, making a handful of noncommittal, dismissive noises. “No, no, it was the least I could do–and I mean that, okay? Like, the least. I could do more. I’m technically co-captain of the Seven now, and if you… You know, you wanted to–” Layla squeezes her hand again, smiling. “I understand. Thank you, Annie.”

She smiles back, but it doesn’t entirely reach her eyes. Layla can tell that she desperately wants to do more. She’s a hero, after all: she’s looking for a villain to defeat. Unfortunately, there isn’t one in this story. There is no clear cut antagonist for Starlight to conquer.

There are just two people whose jagged edges failed to line up, cutting them both in the process.

“Okay. Okay!” She says, but it’s clear that she’s having trouble dropping it by the way she keeps hold of Layla’s hand. “Okay, but if you change your mind, you can call me. I’m kind of a big deal,” she says playfully, leaning in as if it were a secret. “And I can pretty much guarantee you I can kick their ass. It’s not like it’s Homelander.”

Layla’s expression falters, her smile falling from her lips. Annie recognizes it before she can recover, and the dawning look of horror that comes across her face is one that Layla will never forget.

“Oh my god,” Annie whispers. “It was Homelander? Homelander?”

God damn it.

“Please don’t say it like that,” Layla pleads, expression imploring. “It’s not what you think, it was consensual, it just… It ended poorly, and we fought,” she continues to explain, but Annie only looks more and more bewildered as she goes on. “Please don’t tell anyone. My–our relationship is complicated, and it’s better that no one else knows.”

“Relationship,” she echoes incredulously. “Your… relationship with Homelander,” she says, clearly processing the words as she says them. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, and you’re very sweet to want to help me, and you have, but there’s no villain for you to unmask here,” she says, pulling her hands away.

Annie barks a sharp laugh at that, but catches herself quickly. “Sorry, sorry, that, uhm… Okay. I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Please,” Layla says again, leveling her with an even stare. “I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. It’s not something I can afford to be embroiled in,” she says, hoping that Annie’s desire to protect her will extend into this plea for secrecy. 

Reluctantly, Annie nods. “I get it, I swear, but are you sure you’re safe? I don’t think you understand who he really is,” she says, her shock and incredulousness fading into a very urgent concern that makes something in Layla’s stomach twist up. “He’s not safe, Layla. Like, I mean really, really not safe. He’s freaking unhinged,” she whispers, as if he could be listening right this moment.

It occurs to Layla that he actually could be.

That twist in her gut sharpens, and her brows furrow. Instead of concern, however, she recognizes it as a sharp jut of defensiveness. Her lips part, but she takes a pause. “Is today his birthday?”

Annie’s expression smooths out in a wave of surprise. “What?”

“His birthday,” Layla repeats a touch impatiently. “Is today really his birthday?”

“Oh, uhm,” she frowns, clearly caught off guard by the abrupt switch in gears. “I don’t know. He certainly seems to think so.”

Huh. Does he truly not have anyone?

“I should go,” Layla says, reaching for her jacket where it hangs off of the back of one of the dining chairs.

“Wait, I’m sorry! I’m reacting badly, I know that, I’m just–I’m worried,” she says, an edge of panic audible in her tone.

“I know, I know, it’s okay. I’m not offended. I just have a lot to think about,” she says in turn, offering a slightly strained smile. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do, but I need time.”

She finds herself needing a lot of that lately.

Annie looks wounded and young at this, making her difficult to walk away from. After a beat, Layla moves closer and takes her into her arms, closing her eyes as she squeezes her tightly. “You’ve been a friend to me today, Annie. Thank you.”

The embrace is returned by strong arms that remind Layla this is no simple young woman. She has a similar gravity to her grip as Homelander, but her hold lacks his tangible desperation for touch. When they part, Annie doesn’t leave claw marks.

“I can still be your friend,” she says softly, pressing something into Layla’s hand. Opening her palm, Layla finds a folded posted, and unfurling that, a phone number. “The offer stands. If he… if… Just call me, okay?”

“Okay,” Layla relents, doubting she’ll get out of here if she doesn’t. She slips the paper securely into her purse. “I will. I promise.”

There’s a touch of relief in Annie’s expression at last. She manages a weak smile. “Thank you. Will you text me so I know you got home safe?” She asks, sounding every bit like a fretful mother hen.

“Sure, yes, of course,” she assures, mirroring Annie’s smile. The tension in the air is undeniable, an anxious thing that lives and breathes between them, but there is no fix for it. Layla does what she does best, and turns to flee from it, unprepared to face Annie’s ominous warning head on. The split behind her bottom lip stings when she touches her tongue to it.

All the while, Annie watches her go, her perfect brows pulled into a tight pinch. She has the ache in her gaze of someone who desperately wants to do more, but has been left at a loss for how to do it. Layla almost feels guilty for the distress in her eyes, but currently finds herself lacking the emotional bandwidth for it. She’s stretched so thin, she barely finds the strength to pull the door open.

That little piece of paper in her purse feels heavy, but not as heavy as Annie’s desperate words tumbling around in her head like bowling balls.

“He’s not safe… really, really not safe.”

Layla orders herself an Uber, and this time around garners significantly less attention walking the halls of Vought tower, glancing warily over her shoulder. She can’t shake the anxious–or in some small and twisted way, hopeful–feeling that she might see him looking back at her.

However, he remains a phantom possibility in her periphery. She slides into the car that pulls in to pick her up, and somehow manages to keep herself together on the drive back to her apartment.

It’s already 10am by the time she makes it inside, slipping out of her shoes and her jacket, dropping her purse on the floor, leaving them like a trail of breadcrumbs from her front door to her kitchen. Her head is throbbing, so she grabs a Tylenol from the shelf above her microwave and pours herself a modest glass of a rich dark merlot to wash it down. If she had any sense left in her she would serve herself a mimosa to at least pretend to herself she’s drinking responsibly this early in the morning, but the heavy tang of the red on her tongue makes her temples tingle and soothes the fray of her nerves.

Exhaling a rough breath, she pulls a container of semi-questionable leftovers from her fridge and sits down with it at her computer. Her empty stomach leaves her buzzed from the single glass, but she’s determined to put her mind anywhere else. She eats cold pasta with a spoon, and opens several emails with the intention of answering them, though after about an hour all she has is several half-hearted drafts and a perpetually churning stomach.

Certain that she won’t manage anything more productive, she pours herself another glass of wine and plants herself on the couch in front of her TV. Turning it on, she winces at the immediate flash of Homelander’s face, staring proud and determinedly down at her in an advert for his newest film. Quickly, she flips to another channel, letting out a long suffering breath before taking another swig of wine. She puts on something she’s seen before, something easy, and sinks back into the couch, pulling her blanket off of the back of the sofa and into her lap.

She doesn’t watch so much as she dissociates to the sound of her television, nursing the too-full glass she’d poured, taking the occasional sip as her mind circles the drain of the events of the morning over and over and over.

Homelander crashed into her life like a meteor. In such a short burst of time, he blew a hole in her life the size of a continent, and as she sits by herself day drinking to old episodes for comfort, she realizes how achingly empty the thought of his permanent absence leaves her.

By the time she finishes her glass of wine, she’s slumped almost completely horizontally. She sets the glass on the floor and completes the descent, curling up under her blanket. She passes out in the clothes Annie gave her and falls into a deep, troubled sleep.

Hours later, Layla wakes in a fugue state. Her apartment is silent, the television paused on a prompt that wonders if she’s still watching. The way that almost feels like the warmth of concern for her wellbeing is slightly alarming. With a groan, she pushes herself upright and digs both thumbs into her temples, looking around. 5:42pm.

“Fuck,” she sighs, swinging her legs off the couch. She knocks the wine glass she’d left there flying, and gives another emphatic fuck as she gets up to fetch it. She walks it to the sink, but upon seeing the mostly empty bottle of merlot still open on the counter, she decides she may as well finish it off, and pours the rest into her already wine-stained glass. She carries it to her fridge, where she digs around until she manages to assemble a plate of shredded mozzarella, a pepperoni sausage and a jar of pickled mussels.

She brings her assortment back to the couch and settles right back down in front of the television, taking a  sip of her wine before she finds something slightly more stimulating to watch while she piles cheese on the end of the pepperoni with each bite.

The process of eating feels entirely mechanical. She’s only half paying attention to anything, but when she hears her phone alarm suddenly going off, she startles. Untangling herself from the blanket, she goes to where she dropped her purse near the front door, and fishes her phone out of it. Her stomach drops. BIRTHDAY BASH her screen reads. She’d promised him that she’d be watching from home. She forgot that she’d set an alarm.

Layla chews her tongue indecisively on the walk back to the couch, settling down with an uneasy sigh. It’s starting now. She taps her nails incessantly on the back of her phone, stomach twisting. The wine glass is empty and there’s a slight spin to her vision. Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, she picks up her remote and flips the channel. She’s met with the middle of a performance, a hero she doesn’t recognize singing some kind of boy band pop ballad.

Her stomach flips wildly. There are golden statues of Homelander on either side of the stage, and she finds she can focus on little else. It’s not hard to understand why he thinks himself a god when he is surrounded by golden effigies of himself and feverish, screaming worshippers. The world has created an impossible standard for all that he is. She absently touches her bruised lip, pressing on it until it stings.

The performance ends, and she recognizes the next hero–A-Train–who emerges on stage. He lends credit to Supersonic for his performance, answering her earlier quandary. She’s taken heroes for granted most of her life, considering herself removed from their fame and services. A part of her had even resented them for a long time. If the world was so full of heroism, why hadn’t any of them saved her parents?

Christ, the wine was really getting to her.

She snaps back to attention when A-Train announces the man of the hour, a severe looking portrait of Homelander flashing on the screen behind him. Her mouth feels dry, and she suddenly wishes she had another tall glass of wine in her hand, but she finds she can’t unglue herself from her seat. She sucks in a shallow breath, paying careful attention to his body language as he steps out onto stage.

Despite the celebration centering on Homelander, the camera favors Starlight as the two make their entrances. It’s surreal to remember that just this morning, she had shared space with each of them respectively. That she was wearing bruises from his hands and clothes from her closet. That feels like another lifetime entirely.

Homelander hasn’t stopped nodding since he stepped on stage. His smiles are tense and fleeting, flickering on and off like a sputtering flame fighting the winds around him. Starlight speaks, conducting herself well, but the look on her face when she’d realized who Layla had been with haunts her, coloring her perspective now. Annie looks like an entirely different person on that stage, voice tight and guarded. She’s not sure how much of that is an echo of He’s not safe. Really, really not safe, though.

Regardless, the announcement is going well right up until–

“Hey, Homelander! Your nazi died!”

Layla’s jaw drops. Anxiety hits like a chunk of ice falling into her gut. The camera remains painfully still, focused on Homelander’s frozen expression. His smile is too wide, full of teeth, and his eyes hollow. The silence left in the wake of that man is chilling.

Starlight intervenes, breaking the tension with an attempt at mediation. “Homelander, he’s just–he’s a human!”

“No,” Layla blurts aloud, standing from the couch. She pushes her hands into her hair. “Oh, Annie, no, no, stop.”

“He’s just like the rest of us. And we all make mistakes, right?”

It’s all wrong. She can see it in Homelander’s face, in the rapid way he’s blinking, in every twitch and spasm of his jaw. He looks like he’s about to explode.

To her mortification, he does.

“I’m not ‘just like the rest of you.’ I’m stronger, I’m smarter… I’m better. I am better!”

There’s so much fury and righteous vindication in him, but so too is there pain. His eyes are glassy, and she feels as if she can hear the wardrum pound of his heart even from here, see the vein throbbing in his neck. He looks like a caged animal lashing at the bars, roaring, demanding that the spectators see him for what he really is. See how tired he is of pacing for them, pretending he isn’t a wild creature that could rip them apart if he simply chose to.

Layla’s sick to her stomach. It feels like watching him rip himself apart in real time.

“You people should be thanking Christ that I am who and what I am because you need me!” He looks directly into the camera, and Layla feels it to her core when he says again, “You need me!”

The broadcast cuts abruptly into a glaringly loud ad, and Layla collapses back down onto her couch, breathing as if she’d just delivered the impassioned monologue. 

“Oh god…” she exhales, covering her face. She isn’t egotistical enough to think herself the sole cause of such a catastrophic meltdown–it’s clearly been a long time coming–but witnessing it, she can’t help but feel like she may have been one of several straws that broke his back. The desperation in his glassy eyes from this morning haunts her. His image is everything to him.

What happens to a man like that if he loses it? What happens to the world?

Her mind spirals on a series of progressively more dire theoretical scenarios, and whether or not she could have avoided all of this had she just stayed with him. Talked him down. Her lip doesn’t sting anymore, but the repercussions of this will echo a great deal further.

She winds up pacing for nearly an hour, unable to settle her mind. She tries calling Chris, but after two failed attempts, she remembers their conversation about his honeymoon in Italy with Jason, and she curses under her breath. The other bottles in her bar cabinet are looking progressively more tempting when a distinct thump outside catches her attention. It almost sounds like something landed on her balcony. She thinks it must have fallen from an above neighbor, or maybe a bird, until she gets close enough to realize there’s a person out there.

“Oh my god, Homelander,” she rasps, frozen still in her place. He perfectly silhouettes her own reflection, staring at her through the glass, his expression gnarled in terrible anguish. It’s hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he looks as though he’s been crying.

After a beat of hesitation, she walks to the balcony door and twists it open just enough to stand in it, staring at him at a loss. “Can I come in?” He asks, voice reedy and thin. Pleading. It’s a shocking contrast to the anger she witnessed on the broadcast, but hardly surprising. She could see this torment lurking beneath it even then. It breaks her heart nonetheless.

She can already feel her own eyes beginning to prickle hotly in sympathy tears. “I don’t think that’s a good–” “Please,” he interjects, teeth locked in a tight grimace. “Please, Layla, I don’t… I don’t have anyone. Do you understand? I-I fucked up tonight, I fucked up bad, and I have nothing. If any of it was real, if you care just-just one fucking bit about me, then please. Please let me in,” he begs, bringing up his gloved hand to brace above her head on the doorframe, subtly rocking back and forth.

With every breath she takes, Layla feels the jagged edges of her aching heart pierce her lungs. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she takes a tentative step backwards, and then slowly opens her door to him, adrenaline pumping through her veins a mile a minute.

Of course she cares. She cares so much it makes her feel sick.

With a small nod, he steps inside, shaking out his hands. “Did you… Did you…?” He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to properly ask, but she knows what he’s trying to say.

“I saw,” she says gently, closing the balcony door.

“It’s over. It’s over, I’m fucking-I’m fucking finished,” he says with a wild gesture, running his hand through his already mussed hair.

She remains in place, keeping a subtle distance between them. “You’ve been under unfathomable stress. You were mocked on live television for something you’re still grieving, something that wasn’t your–” “It doesn’t fucking matter!” He snaps, both hands in the air. “No one cares about that, no one gives a fuck how I feel,” he hisses through his teeth, fresh tears welling in his eyes. He screws them shut, as if willing the tears to disappear. “I’m not their god, I’m not their hero, I’m-I’m nothing,” he says, starting to tug at the collar of his suit as if it’s choking him. He exhales a rough, mirthless laugh that sounds closer to a keen of pain.

He hooks the fingers of both hands in his collar, sucking in a strained breath, and Layla realizes with a start that he looks like he’s having a panic attack. She moves swiftly to him, gingerly taking hold of his wrists. “Shhhh, let go, let go,” she says kindly but firmly, knowing he responds best to a mix of the two. Thankfully, it works, his eyes meeting hers, his breaths a shallow frenzy. 

“I can’t breathe,” he tells her, his confusion obvious in his tone and the furrow of his brow. If this has happened to him before, it’s been a long time.

“You’re panicking. Let’s take this off you,” she says, unfastening his suit top. “Listen to me breathe, alright?” She takes a deep breath in, and then on the exhale, counts out, “One, two three…” Another inhale, then, “One two three…”

She’s seen this happen before. Sometimes her sessions get intense. They can unlock memories and triggers her clients didn’t even know they had. This is far from her first time talking someone down from a panic attack.

He still looks confused, but he lets her disrobe him to his undershirt, the padded suit sliding off of his shoulders. They fight with his gloves briefly, slipping those off first, and then the top falls to the ground with a particularly heavy thud. He keeps his focus on her, and after a few rounds, he’s breathing with her, lips very faintly following along to her repetitive countdowns. 

“That’s good, you’re doing so well,” she praises, cupping either side of his head. With her thumbs, she massages his temples. “Little longer now, breathe in, one two three four five…” She counts, holding a longer exhale, and then a deeper inhale. He follows her lead, leaning into her touch, and eventually his eyes fall shut, his breathing even.

Relieved, Layla tenderly pets down either side of his face, relaxing the muscles in his face, hoping to ease him back into himself. When he opens her eyes, they’re dreamy and tired. He looks more devastated than she ever could have imagined him. His eyes nearly close as he leans in towards her, but she turns her head away before he can kiss her. He lets out a strained little whimper, forehead coming to rest on her shoulder. He clutches desperately at the fabric of her shirt like he wants to pull her closer, agonizing for the reassurance of touch.

“What am I gonna do?” He asks morosely. She can hear the tightness in his throat like there’s a hand choking him.

“Sleep,” she tells him, taking his hand in hers.  “For right now, all you need to do is sleep.”

With that, she guides him to her bedroom. He’s perfectly malleable in this state, moving when and where she leads him without an ounce of resistance. She sits him on her bed and kneels down to unfasten his boots while he watches her, dazed. She never could have imagined their places swapped like this when she first had him before her, fastening the heels he’d bought her.

Tugging his boots off, she sets them aside. His belt comes next, much too clunky to sleep in. He stands back up for this part, helping her, but he pushes his pants off, too. She supposes the padding likely isn’t very comfortable to sleep in, either. She stops him when he moves to push off his undergarments as well, though.

“Leave those,” she says gently.

“I can’t,” he says tightly, paused with his thumbs hooked under his shirt. “I can’t sleep with… I can’t,” he says, struggling to articulate himself. She wonders if it’s a sensory issue. 

“Okay, alright. It’s okay,” she says, helping him to take off his shirt, too, followed by his underwear. Giving his hand a squeeze, she uses her opposite hand to pull back the covers, and gestures him into bed. He goes easily, but when she begins to pull the covers up over him, he stills her hand with his own.

“Aren’t you getting in, too?” He asks, brows furrowed over top of large, watery blue eyes.

She hesitates. “Homelander, I–” He flinches so hard that she stops. His gaze drops from hers, shame written clearly in the lines of his face.

“...John?” She attempts, but he shakes his head wordlessly.

He’s in shambles, and despite the little voice of reason demanding that she create distance, she aches too badly for him to leave him like this. Swallowing, she gives him a gentle pat. “Okay, darling. Move, move in. Roll over,” she says, which he does readily, sliding to the center of the bed. She slips in behind him, and after only a brief hesitation, slides her arm around his middle.

He greedily accepts her touch, laying his arm over hers and interlacing their fingers, letting out a shuddering breath that sounds like relief. He squeezes her hand, and she presses her forehead to the nape of his neck.

Their bodies slot together with such ease, it nearly feels like they were made to. Embracing him like this, she finds she better understands the story of Icarus and why he was so compelled to fly to the sun, even as it scorched him.

There is an inexplicable feeling that comes along with holding close something that burns so hot, that feels so much grander than yourself.

They lay like that for hours. Layla’s not sure how much of it he actually spends sleeping. She drifts in and out herself, rousing when his shoulders shake with silent sobs. She soothes him each time, hushing at his ear while she strokes his thumb with her own. He always settles. Eventually, she manages to drift into a deeper sleep, lulled into it by the heat of him in her arms, cradled preciously to her chest.

Unsurprisingly, he fits perfectly into the craterous void he left in her.

Chapter eight.

#homelander x oc #homelander #homelander fanfiction #my writing #eat your ego #AAAAAA my god i FOUGHT with this chapter #but it's here and it's almost 7k lmao #a thousand blessings on everyone who still cares about this fic and has stuck with me

[gingersnapwolves]

Final thoughts on Mysterious Lotus Casebook~

Things I loved:

The main characters! Fang Xiaobao for character of all time. Who’s doing it like him? That ponytail should win an award for best supporting actor. Li Lianhua is obviously incredible but I’m going to hold a grudge against him for making Xiaobao sad. Di Feisheng was unexpectedly hilarious. Man comes out of a ten year recovery period and his first words are ‘I need a rematch’.

The minor characters! Princess Xiaoling was amazing. Yang Yunchun constantly simping for Shi from Baichuan court was hilarious. Shoutout to Murong Yao for being super hot. Qiao Wanmian for queen of everything. 

The villains (mostly)! Shan Gudao and Xiao Zijin being parallels because nobody was comparing you to Li Xiangyi except you (but it’s still so understandable that they would be so envious even as it doesn’t excuse their actions)! Shan Gudao not actually being secret royalty! Local man needs to just get a grip (but won’t)!

The themes! Dealing with grief and loss! Finding closure! Learning to live after a tragedy! Great job everyone, hit the showers.

The hurt/comfort! Enough said.

The wonderful trope I will choose every time: you don’t have to go along with your biological family when they’re toxic as fuck! I kept waiting for Xiaobao to be like ‘but he’s my real father, I have to do what he wants!’ but every single time Xiaobao was just like ‘wow fuck that guy, I’ve got parents who raised me and who love me and that dude fuckin’ sucks’. 1000000/10, no notes.

Things I did not love as much:

Although I don’t think JLQ is supposed to be particularly relatable, her whole motivation was like. Lady. He’s just not into you. Get a grip. Got very annoying by the end.

Most mystery shows, I like to try to solve things as clues are revealed and that was just not possible in this show. It felt like every single case ended with LLH giving a five minute monologue on stuff that there was no possible way the audience could have known, but he personally had figured out. I could barely track it even while he explained it. I’m still not sure who murdered Jin Mantang. Don’t get me wrong, the cases were fun and interesting, but Agatha Christie, they weren’t. Especially egregious towards the end, what with Li ‘I’ve deduced the entire imperial line is illegitimate based on two seconds looking at this mural which the audience hasn’t even seen’ Lianhua.

The ending didn’t thrill me. Like, it’s sad but you see it coming so you can kind of make peace with it. I even get why LLH wouldn’t let FDB even try to save him, because he didn’t want FDB to feel like he failed. But in that case, why the ambiguity? Couldn’t he have gone to his master’s grave and let them find his body or something? Just feels very rude lol.

tl;dr solid show and a lot of fun, definitely enjoyed it but don’t feel it rewiring my brain lol

#just rambling #mysterious lotus casebook

[kotamagic]

Another loaded episode of Lore Olympus, so let's dive in...

Let's start with Aphrodite. Understandably, she's upset that Eros and Psyche are missing. Obviously, wannabe-king Apollo isn't going to broadcast that, but that doesn't mean folks aren't going to notice that three gods are now missing after Zeus went into a coma.

(Is that the Horrible Goose running amok in the background?)

Why the fuck do you want Eros' arrows, SPECIFICALLY the ones for true love? They don't work the way that you think that they do!

Look at what happened with the truth arrow. Anyone looking at Apollo when that thing hit saw the truth... the horrible, nasty truth about what he did. (I believe it was Daphne? That was what led to her getting "treed.")

If Apollo thinks a true love arrow is going to make Persephone fall in love with him (and thus, give him access to her fertility goddess powers) then he's in for a rude surprise. If anything, she'll lend her powers to Hades so that they can kick Apollo's ass together like a power couple!

Or, maybe he has something worse in mind? Let's hope not.

Shit is still going down in the Mortal Realm. Apollo doesn't waste a moment blaming Persephone for it on TV.

Hey fucknugget, unless I'm mistaken, sun gods/goddesses were banned from the Underworld LONG before Hades and Persephone were even a thing. And Persephone made the right decision escaping to the Underworld to get away from your r*pey ass. Choke on a long, splintery battering ram!

Even in the physical safety of the Underworld, Apollo still has the power to harm with his words. It's bad enough that Persephone is guilt-wracked by her rearranged powers causing havoc, but hearing Apollo's gaslighting on the TV is only making it worse

The title of this chapter is "Wheat", and we sure are seeing a lot of it here with Persephone. That mural on the wall seems to be watching her.

We're pretty certain that Persephone was originally supposed to take over for Demeter at some point. Well, that's not happening. The wheat imagery here seems to represent what was planned to happen. As it closes in more and more around her, there's the sense of Persephone being smothered by the old plans for her.

On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if, in some way, the mural is trying to point her in a particular direction. Wheat can be grown, harvested, and stored; this is what the mortals need to know and learn to survive the (now) long winters.

We've been watching Persephone progressively sweating more and more throughout this chapter. While she's talking to this nymph, her vision gets blurry until she passes out.

She's running a fever and is put on bed rest immediately. There could be so many things causing this that it's hard to nail it down to just one.

The situation with the Mortal Realm

Her wonky powers

Apollo gaslighting her on tv

Maybe it's Kronos

Whatever the case, she is not doing well at the moment.

While she's in bed, Demeter comes to see her. Persephone voices her worries to her mother, and Demeter seems to actively listen.

"I barely know anything about myself..."

The cliffhanger is Demeter saying "Wait..."

Will this turn into an honest heart-to-heart conversation? Will important secrets get revealed? Will Apollo get shot in the ass with a truth arrow on live TV? (GAWD, I hope so!)

Anyway, thanks for coming to my LO post!

#lore olympus #lo hades #lo persephone #lo apollo #lo eros #lo demeter #lo Aphrodite

[stealingyourbones]

Here's an idea have the justice league believe that Danny is an ancient ghost due to all the murals and sightings of him throughout history and him making references to historical events all due to time travel. You can also add the justice league not being entirely sure that he is really from the past or not because of the modern references he's made but have it so that due to the fact that Amity Park is cut off fr the rest of the world he doesn't know most of the current world events or pop culture. They are all unwilling to ask Danny about his age because last time someone asked a question about him they asked him how he does and learned the hard way that it was a rude question so now they all avoid asking questions pertaining to him Incase they make a similar mistake

man I've been loving all of these funky miscommunication asks recently!!!

Danny just casually talking and referencing going to ancient rome or greece like it's nothing bc of time travel but everyone else just thinks that he's super super old.

#just primordial danny #danny phantom #dp x dc #writing prompts #dc comics #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #bones replies #miscellaneoushunger

[blazehedgehog]

"Shadow was made based on Gerald studying the ancient echidna prophecy in Hidden Palace Zone." careful, you're getting fandom theories and headcanon mixed with the actual text of what you're talking about. there's never been a mention of Gerald working from Hidden Palace- all the ruins we see in SA2 are SA1 ruins. Even if Ian Flynn now retcons that in in some supplemental material, it'll still be a posthoc retcon.

Oh sorry I didn't see the sign over there

Not to be rude or anything, but I don't work for Sega or IDW or anyone official.

It's pretty clear Shadow is based on the look of Super Sonic. We never see Gerald investigate any ancient echidna stuff, but Maria does tell us some things about how the Artificial Chaos were created in the Shadow the Hedgehog flashback levels, confirming the obvious: that they were based on "the God of an ancient culture." (So, you know, Artificial Chaos were based on Chaos)

Now, what we see, both in Hidden Palace and Lost World, are murals depicting two things: a prophecy foretelling a fight between Eggman and Super Sonic, and Perfect Chaos. We never see any murals of lower forms of Chaos, but the Artificial Chaos are obviously based on something below Perfect Chaos.

When Chaos transforms for the first time, Eggman mentions "it's just as the stone tablets predicted." So there was possibly information on what lower forms of Chaos looked like. Where did he get them? Did he inherit them from Gerald?

Maybe he got them from The Lost World ruins. I mean, it's right outside of Final Egg, so maybe. Final Egg is also in the heart of a vast jungle, and from within Lost World itself, we can even see more ruins far in the distance. And if Eggman got them from Gerald's estate, who even knows where he got them from.

So there was detailed documentation about these things probably in multiple locations from both before and after the event that nearly wiped out Knuckles' ancestors and lead to the creation of Angel Island. After all, Lost World and Final Egg (plus the jungle surrounding it) aren't part of Angel Island -- only Icecap and Red Mountain are. (And a datamined list suggests Mushroom Hill was originally going to be represented in some form, too)

Through deduction, we can assume there's probably more than one Super Sonic mural. Maybe by different artists! Maybe even statues! Just like there are many different ancient hieroglyphs depicting Anubis in different shapes, styles, and forms.

It's splitting hairs. Live a little. It is an extremely educated guess that Shadow the Hedgehog is meant to be an interpretation of Super Sonic, wherever in ancient echidna culture that came from. The suggestion is pretty clear that Gerald was looking at that material around the same time both Biolizard and Shadow were created. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than "aliens from space made a blood pact."

#questions #Anonymous #sonic the hedgehog #sega #sonic team #sonic adventure 2 #professor gerald