#I LIKE MY LETTUCE AND SHIT IN A SALAD NOT ON BREAD THANKS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pickalilywrites · 3 years

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hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :)

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My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU.

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words.

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on.

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to.

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides.

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever.

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad.

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away.

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time.

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school.

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day.

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past.

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone.

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.”

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.”

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly.

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.”

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?”

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.”

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers.

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago.

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.”

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.”

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?”

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.”

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky.

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head.

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?”

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?”

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,”

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around.

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.”

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away.

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable.

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It’s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch.

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong.

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents.

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway.

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him.

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes.

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?”

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago.

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away.

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners.

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down.

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?”

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend.

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful.

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?”

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time.

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t.

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves.

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy.

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for.

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way.

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?”

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her.

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs.

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.”

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?”

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!”

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s — and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks.

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend — an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?”

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.”

“Oh, congrats!”

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.”

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?”

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession — and opens the car doors with a click.

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?”

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight.

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.”

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car.

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school.

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions.

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet.

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face.

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first.

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment.

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.”

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.”

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son.

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.”

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision.

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.”

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret.

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?”

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them.

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal.

“Oh, that must be nice! Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one.

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay.

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions.

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.”

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?”

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.”

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore.

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?”

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!”

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.”

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips.

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her.

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest.

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way.

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though.

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.”

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?”

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?”

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.”

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching.

“I’m well. How are you?”

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it.

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement.

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly.

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything.

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?”

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust.

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.”

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.”

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?”

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans.

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time.

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.”

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins.

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?”

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?”

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.”

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before.

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him.

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …”

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -”

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?”

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat.

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.”

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house.

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway.

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly.

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down.

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.”

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.”

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks.

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.”

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home.

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying.

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.”

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her.

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?”

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.”

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.”

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone.

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave.

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years.

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way.

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.”

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?”

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?”

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?”

“You do?”

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.”

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.”

“Oh, you don’t have to -”

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests.

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?”

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.”

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.”

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!”

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone.

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow.

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir.

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.”

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name.

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.”

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.”

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly.

#eretra #petra ral #eren jaeger #zeke jaeger #big au #ilyitros #i'll love you in the rain or shine series #modern au #snk #damn i love food so much!!!

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simplyyeol · 4 years

Text

back then (when we used to)

—pairing; byun baekhyun x reader

—genre; fluff, college! au, childhood friends to nobodies to lovers! au lmao

—tws; swearing

—word count; 16.439 (whew)

—synopsis; when push comes to shove, and baekhyun suddenly appears in your life again taking your heart as he walked along the road beside you, you wonder if you really could have a happily ever after, with him, just like back then, when you used to.

—author’s note; hi guys! it’s me, cough, aj. you probably all forgot who i am right? well anyways! i made this after a long time of not writing since im on break. thank you all so much for the love you’ve given me so far. it means the world to me. i hope you love this one as much as my last work. thank you so much for supporting me !!11!11 (ugly cries)

“I mean, Baekhyun is cute and all, but I don’t know why you like like him that much if you haven’t even had a proper conversation with him,” Sehun explains as he takes a sip of his orange juice. “It seems kind of... farfetched, you know?” You roll your eyes as you take a bite of your sandwich. “Don’t be a drama queen.”

“I mean! Why don’t you like someone like...” he taps his chin in thought, fork stabbing through the lettuce leaves before he looks back to you, signature smirk in place. “Jongdae.”

You choke on the food.

“He’s pretty cute. And he’s really nice too. He’s even on the baseball team with Baekhyun and you guys seem to get along well. It’s a win-win situation.”

You shrug. “He’s cool, but he’s just a friend. And since when do you care about my love life?”

“Nonexistent love life,” he snarkily corrects and you stick your tongue at him.

“And you’re some best friend. Totally supporting me in my silent love affair.”

“I’m being realistic,” he defends, shrugging.

“And a horrible best friend,” you retort, grimly.

“Maybe you’re just going through this phase—” he starts.

“Okay, look,” you interject, dropping your sandwich on the table. “I have a crush on one of the star players of our college’s team. That just makes me one of the many of the girls fantasizing to be her. That’s all it is. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna throw myself at him and forget who I actually am or some stupid shit like that.” You narrow your eyes at him and pick up your sandwich. “Period.” And then you take a bite.

Sehun drops his fork in his bowl, the clatter ringing even through all the chatter in the cafe. “Wow, Y/N.”

“What?” you bark, bread in mouth, so it sounds more like ‘mwa.’ Even if Sehun is monotone in basically everything that comes out of his stupid mouth, you can hear the smirk.

He shakes his head. “Nevermind. But... since we’re already on this road. You know Park Chanyeol.”

You nod and swallow. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, he gave me two tickets to his game since Mina and I were gonna go, but you know...” he trailed off and you look at him. He just broke up again with Mina. His now ex. They have an on and off relationship. You don’t really get it.

“I dunno,” you say, eyes flitting from the table to his face. You didn’t want him to go alone, sure, but more often than not, when he takes you to these kind of things, he usually gets sidetracked and well, forgets about you.

“Oh, come on, I won’t leave you this time, I swear,” he says, fist slamming the table.

“Sehun,” you breathe, talking to him as if he was a child. “You said that last time for that basketball guy’s party. And do you remember what happened then?”

His eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Apparently your best friend has horrible memory as well.

“You went home with Mina, asshole,” you spit. “And yes, you are my bestfriend and deserve the best romantic life, but you can’t just leave me. Jeez, you’re heartless, Sehun.”

“I won’t leave you this time,” he pleads once more, puppy eyes now in place, hands placed together under his chin. “Please, noona?”

You stick your tongue out at him and continue with your sandwich.

“Oh, come on, I want to go with my bestest friend in the world, and not anyone else. And we’ll have so much fun and I won’t even leave your side, or anything, and as a bonus! I will personally get you a jersey as an added bonus with a certain Byun printed on the back.”

Your eyes flicked to his for a split second at the sound of a certain man’s name.

“I can even arrange a chance at the after party for the two of us, so you can have some even more fun. There’s gonna be free drinks too!” he tries.

You raise an eyebrow at this offer.

“Free food, too!” he chimes.

“We’ll see,” is your final answer.

His straight posture is slumped at your answer, pout adorning his face as he dejectedly looked at his salad that was a part of his so-called, healthy diet, that he put together himself. His eyes flicked to yours as you took another bite of your BLT.

You waved it at him. “Want some?”

He looks back to his salad before dropping his fork and stretching his hand out. You hand the sandwich to him and he takes a few bites before giving it back to you.

The rest of lunch is spent in light banter, talk about classes and upcoming finals.

The two of you have been close since the start of college after there was a mix up in the dorm distribution and you ended up in the only co-ed dorm in college. With a playboy of course. You would think you’d somehow fall in love with him, but the boy being two years your dongsaeng, the spark was never there. He became a little brother figure who you could bully whenever he came over to you to gush about his new girlfriend at how pretty she is. It’s cute enough to pinch his cheeks like you were a distant relative who claimed to used to change Sehun’s diapers. He hated it, which is exactly why you loved it.

He doesn’t bring up the game until you see Byun Baekhyun walk through the cafe doors. You being the shy person that you are, immediately duck your head and finish the rest of your sandwich in one bite, and stand up announcing your departure to Sehun.

“What? I’m not finished yet, wait another minute. We’ll go together.”

“Uh, I actually forgot I’ve got to meet a friend before class starts,” you explain, twisting and untwisting your fingers, eyes locked on Baekhyun’s figure that was currently walking towards you and Sehun’s table, which was conveniently in front of the register.

Sehun looks at you, nose scrunched then looking somewhere behind you, and then it dawned on him, your predicament. “Oh,” he breathes.

And Sehun being the asshole he is calls Byun Baekhyun over. You never wanted more for the ground to open up and swallow you whole than at this moment.

“Hey, Sehun, what’s up?” Baekhyun says, his honey voice rolling over you in waves. You couldn’t leave due to the iron grip Sehun had on your wrist, caging you and erasing all attempts of escape.

“Hey, hyung. I just needed an opinion. Do you know, Y/N?” Sehun nods to you and you freeze as Baekhyun finally sees you. You hold your breath, waiting for the answer on the tips of your toes even though you were the one who didn’t want it.

His eyes lock with yours and you see the warmth even standing nowhere close to him. You see the small mole on top of his lip, the bridge of his nose, the cherry pink of his lips and all you can think is how he hasn’t changed one bit.

His eyes flit down to your wrist in Sehun’s hand and you quickly pull it away. Sehun doesn’t hold you back. And then he’s looking away as fast as he saw you, and you miss the warmth that he brought with just a look but you’re glad for the lack of his fierce gaze on you alone.

He hums. “Yeah, I know Y/N. We went to the same middle school but you probably already know that,” he states matter of factly. You purse your lips. Sehun didn’t know that.

Sehun’s jaw goes slack. “Wait, what?” He turns to you, eyes narrowed. “You never told me that!”

“Uhhh—” you dumbly respond as Baekhyun looks between the two of you.

“Right, I just wanted to know,” Sehun clears his throat, grasping Baekhyun’s attention once again, “if we could come to the party after the game?”

“Oh, you’re coming to the game?” He poses the question towards the both of you, but he only looks at you.

“Well, I’m going, but Y/N doesn’t know yet—”

“You should come,” Baekhyun states simply, looking into the depths of your soul. Your heart beats just the tiniest bit faster.

“I’ll see,” you mutter under your breath.

“Well, I’ll see you guys later then?” Baekhyun waves, the corner of his lips raised, and eyes sparkling in a way that only fits Baekhyun.

Sehun’s arm falls on your shoulder as he rises to his full height, effectively breaking you out of the haze that Baekhyun put on you unknowingly. You scowl at him as you grab your backpack.

“How come you never told me this precious piece of information that came from Baekhyun himself. I’m so disappointed in you,” he remarks as you exit the cafe. You dare not look back.

You shrug, a small shiver running up your spine from the breeze. “It never came up.”

“Bullshit. This stuff is already supposed to be established in our,” he motions exasperatedly in the space between the two of you, “relationship.”

You snort. “I’m not dating you.”

“We’re best friends!”

“That we are,” you deadpan.

“Were you guys only classmates?” he inquires, shoving his hands in his pockets and blowing out a breath.

“If you’re asking if we dated, no. But we were friends, I guess.”

An understatement but you don’t say.

Starting middle school in a whole new city was overwhelming to say the least. Having just moved to Seoul was already climbing in on itself over you. The whole car ride you refused to meet your parent’s eye on the trip to your new house. They pointed out famous landmarks and beautiful scenery of the ocean on the way, and yet, you refused, the stubborn 11-year old side of you coming out, as you blinked the tears away, never letting them fall.

And then came Baekhyun, a whirlwind of a boy, all smiling, eyes crescents, and hair a raven-colored ruffled. He flew into your life and you were grateful to him. He suddenly became a staple in your life but really you should’ve seen it coming sooner.

As fast as he entered, he left, and you didn’t like to think about whether it was your fault or his. One day, he stopped trying. Avoiding you, or maybe he just became too busy for you. He grew out of the pre-teen Baekhyun, a child in and of itself and became the popular teen Baekhyun who suddenly became the star of your junior high. You drifted apart, as Baekhyun entered the spotlight and you steered towards the sidelines, suddenly becoming a wallflower in Baekhyun’s life. And then you weren’t in it anymore. But you watched him grow up and everytime you passed him in the hallways in highschool and eventually college, a part of your heart clenched, happy that he was happy and sad because you couldn’t share that happiness with him.

Sehun saw the lingering glances, the almost spoken hello’s to the star player and deemed that you had a crush. He wasn’t wrong so you never corrected him.

“Earth to Y/N?” Sehun called, hand waving in front of your vision. You blinked, slowly turning over to him. “Blanked out there, for a little. You good?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Just thinking.”

“About a Byun Baekhyun?”

“Shut up,” you mumble and he snickers.

A few beats of silence pass as you walk side to side, shoulders brushing against each other.

“You’re not telling me something,” he says.

“No,” you respond.

“Yes,” he retorts.

“Whatever you say.”

“I’ll get it out of you, sometime. I already have a lead.”

“What? Are you Sherlock?” you tease, lips quirked.

He slides in front of you and you stop watching as he dumbly salutes, fingers all crooked. “Holmes, reporting for duty,” he announces.

You laugh and then he smiles.

Most of the spots are filled when you enter the auditorium, a mess of hair, clothes and Y/N.

You spit out some of the hair caught in your mouth, which probably happened somewhere between where you left the pet store, your part-time job, in a hurry after seeing the time and from now, where you stood, just barely making it into class as the professor entered through the adjacent door . You got a little carried away with the new puppers that had just arrived and that was all your fault. Not that you regretted it, though.

The professor set up his laptop, plugging in wires and setting papers aside, that you really hoped weren’t of the test you took last week. You scrambled to your regular seat, right next to the TA, Kim Minseok’s desk, and next to Kim Jongdae.

You dipped your head in greeting at Jongdae as you slipped past him to the seat and muttered your ‘hello’ to Minseok who waved you back.

“Please don’t tell me those are our tests from last week,” you say to absolutely no one.

Jongdae, from beside you, hears this and turns to you. “Those are totally not our tests from last week.”

“Those are totally your tests from last week,” Minseok pipes from the other side of you. You swivel towards him, lips pursed, frown in place.

“Is it bad?” you ask, grimly.

“Can’t say,” he grins.

“A hint?” you egg and Jongdae echoes your question.

Minseok shakes his head no and points towards the front just as the professor starts speaking. You melt into your seat, hoping that time would tick just the tiniest bit faster, if only to finish this hell you’re in.

45 minutes pass, not that you’re counting every second of it but you just happen to see after sneaking a glance at the clock hung on the opposite wall, when the professor finally announces the very dreadful thing that has you in a slump.

“And now for your tests!”

A series of groans echo your sentiments and you wait as he calls out the names of the other students, fists clenched, nails digging into the skin of your palm. He goes through a few people before stopping on the nervous human sitting right next to you.

“Kim Jongdae!” he calls and you give a pitiful look at Jongdae as he stands up to retrieve it. His face looks almost like a kicked puppy. The professor hands him the paper, says something, that you can’t hear (distance), or read (bad eyesight), but there’s a smile on his face. You sit at the edge of your seat waiting as Jongdae gets closer to you, his eyes lighting up as he reads the grade and when he comes to stand next to you, showing it to you, a cheshire-grin stretching across his lips.

Your jaw drops. “An A? That’s amazing!” He has his hand out towards yours and you high-five it, smiling for him. You sit back down waiting your turn, back straight, hairs raised.

“Y/N!”

You get up, walking as fast as your legs could take you, grasping the paper with eager hands. The professor smiles and says that it was better than your last and then your walking back, not daring to peak at the letter.

“Did you see it?” Jongdae calls when you get back to your seat.

You shake your head. “Can’t. You do it.”

You hand the paper to Jongdae and he chuckles leaning over. He faces the paper towards you, back slanting so he’s looking at it as well.

“A B!” you cry.

“An 89!” he exclaims.

“If you round up,” you start excitedly.

“An A!” he finishes.

“Yes!” you yell, fist pumping in the air and once again before exchanging another set of high-fives.

The two of you sit back at your seats ruffling through your tests exchanging answers for the questions you got wrong. The teacher rambles on about how well you all did this time, much better than the last. You paid it no attention, though, wincing as you saw another question you got wrong. You even remember studying about that one!

“Okay, students!” the teacher finally announces and you look up, setting the paper down on the table. “You’ll be doing a project—”

A series of groans cut him off.

“Now, now don’t be like that. It gets even better; you’ll be doing it in partners! The person next to you should do—oh! Would you look at the time? I better be off! Class dismissed!”

The screeching of chairs being pushed in, the mull of the chatter of students, and the scratching of pencils on paper fill the silence that the teacher brought and you stared at Jongdae, dumbfounded. And Jongdae stared at you.

“Is this real?” you breathed, voice ragged.

“I really hope not,” he answers back. “Maybe it's all just a dream.”

“More so a nightmare,” you remark.

Minseok snickers at the two of you. “Don’t be dramatic and get out of here, you two.”

You frown at Minseok as he shoots you out of the auditorium with the rest of the lingering students. You handle your bag, throwing it over your shoulder, carelessly, before turning to Jongdae who walked to your side with another classmate.

You wait for a gap in their conversation before pulling Jongdae away. “Do you have class right now?”

He shakes his head. “No, you?”

You mirror him, before cocking your thumb behind you, head tilted. “Library?”

“Better now than never,” he grins.

Jongdae steps off to the side when someone asks him something about plans on Friday night. You tell him you’ll save him a seat and wave before leaving, begrudgingly thinking about the fact that you wished to have plans on Friday night, ugh.

The library is vacant, spare the few students like you who thought to actually use it other than the librarian that no one ever sees. You tensely smile at a girl who you really can’t remember the name of but told her that one time in that one class after she made eye contact with you. A second later, though, no later, you looked away, wincing because if that wasn’t awkward.

The tables in the library were settled in clusters if you make your way through the library, high shelves of the paperback on your left, and non-fiction on the right. It’s almost like a maze as you enter the space, and really it's no surprise, when you spot ten people. Max.

You take a seat at the nearest empty table, pulling out your textbook and your laptop. It only takes a minute for you to get sidetracked after you tap in your password the already open tab of Twitter pulling you in.

It wasn’t your fault really! The posts kept rolling in and sucking you deeper and when finally your throat felt parched and you took a sip of water, checking the time, still not seeing Jongdae, did you see half an hour had already passed.

“The fuck is the dude, doing?” you mutter under your breath, opening a seperate tab for your email. The chair across from you screeches and you think, finally, before your eyes land on the person currently sat across from you.

His hair was ruffled and the tip of his nose and cheeks were blushing red, as if he ran. And it wasn’t Jongdae.

“Oh,” he mumbles, more to himself. “Y/N.” A deep breath then, “hey.”

“Oh, um, Baekhyun. Hi,” you dumbly respond, stomach flipping at the sight of him. Your tongue had the sudden urge to fail you at the moment, barely making the cut.

“Sorry, to, um, bother your studying,” he starts, eyes flickering to your open screen which displayed the email log-in page. Thank god he did not see your Twitter account. Maybe you would have actually died. “But, uh, I’ll just sit here for a few minutes and then leave.”

The way he’s fidgeting in his seat makes it seem like he’s trying to avoid someone. “Oh, okay. That’s, um, fine?”

His eyes narrow at you as you purse your lips. Awkward. You are very awkward and you know that. You shuffle in your seat when he looks away and chuckles silently. “Thanks,” he says.

A few beats pass before you deem it awkward enough to drag your laptop closer to you, and look through the few emails that were unread in your inbox. Okay, lie. You weren’t actually reading. It was more so that your eyes skimmed over the same from email at fifteen times, your brain not registering the contact.

Baekhyun apparently decided to break the ice, starting with a deep breath. “So, what class are you working for?”

“Um, microbiology. I’ve got this partner essay and decided to get started on it,” you explain, biting your lip from a nervousness that you’re not sure the cause of.

“Partner?” he asks.

“Yeah... partner,” you repeat, thinking that he needed clarification.

“Oh, are you waiting for them?”

You nod. “He was literally right behind me too, jeez, what is he doing?” you ramble, picking up your phone and searching for Jongdae’s contacts.

Baekhyun doesn’t say anything else as you type a text to a certain essay partner.

jongdae!!!!

You set the phone back down on the table and sneak a peek at Baekhyun who looks, even at a first glance, stressed. Eye circles ring underneath his eyes, the hint of purple tinting his fair skin. His eyes look puffy, like he just took a nap, even though it's the middle of the day, and your heart clenches at the thought that he doesn’t get enough sleep. You notice the way his fingers drum silently along the table, his teeth worrying his chapped lips, like he’s always doing that. Maybe a habit...?

“Are you... okay?” The question comes tumbling out of your mouth in a hushed whisper, like some dirty secret that can’t be revealed. Your eyes rake over him with worry as he looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

He’s wary, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he forms an answer. “What do you mean?” he finally responds. Answering a question with a question.

“You look tired,” you point, motioning to the undersides of his eyes.

He winces, hands fisted as he rubs his eyes, laughing half-heartedly. “It’s nothing. Just got a big game to prep for—speaking of,” and then his eyes turn to you, determined, fiery, fist placed on the table and any sign of tiredness in his eyes vanished. “Are you going to come to the game?”

“Uh—”

“You’re going to the game?”

Your head whips towards the side as Jongdae strolls in to the area, nonchalant. You take your pen and whip it at him with all the aim you could muster at such a short notice.

“I’m sorry!” he yells as he catches the pen and holds it to his heart before gently setting it down on the table a distance away from your hand.

“Thirty minutes,” you huff, as Jongdae takes a seat beside you. His attention turns toward Baekhyun who looks between the two of you. You can’t tell what the furrow of his brows or the scrunch of his nose conveys.

Jongdae ignores your complaint and addresses Baekhyun. You turn away pointedly, hands crossed over your chest, lip slightly jutted.

“What are you doing in the library, Baekhyun?” Jongdae questions.

“Um, just, you know, talking to Y/N—”

“Is that Eunha?” Jongdae interjects, leaning over the table, jaw dropped.

“Who?” you ask, curious.

“Yeah, who?” Baekhyun repeats, feigning innocence. You see the way, he blinks at Jongdae owlishly, and his straight posture.

“Your ex-girlfriend, Eunha! Is that why—”

Baekhyun’s over at Jongdae’s side in an instant, hand clamping over the blabbermouth’s mouth, looking around the library maniacally to see if anyone overheard. You choke, not sure what to feel about the new information, but when she leaves out of view, you figure it's her since she is the only one there that wasn’t there a moment ago. You look towards the two idiots at your side.

And if that wasn’t any worse, Eunha suddenly reappeared again right in front of you three. And she looked Baekhyun up and down, and then it was Jongdae. And lastly you.

With her sleek black hair sectioned off into braids, her makeup flawless, and her clothes without a single crinkle in them, you envied her from head to toe.

“Baekhyun what are you doing? Really? Running away?” She gives Baekhyun an incredulous look as he retracts his hand from Jongdae’s mouth, sheepish look pasted on his face.

“Um, actually—” he starts.

“Seriously, I just wanted to talk. I won’t bite,” she promises taking a step closer. You see Baekhyun’s eyes flit to anywhere but Eunha, and then you see him take a step closer to Jongdae, his hand suddenly coming down onto Jongdae’s shoulder. Hard.

“I’m dating Jongdae!”

Eunha’s jaw drops open, you choke on air, Jongdae shrieks and falls out of his chair, and Baekhyun colors a scarlet in the next few moments as crickets chirp through the library.

“What?” Eunha breathes, looking as if she just got slapped in the face. And in this case, you felt that it would have been a better situation. “You’re dating—” she stopped mid-sentence, closing her eyes, straightening her back, and taking a long, deep breath. “Jongdae? Is he lying?”

You watch as Baekhyun pinches Jongdae’s back as he opens his mouth, and proceeds to say the words that you are just dying to hear with some popcorn in hand. “Uh... no.”

Eunha’s eyes are almost about to fall out her head as she looks between the two of them. Baekhyun laughs a small laugh, pressing his index finger to his lips, and shushing Eunha. She barks a laugh, hikes her bag up her shoulder, and stomps out of the clearing.

Jongdae’s chair is thrown to the side courtesy his legs as he stands, towering over Baekhyun. “What the fuck—”

Baekhyun claps his hands together in front of his face, eyes clenched together. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise!” he squeaks.

“I should’ve just let you suffer—”

“—and I am so, so grateful you didn’t—”

“—in pain. Why the hell do I—”

“Coffee, for a month?” Baekhyun pleads.

Jongdae narrows his eyes at Baekhyun. “Two.”

“One and a half?”

“One and three weeks.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, plopping into the chair next to you before turning to meet your eyes. “I am so dead.”

You smile. “I didn’t know you were gay.”

“Y/N!” he whines. “You know what? I am leaving, I have had way too much drama for today, and I feel my wrinkles popping out, god dammit.”

He walks away from the table as you erupt into snickers and Jongdae hollers an ‘8:45 AM sharp!’ after him.

“Don’t be late! I have class first thing and need my supply!”

Baekhyun doesn’t turn around, opting to flip off Jongdae, back still turned. Jongdae swears at him, and you laugh even harder.

What you don’t see is the small smile gracing Baekhyun’s lips as he exits the library doors, a little skip in his step.

Having to take an advanced sociology class for your major made absolutely no sense other than the fact that the people, whoever they were, that assigned the classes, were absolute idiots. You would know since you’re always surrounded by them.

The class ran for two terms but you only needed one, joining in at the beginning of the second this year. Everyone already had managed to find a place to sit, some people to work with, and a nice view of the screen in front of the room. You just wedged into some seats with some of the more friendlier looking girls and somehow managed to blend in to the wall, only needing a passing grade for this class.

You didn’t know many people in this class, but you at least recognized their faces. And that guy sitting at your desk with the suspicious looking hood was not one of them. You stood a few feet away from him, wondering if you should demand your seat back or just sit next to him. Or in front.

But that’s your seat.

Well. Your inability to communicate with people caught up to you and you took a seat right next to him.

It wasn’t until the end of class that you figured out who he was. You could hear a faint purr from the hooded boy next to you, his pencil strewn next to his head that was lain on the table carelessly. A string of drool marked the paper and you chuckled. But you couldn’t judge. That would be you today if it weren’t for the fact he was giving apparently important information from the girl on your right.

You pondered on the thought if you should just leave him, but if class had finished while you were sleeping you would want someone to wake you up. What if he had a class after this?

You drew closer to him and tapped his shoulder. “Hey. Wake up. Class is over.”

The boy groaned, shifted in his seat the tiniest bit, and continued sleeping. You tapped him a bit harder this time. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”

You checked the time on your phone, before placing it back on the table. Taking your time, you placed your notebook back in your bag and zipped it up before tossing a look back to the boy. Still sleeping. The pencil and pen in your bag as well. Another look. Not even a little.

Boy, was this kid tired.

You tried again, and again, with even more force and smiled when the guy stirred, blinking his eyes, movements hazy. He smacked his lips a few times before finally moving his head up and locking eyes with you.

“Baekhyun?”

“Y/N?”

“You take this class?” you both said in unison.

A look passed between the two of you, as you blinked and he started giggling with you following shortly after.

“I take this class, but I’m pretty sure you don’t,” you finally say, smile placed on your lips.

“I owed my friend one and filled in for the day to take some notes.”

You snickered before motioning to the side of your face, your fingers ghosting your skin. “You have drool here.”

“What?” he squawks, hands wiping the opposite side of his face.

You shake your head. “Other side.”

He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie up and finding the drool, quickly wiping it off before embarrassingly pulling his hoodie on his head tighter.

“What’s with the get up?” you question, as Baekhyun grabs his notebook and you grab your backpack, both walking towards the door.

A group of students brush passed you and you notice how Baekhyun makes sure to duck his head down as he whispers to you. “You didn’t hear...?”

“Hear what? you whisper back.

He pouts at you and you shrug. “The rumors?” he tries again.

You filter through any gossip Sehun might’ve told you about in the past few days and come up blank. “Nothing,” you state.

He groans, hand coming up to slide down his face. “Come on, man. The rumors?” he harshly whispers, face turned towards you whilst walking, hands outstretched at his sides, and eyes blown out.

You suck in a harsh breath as he comes closer to your face, and that weird feeling in your chest blooms again. Almost like an eruption of lava, but more lowkey. A good volcanic eruption.

“Me being gay?”

He pulls back when he sees your lips pursed, smile begging to be released. “Oh, from when—”

“Oh my god,” he groans, walking faster in front of you.

“Okay, okay, sorry, I won’t laugh!” you exclaim, speeding up your pace and walking next to him. He took a look at the twinkle in your eyes and the smile playing on your lips and huffs before looking away. Drama queen.

“Seriously!” you repeat again. “Okay, wait, wait, slow down a little.”

He begrudgingly complies, hands now folded over his chest as you swing your backpack to your front and bring out your notebook. You zip it up and he sneaks a glance before voicing his curiosity. “What’s that for?”

You shoot him a smile. “Your favor?”

His eyes widen. “Oh shit! I fell asleep!”

“That you did, but I take pity and give you this.”

You hand him the notebook and he takes it, hand almost brushing yours but you can’t tell from how fast its gone even though the aftermath leaves your heart beating a mile a minute. You don’t even notice.

“You are an angel,” he breathes and sends you the most breathtaking smile that you think he could ever send you.

“Your welcome,” you state, voice soft.

“Thank you,” he says back.

You continue walking, where? You don’t know. But you move closer to him as he opens the notebook and you show him the pages that you wrote down today. You stop at a small bench on the side of the hallway where Baekhyun sets it down and takes pictures of the pages.

He slides his glasses up when they fall off his nose, before tapping the screen to make sure that its readable. You watch to the side as he ruffles through the pages make sure he got everything. His bangs falling over his eyes, and he shakes his head, the hair stubbornly staying put.

“Baekhyun!” someone calls from the side. You look over and recognize him to be from the baseball team. You forgot his name, though. Something starting with Jong but you weren’t sure. He jogs over to Baekhyun, talking about a late baseball practice and where the hell he’s been.

Baekhyun looked sheepish as Jong-something scolds him, calling him hyung and you can’t help but smile at the interaction.

“Oh right, that reminds me!” Baekhyun turns towards you suddenly and you feel warm under his and Jong-something’s (Jongin? Is that his name?) gaze. “Are you still not sure about the game?”

You inhale, looking at the way, Baekhyun pulls out his lower lip just the slightest and how it looks adorable (you’re cringing on the inside at your thoughts) on him. “Uh... yeah. Still don’t know,” you mutter.

“Well,” Baekhyun says, looking straight at you and placing his hand on your shoulder, “I hope you come.”

And then he sends you a smile and you feel your heart strings tugging at each other as he turns around, jogging to the rest of the team. Jongdae shoots you a small smile when he sees you and you wave back but then he’s gone.

It’s not until a good twenty minutes later do you remember that Baekhyun didn’t give you your notebook. You rushed back to the bench where you saw it last. It wasn’t there also.

Well, shit. You’re screwed for that test next week.

hey, this is Y/N. i don’t have your number so i’m texting you though sehun’s.

You read over the text and groan. Why would he care if you have his number or not—of course you don’t. Delete.

uhhh, anyways, do you still have that notebook you took pictures of? I can't remember if I took it back or not haha

‘uhhh, anyways’ is too awkward, dammit. Delete that as well.

hey this is Y/N. do you still have my notebook you took pictures of? I can't remember if I took it back or not haha

Okay, okay. Not bad, straight to the point. A little laugh in the end to ease the awkwardness. Hit send, Y/N, before you freak out even more. You press the blue button and thrust the phone back into Sehun’s hand before diving into your pasta. Nothing like food to hit your biggest worries.

“You’re such a coward, worrying about texting him,” Sehun snarks, tapping on the screen.

You glare at him, mouth stuffed, and he glances a look at you, smirking at your appearance. “Ass,” you mutter.

“That’s me.”

The door to the cafe jingles open and it's almost like a fairy tale when your eyes dart to the customer in the almost empty restaurant, with you sitting directly in sight of the door, and lock eyes with Baekhyun.

“Oh, Y/N! Sehun!” he exclaims, waving at the two of you with his signature smile, fingers straight as a stick, gaps wide between them in that weird way he waves at people (he still makes it cute).

You smile a small smile, and Sehun gives a weird ass cool nod that Baekhyun takes a greeting does a weird nod back. He pulls a chair from the empty table next to you, dropping the bag and sitting in the middle, your left, Sehun’s right. His side profile was astonishing.

You looked back to your food, taking another bite, as they engaged in baseball talk, wallowing about whether or not you should bring up the elephant in your room.

Thankfully, Baekhyun, ever the one with many gifts from God, looks towards you abruptly, slamming his hand on the table. You flinch, eyes startled to his, wide in shock, almost mirroring his.

He chuckles and you clamp your lips and relax your posture, eyes drifting away. Well, that’s embarrassing.

“Sorry,” he snickers. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“She’s a coward. She’s always scared,” Sehun interjects.

“No one asked you,” you retort, throwing the closest object to you (a napkin) hoping it would hit him straight in the eye (it didn’t; it floated to a stop in the middle of the table).

“Anyways, your notebook. It’s in my locker, I totally forgot to give it back, my bad.” His hand comes up to unconsciously rub at the back of his neck and you inwardly coo at the small pout on his—no! ”If you want, we can go now to the lockers since I have practice. Do you have a class?”

Your mind went blank for some strange reason and the only thing that came out was an “uh...”

Sehun, the sometimes-angel he is, saves you and you are so very grateful. “She doesn’t.”

Baekhyun looks between you and Sehun, an unrecognizable expression on his face, before his lips turn into a smile. “Great!”

He makes small talk while you finish your food, helping Sehun occasionally on the essay he was pumping out. He leaned over Sehun’s shoulder, his glasses slipping down his nose, and his eyebrows scrunched as they glazed over the screen. He’d gotten annoyed from his bangs that he clipped them up exposing his forehead, and—oh god, what is wrong with you.

“Okay!” you announce, a little too high pitched and chair screeching back at a screech that resonated through the empty shop. You freeze, coughing awkwardly when Baekhyun looks up at you through his circle lenses and Sehun snickers in the back. You chuckle, smile tense, before grabbing your backpack in light speed, fixing your jacket.

You cock your finger back towards the door, and tilt your head. “Sehun are you coming? Let’s go.” Your heart pounds—probably because you made a fool of yourself. Sehun shrugs before packing his stuff, Baekhyun following.

Sehun and Baekhyun, with their longer legs and faster pace, strode in front of you on the too thin sidewalk. You lingered behind sometimes joining in on the conversation but you felt as if you’d interrupt them with all the sporty jock language they were using.

You just decided to stare at Baekhyun. And admire. And daydream about what it would be like to marry and have tiny babies together. But at the moment. Admire.

Even the back of his head was adorable, added to the fact he was wearing the team’s hat and hoodie combined. Really, whoever designed them was genius. Baekhyun looks absolutely swallowed, only the tips of his fingers peeking out from the sweater paws.

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N?” Sehun knocks on your head, and your eyes immediately snap towards his the moment Baekhyun’s eyes meet yours. “Is the back of his head that fascinating?”

“Wh-what? No, what the—” you end up smacking Sehun feeling the nape of your neck warming up and letting your hair curtain over your face on the side that Baekhyun faced towards you.

“Woah, there, no need to get violent, I was just joking,” he intonates the last word, a smirk voiced and you glare up at him hoping your message traveled light years fast. You take back what you said about him being a sometimes-angel. He’s the devil reincarnate.

Baekhyun laughed his small cute laugh like ’hahaha’ and said something about zoning out. You nodded dumbly and continued to trail along with him.

“As I was saying...” Sehun says, hand waving in the air nonchalantly, “Y/N’s just using me as an excuse for leaving her at the game because she’s probably just embarrassed that she doesn’t want to miss the new episode of Extraordinary You—ow! What was that for?”

You smile up at him, lips pursed, words venomous, “what?”

He looks away, pouting muttering how you’re a big fat meanie. Baby.

“Oh Extraordinary You is so good. Are you caught up with all the episodes? I haven’t had time to watch the last two,” Baekhyun comments and your neck snaps as you look up at him.

“Oh, uh...” with the thought that he didn’t find it embarrassing that you spend your free time watching romantic dramas that could never actually happen in real life, you spoke up. “I’m caught up.” You still mentally threw Sehun into the pits of hell where he belonged.

Sehun snorts as Baekhyun hums.

A curious smile peaks over the edges of Baekhyun’s lips as he looks at Sehun. “Why... is it weird or something?”

“No, just, she thinks that she’s uncool to watch dramas twenty-four seven—mmmph—what are you—!”

Your hand stays at Sehun’s side as you smile at Baekhyun. “Just ignore him. He spouts bullshit twenty-four seven,” you give a pointed look towards Sehun at the end.

Baekhyun laughs. “Okay, then.”

“He spouts bullshit twenty-four seven,” Sehun imitates, voice pitches higher.

“I don’t talk like that!”

The walk to the locker rooms aren’t too far, just outside the school campus. It’s only a 10-minute walk from the food court area and you’re there in no time.

Luhan from the baseball team, which you know of from how much he frequents your apartment to hang out with Sehun, stole the younger boy, stating that they’d be back in a minute after stepping out of the locker rooms. You sat on the bench in the middle of the locker rooms while Baekhyun shuffled through his lockers that was packed to the brim.

“I’m not usually this messy,” Baekhyun mumbles as he takes out another bundle of what looks like an old sport jacket. “I’ve just been really busy these days,” he adds.

“It’s fine, take your time,” you commented, twiddling your fingers.

A few boys stepped in to the locker room, and you looked up briefly recognizing their faces but not their names.

“Oh, Baekhyun?” one of them called. “You brought a girl into the locker rooms? You never did that with anyone, even Eunha.” The two at his sides snickered and you watched as Baekhyun’s ears turned red at the implications.

“It’s not like that,” Baekhyun barked as he continued ruffling through his lockers. “They’re idiots, don’t listen to them.”

You chuckle softly. “Okay.”

“Found it!” he grins, spinning it around and holding it out towards you.

“Oh, cool, thanks,” you state, taking the book from him.

“Yeah, but I should be telling you that,” he chuckles. “Why do you use a notebook anyway? Laptops are a thing, you know?”

“Yeah, but I like writing the stuff. It helps me remember everything,” you say, stuffing the notebook into your bag.

Baekhyun hums. “Good point, but the hand cramps are so not worth it.”

You shrug it off. “Whatever, Byun.”

“Hey, Baekhyun! Practice is starting. Your girlfriend can stay if she wants, I already asked coach,” one of the boys called.

Your face warms up at the title, and you’re meek ‘I’m not his girlfriend’ is muted by the raucous of the other boys coming in. Baekhyun sends you a shy smile and shakes his head. “Again, idiots, but you can stay if you want.”

“No, it’s alright,” you breathe, “I have class anyways, so it’s time I go. Can you remind Sehun to buy dinner, and say no chicken, please?”

“Yeah, sure. Isn’t his phone broken or something like that?”

“He’s an idiot also.”

“Looks like everyone on this team is an idiot.”

You hum, thinking over the words, one thought shining brightly in the midst of all the others.

The next thing you say is totally uncalled for and if you were in a less delirious state and not around Byun Baekhyun, it would’ve never escaped your mouth. “You’re not, though. That’s why I l love—”

Baekhyun suddenly frowns and your heart drops. You idiot! Why would you say something like that? What if he—shit. You totally messed up. The whole getting to know him, shit, shit, shit. You totally messed up. He doesn’t have time to respond as one of the boys steals him, shoveling him out of the room, throwing you a beaming smile in compensation. You can’t seem to reciprocate.

The locker room is awfully quiet, now.

It has been exactly one day since you spilled your mouth in front of Baekhyun and it has been exactly one day since you have regretted saying that. You saw him this morning, at the coffee shop down the street. He was just minding his own business, looking through his phone while taking a few sips of his drink here and there when you accidentally bumped into him. Nothing precarious happened, like you fell into his arms or his coffee spilled all over your shirt and he let you wear his spare.

No. You blushed as red as a tomato and stuttered a sorry, before scurrying off like a mouse at the stony gaze pointed directly at you.

Why did you even open your mouth and say something stupid like that? You weren’t an idiot. You knew what was implied with those words, and yet you had to go and say it. You probably ruined the friendship you had slowly progressed with Baekhyun, too. What a stupid person you are.

You walked in to the microbiology class with a huff, no regular coffee in hand as you were far too flummoxed after the run-in with Baekhyun to go back into the cafe. Jongdae had noticed something was off and shared a look with Minseok. The TA shrugged.

You made a small burrow surrounding yourself with first, your books, second, your water bottle, and third, your bag, making a small barrier that you wished would shield you from all the remorse you felt upon yourself. Once the professor had walked in and started the presentation, you pride yourself from behind the wall.

Your motions were robotic as you copied important things from the presentation, highlighted key concepts in your textbook, and answered questions prompted by the professor. But it was as if your mind and body were separate and your soul was nowhere to be found.

At the end of class, the professor had called you and Jongdae up, mentioning something about the project.

You forlornly walked up beside Jongdae, the scuffling of your feet earning another worried stare from the boy.

“Y/N, Jongdae, I just wanted to note that since there’s a new student in the class, and an odd number of people, I would like for him to work with you,” the professor explains.

You nod numbly. Jongdae questions as to who.

“Oh, he actually attend today’s class, I told him to meet me as well… oh, there he is!”

You felt someone sidle next to you and Jongdae shifted to look towards him. “Oh, Baekhyun!”

Your head snapped towards the side, and true to his words, Baekhyun stood to your side, not bothering you a glance. He smiled at Jongdae then at the professor, thanking him.

Jongdae glanced to you, your mouth agape. “Y/N, do you want to come with us?”

“H-huh?” you stutter as you look towards Jongdae. “Sorry, zoned out.”

“Yeah… uh, do you want to come with us for lunch? We’re having pizza,” Jongdae reiterates.

Your eyes flicker towards Baekhyun and sure enough, the cold stare from this morning and the last time you saw him were still there.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, though,” you say, lips pulled in a tight smile.

“Oh, okay, then. See ya!” Jongdae grins, before turning towards Baekhyun who still stared at you. He nudged Baekhyun’s side. “Let’s go, then.”

His eyes are clouded as he looks at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking and it makes your skin tingle from all the attention. He finally pulls them away from you and you let out the breath you were unknowingly holding. “Yeah, let’s go.”

What an idiot you are.

The smell of meat filled the room packed to the brim with college students. Baekhyun sat stuck in the middle of Chanyeol and Jongdae and was somehow appointed to the meat as he got the lowest runs during practice. The room was far too hot, even for Baekhyun and he grabbed the air conditioner remote, setting it at the coolest. The boys burst into raucous laughter at a story that Junmyeon was recalling but Baekhyun couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. He merely blinked as he flipped another piece of samgyeopsal.

His thoughts were running all over the place, like a hurricane. But it was all trained on you.

Like that one time when he’d been coming from his class, he’d somehow spotted you in the midst of the crowd. You yawned, pulling down the hood covering your face and he had to hold back a snort at the way your flyaways stuck up filled with static energy. He started walking towards you, wanting to pet down the hairs but he stopped midway. Why would he want to do that? And he stood there like a fool, in the middle of the courtyard staring as you walked away from him.

He’d seen you so many other times and each time you drew him in to you and he didn’t know what was happening. Why his heart sped up at the sight of you so much, as if it were about to burst out of his chest. Why he had the urge to hug the living daylights out of you at the sight of you, as if you were his lover and he was yours. Why he blushed whenever you complimented him like a lovesick teenage boy.

The not an idiot thing was the last straw. And what followed scared him to the deepest parts of his soul. You couldn’t just go around telling people those kinds of things with that much sincerity and stupid sparkle like you held the sun, stars, and meteorites in your eyes. It made him realize something. This whatever he felt, was different.

It felt like how he used to feel back when he would consider you his best friend in the skip of a beat if anyone asked. It felt like that, but even more. And it scared him.

It was different from anything he felt when he was with any one of his past girlfriends. It was similar but far too different to even be compared. It was much more than that.

Was it friendship? Was it attraction? Could it maybe be… love?

Chanyeol knocked his elbow into Baekhyun’s ribs, lightly. “Baek, the meat’s burning.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun muttered to himself, still in a daze. This could be called love, couldn’t it? He always went on and on about how, all the girls he’s dated, he’s never loved. His heart was never full enough whenever he was around them to even be considered love. But around you—

“Baek,” Chanyeol called more loudly, this time jolting Baekhyun.

Baekhyun snapped his head towards Chanyeol, voice clearer. “Shit.”

“Yes, shit, the meat is burning,” Chanyeol pointed out and it finally registered in Baekhyun’s mind as to where he was.

Baekhyun scrambled to save the meat, hurriedly flipping them, and blowing out a sigh as they were still edible.

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol breathed, mouth full with meat. He placed a piece in a perilla leaf, adding a tiny dollop of ssamjang and placing it in Baekhyun’s hand.

Baekhyun takes it, mulling over the question. “I don’t know.” He put the wrap in his mouth, slowly chewing. “You know Y/N, right?”

Chanyeol nods, sipping his water and swallowing.

“What do you think about her?”

Chanyeol hums. “She’s nice. Why? Do you like her?”

Baekhyun chokes on the water he’s drinking. “What? Me? Like her?”

Chanyeol shrugs. “You asked me what I thought.”

“But I don’t like her,” he wrongfully states. The way those words fall out of his lips, every word placed in it, feels wrong.

“Didn’t she used to be your friend or something like that?” Chanyeol reasons, eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Okay, Baekhyun,” Chanyeol interjects, seeing the inner conflict and what exactly Baekhyun was trying to get at here. “I’m going to ask you three questions.”

Baekhyun stares at him, confused. “About what?”

“One.” Chanyeol holds up his index finger, ignoring his question. “Do you like spending time with Y/N?”

Baekhyun blinks but slowly nods. Over the past few weeks where your interactions with him have slowly raised, he realized that whatever time spent with you, whether it was just a few moments, or hours on end, he never despised it. He even sometimes looked forward to it. No matter how cold he acted towards you.

“Two.” Chanyeol pops another finger up. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“W-what? How is that even… relevant—?”

“Answer the question, Byun.”

Baekhyun bites his lip. “Okay, yeah, she’s pretty, I guess.” This question doesn’t take long for him to answer. When you were little, Baekhyun always figured you were pretty with your blinding smile and sparkly eyes, and as you grow up, your features maturing and becoming more distinct, he’d say you’d become beautiful. In his eyes at least.

Chanyeol claps his hand, a smile spilling over his features. “Close your eyes for a minute.”

Baekhyun complies, albeit hesitantly, just in case this was just some prank and Chanyeol is just sneaking some raw garlic in his wrap. But Chanyeol’s words pull him in.

“You’re standing there, okay?”

Baekhyun imagines this well enough. He stood in the middle of a road that he’s never seen before, alone. He doesn’t know what Chanyeol’s point is but he doesn’t open his eyes just yet, intrigued as to what comes next.

“Y/N is there next to you,” his deep voice continues.

Baekhyun places you right in front of him. You’re standing there how he saw you the last time you crossed paths. Bundled up in an oversized hoodie, and jeans, your go to outfit everytime he sees you. Hair pulled into a low ponytail because as you said, it’s annoying when its down, and it hurts when it’s too high up. And only a touch of lip balm because makeup takes too much time and according to you, doesn’t fit you. He thinks you’d look pretty in anything—wait, no! This is exactly what he’s not supposed to be thinking. However, the butterflies in his stomach start to stir.

“And then she’s leaning closer and closer…” Chanyeol hums again.

The you behind his eyes, mirrors the actions and he watches, wide eyed as you’re almost nose to nose with him. Your breath fans over his cheeks and you flutter your eyes shut, standing there, waiting. He knows what comes next and his heart aches, his skin tingles, waiting for him to continue. He can’t even pinpoint whatever he’s feeling. He needs to repress it, he knows that he should or else it will just end up absolutely horrible. Baekhyun can’t seem to make a decision. His lips press into a thin line before his body is moving before he can react.

And he’s kissing you.

Baekhyun’s eyes fly open. He’s met with Chanyeol’s trademark grin set in place and a slight rise to his eyebrows. “So? What did you see?”

“We…” Baekhyun voice was barely above a whisper and he felt his skin tingle. That was it wasn’t it? “We kissed.” The butterflies raged and he let them.

Jongdae knows the tension between you and Baekhyun. He can quite literally feel it when he’s in close proximity between the two of you. It’s so thick it suffocates him. But he knows he can fix it. He’s good friends with the both of you and he knows where the two of you went wrong. Baekhyun is scared and running away from his feelings and you are beating yourself over having feelings for him. It’s a never ending cycle and Jongdae just wants it to stop. Which is why he’s strategically planned this last work study to the tiniest detail naming it: Let’s Get Them Together Because Everyone is Fucking Sick of it. The name needs work but the sentiment is still there.

The warmth of the cafe drafts over him as he opens the door, with you following closely behind him. He meets Baekhyun’s eyes for a split second before they immediately go towards you as you hide behind Jongdae like he’s some barrier. He doesn’t appreciate this and would prefer more eye contact between the two of you as to initiate something, so he moves away.

Jongdae reaches the table and hovers, as you take a seat on the edge seeing that Baekhyun took the other. You face each other, but don’t dare to look at one another. The both of you were thoughtful enough to leave a seat for him straight in the middle, so there was that at least.

Operation Let’s Get Them Together because Everyone is Fucking Sick of it is now a go.

“Y/N! Why don’t you show Baekhyun that thing you showed me last night?” Jongdae chimes, smiling. Baekhyun looks questionably between the two of you before focusing his attention on you where you pulled out your laptop and materials. “Would the two of you like anything to drink?” He further questions, inwardly patting himself on the back when the two of you scoot closer together to ‘see’ your screen.

“I’m fine,” you chimed, voice soft. “Thank you.”

“Baekhyun?” Jongdae questions before looking at the cup Baekhyun taps at.

“I’m good too.”

“Alrighty, then!” Jongdae exclaims, clapping his hands together, before narrowing his eyes at you. “Make sure you tell Byunnie here, everything alright? And in detail too!”

Jongdae proceeds to skip off, laughing heartily at the weird stares you probably shared behind his back. Jongdae wasn’t planning on doing anything. Just fueling the spark that already came between the two of you.

Baekhyun’s eyes have opened into a new dimension and he knows about what’s driving him to act like this towards you. Well of course, he knows, he’s always known but always chose to ignore it. But now, he wants to change. He wants to change but now, he doesn’t know how.

It’s been one week since his talk with Chanyeol and the three of you had met up almost everyday, seeing as you didn’t have much time to cram it all into the last day. He felt his walls breaking around you. A small smile whenever you scrunched your nose at a term you didn’t understand, turning to Jongdae all confused with some tech problem only to find out that it was something stupid—you would turn in to a blushing mess after. Whenever he met eyes with you, you would immediately look away and it made his heart clench.

Sometimes you made yourself so small, he forgot you were even there, letting his walls break down thinking he was only in front of Jongdae. He would then remember that you were present, making eye contact and he would then see the pretty blush you would sport. He’d shut up straight away.

Jongdae had planned to meet at a cafe this time, going out for ice cream later in celebration for finishing. Baekhyun had come far too early, going straight after his last class just in case he came too late—a bad habit of his. And once the two of you arrived together, he’d straightened, ready to get this done and over with. He still didn’t know what was going to happen with the two of you, but has accepted that whatever would happen, would happen. But after that weird encounter with Jongdae, he felt like something was up.

“That was… weird right?” Baekhyun spoke, looking at you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “totally weird.” You didn’t look him in the eyes as you said this.

There were a few moments of silence that drifted between the two of you, the ambiance of the cafe seeming to make up for the lack of conversation, before you spoke up.

“Did you manage to find the stuff about the stool analysis? That’s what Jongdae was talking about earlier, I guess. He told me about it and I found some stuff just in case you didn’t,” you started shifting your computer towards him.

He leaned over, hoping with the depths of his soul that you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was beating in front of you. You pointed out the parts that you found interesting and the differences between the analysis you’d come up with the days before. Baekhyun hummed, nodding along to everything you were saying, before one point caught his eye. He pointed this out. “This one seems nice to use.”

You grinned, before flipping open your notebook. “Right? I thought so too. I found some additional information about that specimen and compiled them so we could add it to our presentation.” You slid the notebook over to Baekhyun as well, and he had to scoot his chair closer to see.

“If we use this in our presentation...” he started, lifting his head up and locking eyes with yours. His voice faltered.

You were a breath away from him, nose almost brushing into his. He stayed there, frozen, wondering as to what to do in this situation, mind running a mile a minute and yet doing nothing at all. You were the first to move, coughing haphazardly, and leaning away from him, before pulling open a few more tabs saved on your bookmarks.

It would be okay, right? It was just you that his heart was beating for. Baekhyun was just a little too late in realizing that.

Jongdae entered at just the right time and Baekhyun spent the rest of the time, avoiding your eye now and trying his very best to control the beating of his heart.

Night had fallen as they exited out of the cafe. Baekhyun and you both carried a drink, yours being hot chocolate and Baekhyun’s another coffee to keep him awake for the rest of the night. With increased practice for baseball came less time for him to focus on his studies. And he really needed that stable GPA.

“Well, I go this way,” Jongdae states, cocking his thumb to the right. You and Baekhyun turn to look at him, confusedly.

“Isn’t your apartment like right next to mine, though?” you ask, confusedly.

“Well, yes, but I promised to meet someone earlier. Sorry I can’t walk you home, Y/N, and no ice cream,” he apologizes before his eyes brighten up again. “Oh, Baekhyun! Can’t you just walk her home? You’re headed in somewhat the same direction, right?”

Baekhyun scratches the back of his head. “I guess?”

“Great!” Jongdae exclaims before skipping off once again.

“Jongdae is acting really weird today…” you comment and Baekhyun can’t help but nod his head in agreement.

It’s a twenty minute walk from where you are now to your apartment building. Half of the time is spent silent with Baekhyun.

Until you meet Sehun at the crosswalk.

“Oh, Y/N-noona, Baekhyun-hyung!” Sehun calls, and you wave at the familiar face, Baekhyun nodding in greeting. “Didn’t know you were such a gentleman, hyung,” Sehun teases, poking at Baekhyun’s sides. The older man swats at his arm in retaliation sticking his tongue out at the former. You laugh to the side at the two children it feels like you’re walking home.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, eyes lighting up at the name.

“Who is it?” Sehun asks, as he slides next to you.

“My mom,” you reply.

The words are falling out of Baekhyun’s lips before he could stop them. “Tell her I said hi.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You pick up the phone, voice soft as you slowly walk in front of the two boys. “Hi, Mom.”

“Yes, yes, I’m good. Oh, by the way, Baekhyun says hello. Yes, the one from next door.”

You look back at Baekhyun. “My mom says hello back and that you should come over some time,” you state. “You don’t have to if you want to, though,” you add as an afterthought.

“I’ll come over if I have some time later,” he tries.

“Sure,” you answer, relaying his words to your mom. Baekhyun can’t help but look endearingly at you from the back.

Sehun brings Baekhyun’s attention on to him, then. “Hyung.”

He looks over, eyes blinking, as he places his hands in his pockets, craving the warmth as a particularly fierce wind drafts through. “What’s up?”

“You like her, don’t you?”

Baekhyun blushes at the sudden confrontation. He thinks about it for a second before replying, not once thinking that it not be true. “Yeah, I do. Why do you ask?”

“She… talked to me earlier about you. Like a few days ago,” Sehun started, voice lowering. The three of you passed the crosswalk and continued on the side of the road. Sehun and Baekhyun lagged the tiniest bit as you walked along unaware of the conversation being shared between the two boys.

“Yeah?”

“She said she said something to you and you just turned cold and it was all her fault. I didn’t push her, but I asked her why she didn’t just play it off and say that she didn’t mean it,” Sehun started, getting straight to the point. Baekhyun waited on the balls of his heels for the answer. “You know what she said?”

Baekhyun shook his head.

“It’s better this way. What if I grow too attached and he just leaves again. I don’t think I can do that.” Sehun looked at Baekhyun gauging him for an answer.

So... that’s how she felt?

Baekhyun didn’t like to think about the period when you stopped being friends. He thought it would be better for you, to stay away from his crowd. You would always used to point to them, saying that you didn’t like them because of how snotty there were. And when Baekhyun joined the baseball team, with those same people, he thought you would hate him for that or at least grow to hate him so he just... distanced himself before he could get hurt. Because he was childish. And immature. He didn’t account to how you would feel, thinking that you would get over it. Maybe Baekhyun was as much a stable in your life as you were in his.

“I’m telling you this, because I know you’re a good person and I really don’t want you to hurt her again. When you left her before, I think it affected her more than she lets on. She doesn’t show it much, but I think that’s why she’s so wary with people in general. I really don’t want to see her like that, ever. So please—”

“It’s okay, Sehunnie,” Baekhyun interjects. “I know. I’m planning on making things right between us and I don’t plan on letting her go.”

“Are you sure?” Sehun asks warily.

Baekhyun nodded in confirmation as you finally turn back, hanging up on your phone call and noticing the distance between you and the two of you boys.

You laugh. “You guys are so slow!”

Yes, Baekhyun is sure. He knows what he wants to do. What he needs to do.

You shivered under the touch of the cool autumn sky, the breeze ruffling up your hair. As an attempt to block yourself from the harsh winds, you pulled up your hoodie, the fabric covering your ears giving you just the warmth you crave.

A familiar mud green slide that twirled around like a pretzel came into view as you turned the corner. Your heart felt full at the images of sunny days and fall evenings spent in the very same space years ago, with a certain child.

It was surreal when you turned towards the swings and saw the same kid that you remember from your childhood. Tousled mop hair that went past the eyebrows, button nose, rosy cheeks, and the poutiest of pouts adorned his lips as he glared at the rock a few meters away. His jean clad legs, swung back and forth and the momentum carried him down then up then down and up again, a repeating cycle. As a child, you could never stand the swings for long—they made you get butterflies in your stomach, and not the good kind.

He spotted you, eyes widening and legs skidding across the wood chips to halt his flight, before you could even wonder whether you wanted to be there or not. It looked as if you’d intruded on a rather private moment. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You stepped out of the shadows, clammy hands gripping the strap of your bag. “I’d ask the same to you.”

The swing only slightly rocked back and forth now and you walked up to him, taking the adjacent seat. You didn’t look at him, absentmindedly kicking your legs back and forth but then decided against it when a wave of nausea passed over you. Some things never change.

Baekhyun exhaled a heavy breath that somehow had layers to it. The creaking of the metal joints, rusted over years of children taking turns and calling dibs, showing, as he rocked back and forth. “You remember this place?”

You look towards the side, his voice drawing your attention. Clear, resolute, brights, but at this moment it sounded much different than the Baekhyun you remember. His head was tilted back, eyes closed and face relaxed, serene, and you couldn’t help but feel that way too. This place did something like that to you. All the jitters, and nervous butterflies were drowned out by the aura of this place, and it made you feel calm, comfortable. Home. “Of course I do,” you whispered. You were afraid that if you spoke too loud, something would break, and this, whatever this was would go with it. Your voice merely echoed through the space between the two of you, the buzz of cicadas quickly rebutting it.

“I come here sometimes,” he looks towards you as he says this, and you hold his eyes. Your eyes wander across his face. He looks so tired. “To think.”

You smile a small smile. “Funny.” He cocks an eyebrow at your comment. You shake your head at his pointed look. “I came here just to do that.”

“Do you come here often?”

Your breath comes out in visible puffs in front of you. “No.” Another, but larger. “Yes.”

He chuckles, his signature laugh making your smile grow even bigger. “And we’ve never seen each other before today? Crazy.”

“Yeah,” you grin. “Crazy.”

Your eyes bore into him, as Baekhyun, and as you see the way his shoulders hunch back, the furrow of his eyebrows, how his skin almost sags, the shadows bringing out the darkness under his eyes. You can’t help but ask, again. “Are you okay?”

His head tilts to your side and he opens one of his eyes, peering at you almost upside down, sideways. “Of course I am,” he chirps, “just a little tired ‘s all.”

“Then why don’t you go sleep?”

He tilts his head back up, eyes closing. “Can’t.” Silence looms over the two of you, but he breaks it, once again. “I actually need to apologize to you.”

You turn towards him, confusion etched over your face. “Apologize?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m really sorry for being super... distant to you these past weeks. I don’t really know what got over me.”

“No, no, I mean,” you stutter, grasping his words and reason for an apology. “I should be apologizing. I guess, I stepped over a line, and your reaction was normal for what I did—”

“For what you did?” he interjects, puzzled. “I don’t get it, are we even talking about the same thing?”

“The locker rooms?” you try, wincing at the harsh memory and its outcome.

“Yeah… but you didn’t say anything like that—”

“Yes, but I said something that were implied in my words and—”

“Okay,” he grins and you warily meet his eyes. “How about we just forget that ever happened and start over again?” He cocks his head cutely and you inwardly coo, being reminded of the child you once knew (and now know again).

“Okay,” you agree, smiling.

The small smile he sported suddenly turned larger and much more wary. A mischievous grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he stood up to his full height, the swing twirling erratically at the loss of his weight. “I have an idea.” He bends down to pick up the backpack perched on the corner pole of frame when he looks at you, almost shy, and you were transported once again to the time when you were just a child and didn’t know anything better in the world. “You don’t need to be anywhere soon, do you?”

You shake your head no as you mirror him, dusting off your behind for remaining dirt, and straightening out your jacket.

“Great,” he beamed. “Let’s go!”

The arcade was still the same as you remember it. When you came to, wondering where in the hell Byun Baekhyun was taking you and whether you should’ve followed or him or just ditched to a sauna for the rest of the night was swiped clear out of your memory when you arrived at the front. A few of the letters balanced on a hilt of the building, were fused out, the A, C, and E, black in the darkness of the night. The sign now spelled, ‘RAD’ but you remembered the time when all of the letters dazzled bright colors all on their own.

Baekhyun shot you one of his award winning smiles when you looked at him, incredulously, mouth agape. “This was still here?” you marveled, breathlessly.

He nodded, excitingly. “It hasn’t changed one bit.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

The entrance was dimly lit, only one person over the counter and the teenage boy looked eerily dead, the light above him flickering on and off. When the bell chimed as you entered, he jolted, eyes glazing over the two of you.

“For two?” He queried, monotonously.

“Yes, please,” Baekhyun replied, bouncing on the tips of his toes.

The boy registered and handed you the tickets as you and Baekhyun paid for your own. Baekhyun tried paying for you saying that he dragged you into it, but you stared him down, and he eventually caved. Why would he even pay for you? It’s not like the two of you were on a—no! Y/N, don’t go there! Bad territory to be roaming around especially this close to a guy in a seemingly empty space. You shake your head free of thoughts as you focused back on the game at hand.

Baekhyun had got the lead when you glanced at his screen, but you quickly overpassed him, a trick from so long ago, now muscle memory, taking over you.

He groaned and you cheered as the tickets from under piled out and a crown displayed on your screen and a frowny face on his. You had an urge to soothe the scrunch between his brows when you saw him gloating off the number of tickets you accumulated over the time you’d been here.

As you headed to the counter filled with different toys and stuffed animals, the clock behind it showed that it was almost 10. You’d been here for two hours? It barely felt like 1.

Baekhyun’s eyes were trained on a pikachu plushie to the corner. He didn’t have enough tickets to buy them.

“I’ll get the Pikachu, over there,” you pointed, and couldn’t help but coo at the small almost inaudible whine that blew past Baekhyun’s lips. “Are you going to get anything?”

His eyes flitted between the number of tickets displayed on the machine and back to the wall of toys.

“How about that tiger over there? It kinda looks like you,” you nudged, smiling, when his eyes brightened up again at the sight.

“Okay,” he states. “I’ll take that one.”

The walk back was heavy, silent. The impending doom and the utter discomfort at not having a bed for the night loomed over you and you cursed yourself for ever giving in to your roommate's enticing offers. Dammit, you and your weak heart.

Baekhyun took a deep breath as the ticking of the crosswalk, halted you from the street. “I go this way.”

He points towards his left and you know your apartment is in the opposite direction but you can’t help but want to lie and walk with him just a little bit more. Everything about today had just been so... nice. There was no other way to describe. It made your cheeks blush red, your breath unsteady, your legs stagger and you heart beat so hard you felt as if it would burst out of your chest.

The words were falling past your lips and you wished to take them back as soon as they escaped when you saw the worry fall onto his face. “I was just gonna crash at a cafe for the night.”

“Too much homework?” he questioned.

“Well, yes, and I’ve been kicked out of my room for the night,” you laughed the last part off, hoping that it didn’t sound as bad as it really should. And then you realized that it did sound as bad as it did and you were quick to rebuke just in case a tiny part of Baekhyun worried for you. “I mean! It’s not a big deal or anything, just I owe Sehun a big favor and apparently his plus one’s house is under plumbing or something and I do have that essay do the day after, and I guess, it just all works out...?”

“You don’t have anywhere else?”

You nervously chuckled. “I already tried...? And it’s fine. Not the first time—”

“You can stay with me,” Baekhyun interjected. You coughed a sudden cough. “If you want to, I mean.”

“Uhhhh, well—”

“You’ll have to owe me a favor, of course, it’s not every day I let someone borrow the mattress under my bed, but it’s fine if its you, as long as it is a big favor.”

You stood speechless for the minutest of moments. “I—is that okay?”

“Yeah, it's cool. A big favor, though, okay,” he pointed.

You held your hands up in surrender. “A big favor,” you repeated.

He dropped his finger and a lazy smile that brightened up his face all the more, washed over him. “Let’s go then, I’m bunked.”

You startled awake, eyes shooting open. Darkness meets you and it takes a few moments to register the room you’re in with the only light source being from the tiny gap in the curtain. Curtains. Blue curtains. You don’t have blue curtains.

You’re currently on the floor. Laying on a mattress. There are two bunk beds on either side of you. One of them occupied with Byun Baekhyun who is currently dangling from the bed and drooling. Your brain finally registers awake and reruns everything that happened the night before, starting from your unexpected meeting all the way to Baekhyun’s gracious offer. Considering where you are now, last night wasn’t a dream.

You throw off the covers, suddenly feeling hot. Did he always sleep with no air conditioner? You wondered whether or not you should stay until he woke up, or if you’d be overstaying your welcome. Padding around for your phone, it was half past nine. You didn’t have any classes until the afternoon. You decided to kill time going through your social media, having nothing else to do. But your eyes soon got bored and trailed towards Baekhyun’s almost right above you.

You could make out his distinct features in the dim lights, the ones you are used to and everyone saw, but there was something so peaceful with the way his eyelashes laid against his cheeks and his lips and cheeks a rosy pink. And the drool. You stifled a laugh when the drool started to roll down his chin, threatening to drop off.

It wasn’t long for your heart to start pounding in your eardrums at the serenity of this environment and how quiet everything is. It starts getting louder, almost deafening until you peel your eyes away from Baekhyun.

You suddenly make eye contact with Chanyeol, who gazes at you blankly, face held in his palm.

You intake a sharp breath at the confrontation as he narrows his eyes at you. “Did Baekhyun bring you here?” he whispers.

You nod slowly before realizing the implication of the statement. “Wait, no! Not like that,” your harsh whisper makes Baekhyun stir and your wide-eyed as Chanyeol hold his finger to his lips. Like a deer caught in headlights you slowly nod in understanding. “I just didn’t have a place to stay, and Baekhyun offered. That’s all.”

Chanyeol’s eyes are clouded. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. For such an expressive person that everyone claims him to be he seems far too intimidating in front of you right now. “Do you like him?”

“What? No! Of course not.” you refute harshly. Chanyeol’s eyes narrow down at you. You wither under his gaze. “Okay, maybe a little. But don’t tell him, alright?”

“And why is that?” he presses.

“Just, please, I—”

I’m scared. You choke back the words.

“I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

Chanyeol nods. “Okay. Just be careful with him, okay? Some people use him because he’s Byun Baekhyun and he just lets it happen because he’s too nice and won’t say anything, so just when you’re with him, take care of him alright?”

You look at him questionably. “Why are you telling me this?”

He laughs, waving the question off. “It’s nothing.”

“Huh... you’re awake?” Baekhyun slurs from above you.

“Oh, Baekhyun!” Chanyeol grins. “I was just about to make breakfast, Y/N, will you join me?” A flip had switched in Chanyeol’s demeanor and your eyes don’t leave his, even as he shuffles out of his bed, his earlier words bouncing off the walls in your head.

Baekhyun groans and flips his covers on top of his head, muffling a five minutes. Chanyeol cocked his towards you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, trailing behind Chanyeol.

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: hey, Y/N! this is baekhyun! I got ur number from sehunnie if ur wondering

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: i gave sehun a lil something for you :) make sure you wear it to the game tomorrow!

xxx - xxx - xxxx [6:15 PM]: also u forgot your pikachu at mine

‘xxx - xxx - xxxx has been added as a new contact: baekhyun’

y/n [6:16 PM]: ...should i be worried?

y/n [6:16 PM]: and you can keep it. u probably wanted it more than me. think of it as... payment? for letting me stay the night

baekhyun [6:17 PM]: it’ll look cute on u i swear!!! just please :,( for me??

baekhyun [6:17 PM]: also the pikachu will do

y/n [6:18 PM]: i hope ur not lying

baekhyun [6:18 PM]: i'm not!!!

y/n [6:19 PM]: sehun just came so i hope u stick to ur word

baekhyun [6:19 PM]: you’ll love it, trust me ;)

baekhyun [6:19 PM]: oh, i’ve gotta go now, duty calls

y/n [6:19 PM]: oh okay

y/n [6:20 PM]: get lots of rest and gl for tomorrow!!!

baekhyun [6:21 PM]: dw ill win it :)

baekhyun [6:21 PM]: just for you

‘message failed to send. try again?’

Baekhyun gave you one of his old jerseys, and a yellow t-shirt. You got the reference, his favorite color being yellow, and ‘byun’ printed on the back of the jersey.

“All the Baekhyun fans have one of these, but hyung said this one was special since he got it personally for you or some bullshit.” You didn’t care much for Sehun’s snarkiness, taking the clothing with gentle hands and scurrying off into your bedroom to squeal because Baekhyun got this just for you!!!

You’d tucked it into a pair of loose-fitted jeans the afternoon after, spending hours doing your hair and makeup before topping it off with a team hat. You’d gone for a minimalistic look, trying too much to make sure it didn’t look like you actually spent hours on it. Not that you were dressing up for a certain someone—who are you kidding, you are totally dressing to impress. Sehun took one look at you and snorted. You swatted his arm ignoring the look he gave you. “I haven’t seen this much effort since prom in senior year.”

You huffed a whatever, stalking out of your apartment and placing yourself in the backseat of his car, as you went to pick up Mina. Apparently the two of them were together again. You figured you knew when that happened.

When you get to the field, Sehun announced that he’s hungry and went off to the hot dog stand. You and Mina, meanwhile, climb up to your seats taking in the view. The bleachers are filled to the brim with people from your school and also people from not. You underestimated the sheer popularity of the baseball team in your state.

And you also noticed many other girls dressed up similarly to you.

“So there’s something between you and Baekhyun?” Mina spoke up, from beside you.

Your head whipped towards her and your mouth opened and closed like a fish, unable to make a response.

She glanced towards your shirt and then to the fine print of ‘byun’ across your back and raised an eyebrow at your lack of an answer.

“W-were just friends,” you finally stuttered out.

Mina’s eyebrows raise up another level. “Sure…” she says, sounding totally not convinced. “Because friends blush at the mention of another friend’s name.”

Your hands fly to your cheeks patting them down. “I’m not blushing,” you frown.

She laughs. “Whatever you say, but I personally think you’d be good together.”

You look at her, curiously, egging her to go on.

“I mean, Baekhyun doesn’t really date that often. Eunha—was a stupid decision on his part, I don’t know what got into him. But he’s a good guy and I think he really likes you, Y/N.”

“He likes h-h-uh?” you bumble, head spinning.

Mina snickers. “Yeah, I think he does. And I’m the best when figuring out these types of things,” she grins, adding a cheeky wink towards you.

Your left to mull about her words, as Sehun enters, handing you your hot dog and soda.

“Oh, it’s starting!” Sehun comments and the pitcher throws the first ball. The crowd goes wild.

The game ends with your team winning 6-4 and you find yourself cheering for them along with the others in the crowd.

Sehun drags you towards the locker rooms, telling you that it’ll be fine, and Baekhyun will totally not be weirded out by you visiting him after the game and telling him a good job.

“Sehun!” One of the team called out as you entered the locker room. A horde of sweaty boys swatted at your friend and took the compliments he threw out. You craned your neck searching to find a familiar pink-haired boy before someone called your name from behind.

You turned to find Baekhyun, with a towel slung over his neck, bangs sticking to his forehead, and cheeks flushed. Not to mention the smile that spread over his face like he just saw an angel. He looked effortlessly hot. So unfair.

He jogged towards you and before you could even say a hello, he threw his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You froze for a split second before wrapping your arms around his shoulders, a small smile playing on your lips. You forgot that he was really touchy realizing he must’ve never outgrown the habit, not that it was a particularily bad one. His drooling was far worse. With how tight he was hugging you, you figured it must’ve been out of relief. You knew it. He really was worried for the game.

“You did really well,” you breathed, lips hovering over his ear. He smelled like sweat, undoubtedly and you were sure the warmth would stick to your skin soon enough, but didn’t dare shy away from his hold. He would always hold you like this back then as well and you felt comfort from that fact. Some things really do never change.

He groaned, voice muffled by your skin. His lips moving against your neck sent shivers through your skin so even if you did hear it, your mind was on another level. Finally he pulled his head back, still crouched so he looked up at you, a smirk sporting his lips.

“You wore it.”

You rolled your eyes, and pulled your hands away from him, as he stood to his full height. “You’re the one who begged me to, Byun,” you huffed.

“No, I didn’t!” he exclaimed, sounding aghast at your presumption.

“Oh, really?” you egged, eyes sparkling. “Please? Just for me? Ring any bell?”

“Okay, okay, whatever, you say,” he grinned, hand coming up to ruffle your hair.

You frowned playfully before continuing. “But you did a really good job! You worried over nothing.”

“Who said I worried?” he pouted.

You laughed before motioning to his eye bags. He swatted at your hands, before the two of you burst into giggles.

And then suddenly he’s grabbing your free hand, his encasing yours in warmth and raising it up into the air before shouting a loud ‘let’s go!’ to the rest of the people in the room.

The team chorused shouts in answer before Baekhyun tugged at your arm, eyes smiling like they held the galaxy and stars back at you before pulling you with the crowd that filed out of the cramped room.

You lost Baekhyun to the crowd once you got to the party. Migrating towards the kitchen, you grabbed a soda from the fridge, deciding to pass on the drinks tonight, no matter how enticing they were. Sehun found you brooding in the corner not two minutes later, and true to his word, didn’t leave your side. You, Sehun, and Mina, played in a beer pong game with some guys you vaguely recognize from your sociology class, but can’t put a name on. You played rock, paper, scissors, every time to see who’d drink and it was as if Sehun got on the wrong side of Dionysus tonight. You quickly got bored, however, gravitating away from the crowd when Sehun and Mina headed out on to the dance floor. It couldn’t really be called that when really it was just the living room with some strobe lights and stereos that blasted half-assed music.

You took a seat on the empty two seater, sipping on your soda, and looking up when Jongdae came down to sit next to you.

“Having fun?” he asked, voice almost muffled by the music even though he was practically screaming.

“I think I’ve had enough for the night,” you laughed. “I’ll just find Baekhyun and Sehun and tell them I’m leaving before I go,” you say before getting up.

“Oh, I think I saw Baekhyun before, I’ll take you to him,” he commented, before leading the way.

It isn’t hard to find Baekhyun, what with his eccentric hair color and white outfit. However, Jongdae suddenly stops in front of you, making you bump into him.

His mouth opened to say something and you peeked over his shoulder, thinking that there was something there that you just had to see. “What is it—”

Your voice falters and then you lock eyes with Byun Baekhyun. And he’s kissing someone. He’s kissing Eunha.

Baekhyun regrets it the moment it happened. His eyes fly open, when her mouth comes into contact with his and he sees your eyes undoubtedly meet his across the crowds of people hovering over the shoulder of Kim Jongdae. You stare into his eyes and before he can even pull away or shout your name, your gone, surrounding yourself in the shadows with Jongdae running behind you. He snaps his head back, glaring at Eunha.

He doesn’t bother to speak a word to her, opting to run after the way you came from. Shit, shit, shit, this probably would not end well. No, no, no need for negative thoughts, he will make it end well.

He doesn’t find you in the kitchen which was the way you were headed but he found Sehun and pounced on his immediately.

“Did you see, Y/N?”

“Huh, no, why?” Sehun asked, eyebrows furrowed. The smile was wiped off his face and in place a frown. “Hyung…”

“Just, see if she texted you maybe?” Baekhyun pleads, voice growing louder at the upturn of music. Sehun cocks his head but does as he said, eyes widening before showing him the text.

y/n: sorry sehunnie, didn’t feel too well. went back home if you need me ^^

Baekhyun’s heart runs into overdrive, and he’s out of the door a split second after. His feet are carrying him as fast as possible and when he’s finally on the elevator going up to your floor, eyes blown out and breath ragged from running, he takes a moment to conserve himself. It was a mistake. And you have to understand that. Because what Baekhyun realized as he was egging the taxi driver to go faster across the city, was that he wanted you there with him. He wanted to kiss you. Not Eunha. Not anyone else. And he wanted to kiss you really fucking bad.

The door dings open and he sees the color of your jacket as you shuffle through your bag, presumably looking for your keys.

He’s by your side in a second and you turn and look around to see what's all the raucous. You visibly stiffen. Your face is streaked with tears, eyes puffy, cheeks blotchy, and lips a dark rouge as if you’ve been biting them for hours.

“Y/N…” Baekhyun starts hand reaching for your wrist unconsciously. You shift away from this and Baekhyun notices that deflating.

“What are you doing here?” you question, voice wobbling, as if you were about to start crying any second now. And from the way it looked, it seemed to be true.

“That kiss—” he starts, and Baekhyun realizes his voice is far too loud for the quiet of the empty hallway and as you flinch, he takes a sharp breath. “That kiss meant nothing. Eunha doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. She’s just an ex, and I guess she thought since I was being nice to her that meant that we could be together again, and really it isn’t anything like that because I don’t like her anymore.”

You blink owlishly at him, looking as if you aren't digesting what he was saying, which made Baekhyun halt. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Be-because, you saw! You saw me kissing Eunha, and I obviously had to explain it or else there would be too many misconceptions—”

“You don’t have to tell me that. It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.” You laugh heartlessly and sniffle. “I’m just some delusional girl who thinks that just because she used to be your friend ages ago, she would somehow have even a sliver of a chance that you would like her, but again that’s delusional! Because it somehow managed to slip my mind that you’re Byun Baekhyun of the baseball team. Handsome, smart, athletic, kind, caring, loving and not the Byun Baekhyun who’d tripped over his own feet and have dirt and drool over his face all the time—”

Your crying as Baekhyun kisses you.

His weight leans into you and you take small steps back as your back hits the wall behind you. He adds more pressure, tilting his head, hand gripping your hand more just in case you felt as if this wasn’t real, which he believed what would be running through your mind now.

He feels like absolute putty when you soften at his touch and splay a delicate hand over his chest, and when he bites down on your lip you make a noncommittal noise from the back of your throat that has him falling.

You squeak when Baekhyun’s hands, one placed on your hip and the other on your neck and in your hair and everywhere, tilt your head higher, bringing him deeper into the kiss. It isn’t until you gently push him back, breathless, and eyes hooded that he takes a moment to consider the predicament he stood in.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” you breathe, wiping the stray tears away from your face.

Baekhyun chuckles softly, patting down your hair. “I thought you would say that.”

The clicking of a lock from the other side of the hall, snaps both your attention towards it. Baekhyun is amused as you look at him wide-eyed as the clicks continue. You pick up the key that somehow dropped to the floor in the midst of everything and are quick to open your door pulling Baekhyun in.

When the door shuts behind Baekhyun, with you leaning against his chest, breathing deep, and Baekhyun leaning against the door, he can’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

His hands snake their way into your hair, one of them tilting your chin up. “Round two?” he smiles, cheekily.

You blush a pretty red before nodding and meeting him in the middle for a kiss.

#exowritersnet #exo fanfiction #exo imagine #exo scenarios #byun baekhyun fanfic #exo byun baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun imagine #oneshot #reader

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atths--twice · 4 years

Link

Continuing on...

Chapter Three 3/8

Quests and Fortunes

After a night of sadness, Mulder wants to spend time with Scully and cheer her up if he can.

Mulder stood outside of Scully’s apartment with bags of food in his hands, as he waited for her to open the door. He had picked up a late lunch on his way over, intending to take full advantage of the day off and spend it with her.

The door opened and she seemed shocked to see him. She was in jeans and the softest, bluest sweater he had ever seen. He wanted to run his hands up and down her arms to see if it was as soft as he imagined. Her eyes were even bluer than normal and he felt as thought he he could drown in them.

“Mulder! What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“Well,” he said, as he pushed past her and set the bags on the table. “I was home and thinking that some food would be nice. Then I thought you would probably be hungry by now after you ate...” He trailed off as he glanced at the plate that held the bagel and doughnut from earlier. Finding the bagel still remaining, he looked at her and grinned. “You chose wisely, I see.”

“Shut up,” she said as she closed the door and joined him at the table. She tried to hide her smile but she was not able to do so.

“So, what did you get for, what are we calling this, lunch?” she asked with a glance at the clock, as her stomach grumbled. Oh, apparently it had been awhile since that doughnut. He grinned wider and she smiled back.

“I went to Sal’s and got you your regular and for myself, a super delicious meal,” he said as he began to unpack the bags.

“Are you implying that my food is not delicious?” she asked, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “And I doubt you got my order down. I don’t always get the same thing, you know.”

He scoffed. “Scully, that’s crap and you know it. Prepare to, once again, be amazed at my abilities.” He cracked his knuckles, rolled his neck, and took a deep breath. “Thin sliced turkey on wheat bread, no mayo, light mustard, tomatoes, sprouts, pickle- on the side. Salad, vinaigrette dressing- also on the side. Croutons in a bag, so they don’t get soggy and lose their croutony crunch. Sparkling water, with a lemon wedge-in a container, also on the side,” he said with a proud voice, as he pulled each item out of the bag and presented them to her. He stared at her, daring her to say he got it wrong.

She smiled at him, an adorable smile that he very rarely saw. He remembered her first smiling at him like that years ago, in Aubrey, Missouri, as she talked about his extreme hunches. His heart beat fast seeing it then and it damn near did cartwheels seeing it now. She nodded through her smile and began opening the containers that sat in front of her before sitting down.

He sat next to her and opened a container to reveal a super messy sandwich. Full of mayonnaise, mustard, ham, cheese, turkey, tomatoes, onions, lettuce- all on sourdough. He took a huge bite and she shook her head as she watched him chewing his food. He knew he had to have mayo and mustard on his face, which she confirmed when she reached over and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He grinned, licking his lips before taking another giant bite.

She continued staring at him, eating as though he had not seen food in years. She shook her head once more and took a small bite of her food, as though to show him that people could be civil and not disgusting. He watched her and grinned.

“Your sandwich looks pretty good. You wanna switch?” he asked, offering the other half of his sandwich to her.

She eyed it suspiciously, but then agreed to trying it only, and he smiled. He knew that once she tasted it, she would not give it back; he just had to present it the right way.

She took a couple of bites and then simply finished off the other half of his sandwich. He nodded knowingly at her and she stared back at him, narrowing her eyes. He wiped her face this time, as she was sporting the remnants of his sandwich, while he was left with her bland, boring sandwich. He did not complain, however, wanting her to eat, so he said nothing about the lack of taste and enjoyment her food brought him.

She ate her salad, but offered him half. He accepted and they squabbled and fought over the croutons, each trying to be the first to spear them with their forks. An odd grown up version of Hungry Hungry Hippos. Mulder chuckled as the jingle for that game from so many years ago popped into his head.

“Scully, do you remember the Hungry Hippos commercial?” he asked as he smiled at her.

She looked at him quizzically, then at the salad with its remaining croutons mostly on his side. She seemed to give it some thought and then she looked up at him and grinned. “Who will win? No one knows! Feed the hungry hip-hip-o’s!”

They both laughed and he spun the salad container so that the croutons were within her reach. She looked at him and smiled her thanks as he cleaned up the trash from their meal and then pulled the last item out of the bag.

Sal’s sandwiches were the best in the city, so Mulder thought. It was a small little deli type place, owned by Sal, his wife and their three sons. All the bread was made on site every day and thus the sandwiches were extremely delicious, if the lines out the door were proof of it. However, nothing compared to the desserts his wife made.

Cakes, brownies, cookies, all made from scratch and with love. Sal’s wife, Sylvia, was a big bosomy, old world, Italian woman. Her apron was always full of flour and she pushed her treats on everyone who came into the shop.

“Life is to be enjoyed. Have a cookie, a brownie. I made them this morning. They are good. Eat!” She was always heard to say, her smile infectious.

Today, Mulder had splurged on the Brownie Supremo and her smile was worth the price he had paid for it. She had wrapped it up for him carefully and thrown in a frosted sugar cookie, which he ate on the way to the car, the buttery sweetness melting on his tongue.

“You give this to your woman,” Sylvia had said. “She is too skinny. She needs some meat on her bones.”

He did not try to explain their relationship to her. He just nodded and grinned, taking the dessert from her and adding it to his bag.

He placed the brownie on the table and opened the lid, his mouth watering at the sight of it. It was chocolate overload with caramel swirling within. Licking his lips, he looked at her.

“Mmm... Scully, Sylvia gave this to me today with strict instructions that you were to have some. So,” he said grabbing two forks from the bag, “unless you want to anger the sweetest Italian mother I have ever known, I suggest you do as told.”

He held out a fork to her and waited. She looked exasperatedly at him, then down to the dessert. She looked at him again, and he pushed the fork closer to her. Sighing, she grabbed it from him.

He grinned and motioned for her to take the first bite. She sighed again and dug her fork into the brownie. The chocolate and caramel practically created a river inside the container. She got a bite on her fork and the caramel stretched with it, stringing across the table. She put the fork in her mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head as the first taste of chocolate hit her tongue.

She moaned as she chewed and Mulder was mesmerized watching her. He knew it was wrong to find her eating arousing, but shit, it was. Her moans and her eyes closing like that, made him think things he should not be thinking and he took a bite to cover his emotions.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, as the caramel and chocolate merged in his mouth. “That is goddamn delicious.” He took another bite and closed his eyes just as she had.

Between the two of them, the brownie was gone in no time at all. She was running her finger inside the container and licking off the remaining caramel, when he asked if she would like a spoon, or perhaps a straw. She told him to shut up and she sucked her finger into her mouth, causing him to clear his throat and look away.

After they had cleared everything up and the kitchen was back to Scully’s neat and tidy order, Mulder went into the living room. He was looking at her collection of movies and he smiled when he grabbed the one he wanted. Taking it out, he put it in the VCR, taking off his coat and settling down on the couch with the remote.

“Scully, come over here,” he said, patting the couch. “No paperwork today, and time off work means movies in the middle of the day.” He grinned at her as she walked over and sat next to him.

“Mulder... what movie are we...” She stopped speaking as she heard it starting. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

She looked at him and smiled, bringing her legs up under her cross legged, and nodding while he grinned like a fool.

For the next few hours, they watched the movie, saying lines they knew, discussing parts they liked best, the ones that bothered them and characters they loved most. They paused the movie a lot to have in depth discussions and Mulder found her contributions to be incredibly intellectually arousing.

He discovered that Scully had a soft spot for both Marcus Brody and Sallah. She loved Marcus because he was oblivious and a lovable dolt and Sallah because he was such a sweet guy. He was always looking out for Indy and he was there anytime they needed him.

“Marcus though, Mulder, he gets lost in his own museum. How can you not find affection for a goof like him?” she asked, a big smile on her face.

She did not care for Elsa and showed it by rolling her eyes a lot when she was on screen. The fact that she slept with both Jones’ apparently back to back, got on her nerves.

“I get the appeal, for all parties, because...” She trailed off as he stared at her and paused the movie, giving her his full attention so she could explain herself.

She smiled so hard, her dimples showed and his near cartwheeling heart started doing backflips instead.

“Elsa is beautiful, there is no denying that, but there are better ways to get close to someone than sex. Of course, it is quicker, but sex and trust do not a combination make. The two do not equal the other,” she said as he stared at her. “Now, both Jones men are incredibly attractive, there is also no denying that, but falling for the honey pot just makes them appear simple. They are intelligent men, but put a pair of flirty boobs and blonde hair in front of them, and it makes them seem like they are idiots.”

“”Flirty boobs,” Scully?” he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Mulder. So if she came to you, giving you the big eyes and the sad stories, all while using her... yes “flirty boobs,” you’re telling me you wouldn’t fall for it?” she asked him with a twitch of her lips and a raised eyebrow.

He looked at her, trying to gauge how far he could take his answer. How far he could go without pushing past that line they seemed to be unable or unwilling to cross?

“Nah...” he said finally, looking at the television screen frozen on Elsa’s face. “They send in the blonde bombshells... you know it’s a trap. I’ve watched enough spy movies to know that much.” She nodded, apparently happy with his answer.

“Besides, she’s not exactly my type,” he said, ready to restart the movie.

“She’s not!” he said at her silent, side eyed expression. “I like women with regular boobs, thank you. Flirty ones... hmm, they seem like too much work. How would you ever buy lingerie as a gift for someone that has them?” She laughed so hard at his comment, he waited until she was quiet to start the movie again.

When Henry was shot, he heard her take a breath as she looked away for a second, and he understood what she was not saying. The Nazis wanted Indy’s help and he was not willing to give it. They hurt someone he loved as incentive so he would do what they wanted. How many times had he and Scully been in the same situation? How many times had Scully suffered because of him?

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” she said, her eyes back on the screen, the tense moment seemingly passed and Indy was about to perform his tests of worthiness.

Instead of watching the movie, he covertly watched her. Her rapt attention to the movie, the way she mumbled the lines, her expressions as she did. Watching her enjoy something he loved made him immensely happy. Seeing her lose herself in a movie, one that was somewhat scientific, though still fictional, made him even happier. The need to be intellectually stimulated while also being entertained was so Scully.

She was leaning forward, her hands clasped together as Indy was taking his leap of faith. She smiled as he stepped out and his foot hit the pathway. She looked at Mulder, finding him staring at her.

“What?” she asked, surprised to find him looking at her so intently.

“Nothing,” he answered. She gave him a look, but then turned back to the movie. He did too, not wanting to get caught staring again.

Elsa and Donovan were in the small temple with Indy and the Knight, trying to find the grail. Elsa asked to pick the grail and Scully scoffed at her choice and then sighed as Mulder grinned at her.

“Oh Donovan...” Scully said. “See? He fell for it. Believed she was right when she handed him that cup. What a damn fool. Jesus was not ostentatious. He was a simple carpenter. People go for the flash and bang, they end up disappointed. Flirty boobs, Mulder. I’m telling you,” she said with an overly dramatic shake of her head.

He chuckled as he watched Donovan drink from the deceitful chalice, unknown to him that Elsa tricked him.

“See, that’s why it’s good you didn’t choose the bagel this morning,” he told her as they watched Donovan disintegrate before their eyes and she smiled at him.

The correct cup was chosen and Scully smiled. “That’s the cup of a carpenter” she said along with Indy.

Henry’s bullet wound was healed by the power of the grail. Here again, they had to pause the movie for awhile as they discussed what happened to the bullet in his stomach. Did it dissolve or would he live with a bullet in him forever? Or was it as if the whole thing never even happened? Mulder said they should open an x-file and she laughed.

They both then laughed over the similar situations of Elsa and Indy trying to reach the grail as the temple was crashing down.

The movie ended as it should, with good conquering evil, the last living Knight finally laying down his sword to be at peace. Mulder turned the movie off and asked her for her five top moments and he would tell her his.

She smiled and nodded. “The leap of faith, the “everything is on fire” scene, the boat fight, the misspelling of Jehovah, and X marks the spot.” She raised her eyebrows and waited.

He grinned at her and pretended to think for a bit until she shoved him and he laughed. “Okay, okay. The tapestries, the Ming vase, the room is on fire, the walk through the catacombs, and when Henry is saved.”

She nodded and accepted his answer. She got up and stretched, yawning as she did. He tried not to notice her body as she stretched, but Jesus, a man could only be so strong.

“Should we order some Chinese food?” he asked as he got up as well, forcing his mind off of what it was thinking, his phone out ready to dial.

“Mulder, are you really hungry? It’s only been..." She looked at her watch. “Four and a half hours?! Oh my god...” She shook her head and looked at him.

“Think of all the stimulating conversation we had though, Scully,” he said, dialing the number to Wong’s Palace, the place they always ordered from.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said as she turned to walk away.

“You don’t want anything?” he asked as the phone started ringing. “Broc-“

“Broccoli beef sounds okay, I suppose." She realized he was already saying it, when she finished. She smiled and he grinned back as he ordered their food and she headed toward the bathroom.

“Hey, Scully,” he said, taking a few steps toward her, as he ended the call. She raised her eyebrows as she stood in the bathroom doorway. “There is ha documentary on about Bigfoot and some new footage that has apparently come to light. Do you want me to tape it for you? It’s on right now and..." He stopped speaking at the look on her face.

“Okay, okay,” he said, with his hands up and a smile on his face as she walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

“Hey, Scully,” he said again, to the closed door.

“Yes, Mulder, I’m sure,” she said before he heard the water start running. He laughed and walked back to the couch to watch the show.

A while later, dinner had been eaten, Mulder regaling her with the things she had missed in the documentary. She stared at him, sighed, and rolled her eyes just as he had thought she would.

She walked past him when they had finished, putting away the leftovers, and he got a whiff of her bubble bath. She smelled so good, like jasmine. He remembered her telling him how much she loved that smell and he understood why; she smelled like spring and summer. Warm and light.

Her house phone rang and she looked at him in surprise. She answered it and he heard her mother’s voice through the phone. He heard the one sided conversation, but did not pay much attention until he heard his name.

“Mulder? I don’t think he could make lunch tomorrow, Mom. Yeah, he has plans, I think. Sure, I could ask him. Now? But we’re on the phone, I’ll call him later. What? What makes you think...? Okay...” She sighed, covered the phone, and looked at him. “Would you like to join me and my mother for lunch tomorrow?” She stared at him and shook her head.

He nodded at her and she waited a beat. “Yeah, Mom, he won’t be able to join us. I know. I will. Yes, tomorrow at 1:30. I’ll see you there. Love you too. Bye.” She hung up the phone and closed her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked her, knowing what she was thinking about; whether or not to tell her mother about the IVF. “Hey, Scully,” he said quietly, touching her hand. “I can be there if you like, take some of the pressure off. Your mom likes me. I could be your wingman.”

She smiled slightly at him and squeezed his hand in response. “Thank you, Mulder, but I’ll be okay. Not sure if I’ll even tell her yet, but... it... it would be easier if it was just me and her.” She nodded at him and he squeezed her hand in support.

She let go of his hand and she turned toward her room. He watched her start to leave, wishing he could ease the pain she was feeling.

“Scully, wait. You didn’t get your fortune cookie." He grabbed it and walked over to her.

She sighed as he handed it to her and, not meeting his eyes, she walked into her room, closing the door softly behind her.

He stood there with his own cookie in his hand, staring at her closed door. Not sure if he should stay or go, he stood there waiting.

Her door opened and she had two pillows and a blanket in her arms. She met his eyes and he had his answer, her silent question asking him to stay. He nodded at her as he watched her set the things on the couch.

She walked past him again and quietly said goodnight, before returning to her room and shutting the door.

He stood still for a few more seconds before shaking out of his thoughts. He felt the cookie digging into his palm and he cracked it open, popping the cookie in his mouth as he read his fortune.

You will follow your path to what your heart desires.

He felt the air go out of his lungs as he looked at her door, his heart's desire standing on the other side of it. His heart pounded as he read the words again. He sighed and shook his head sadly. Now was not the time, he was sure of it, but he would hold onto this fortune and one day hopefully, he would give it to her.

The cookie in his mouth felt like clay and he had a hard time swallowing past the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He put the scrap of paper in his wallet and went to the bathroom.

The toothbrush he used the night before was still there. He liked seeing it there, as though it belonged there next to hers. He sighed and shook his head as he grabbed it and the toothpaste. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, used the toilet, and washed his hands before heading back to the couch.

He turned most of the lights out, leaving the room in a soft glow. He took off his jeans, outer shirt, and his shoes, laying them on a chair. He adjusted the pillows and stretched out on the couch. Covering up, he turned on his side to watch the television, the volume turned down low.

He slid a hand between the pillows and felt something scratchy. He pulled it out and saw it was a fortune cookie paper. Scully’s fortune. He got up, turned the light on over the kitchen table to read her fortune.

Your journey will reward you with the answers you seek.

He grinned and looked at her door again. Looking down at the fortune, he imagined her reading it. He wondered if she had thought the same thing he did; about the movie they had watched tonight, and how it seemed to pertain to them on many levels.

He turned off the light, put her fortune next to his in his wallet, and lay back down on the couch. He thought of what Henry had said at the end of the movie. That Elsa never believed in the grail, but saw it as a prize to be won, and that was ultimately her downfall.

He thought of Scully. She may not believe in things like ghosts, sea monsters, vampires, or Bigfoot, but she respected the journey. She was there by his side no matter the outcome. She was not on this journey to win a prize, but because she believed in him and his quest to find the truth.

He laughed quietly and shook his head at the thought that they must have gotten each other’s fortunes, but then he sobered. No. As usual the universe seemed to give them what they both needed to hear.

She needed to hear that the crazy journey she was on would eventually be fruitful. He needed to hear that the quest was not what was most important. To stop... get out of the damn car and take a chance, getting off the crazy ride.

He lay on his back and sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He could feel a change in them. Not just with the IVF, but them. Something was coming and he knew it was going to be a step forward, a step for good. His backflipping heart settled and he took a few deep breaths. They could not stand in one place for much longer. A change was in the air, so much so, the universe seemed to feel it.

Soon, he thought, as he surrendered to sleep.

Soon.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Per Manum #Lunch #Sweets and Desserts #Spending Time Together #Watching a Movie #Chinese Food #Fortunes and hope for the future #Sleeping Over

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1191

survey by voicedance16

name yourself: Robyn

name (one of) your best friend(s): Angela; she’s for keeps.

name 3 things in your fridge/freezer: I don’t think I opened the fridge at all today, but if I had to guess...eggs, bread, and our pad thai leftovers from dinner earlier.

name a color you're wearing currently: Green.

name the last thing you ate: I treated myself and ordered spicy tuna salad tonight because I had a shit shift. It’s been a while since I felt a little burned out with my job, but it happened today and it wasn’t very pleasant.

name the last store you went to: I never go out these days...does online shopping count? I’m always browsing through Shopee, if anything lol.

name the song you're listening to: ON - BTS.

name the artist of that song: BTS.

name your favorite animal: Dogs or elephants.

name what pets you have, if any: Two dogs. Kimi, Cooper.

name the town/state you live in: No thanks. I live near Manila though, which is probably the only city most people know from the Philippines anyway so that should suffice.

name something commonly ordered at Starbucks: I think my usual is a pretty common order – caramel macchiato.

name the last person you talked to in person: Not sure. I think it may have been Nina? I was just jokingly asking her if her bias recognized her again on a VLive, since her comments have been read by her favorite group recently, and she tells me they even laugh at them :( Perks of liking a smaller, more underground group for sure; pigs would have to fall from the sky before anyone from BTS notices me lol.

name the last person you talked to on the phone: My mom. I didn’t hear her calling for dinner last night, so she ended up having to call me from downstairs while I was hanging out at the rooftop.

name the current day of the week: Tuesday.

name the current month: May.

name the current time: 10:22 PM.

name the last movie you watched: I have not watched an entire movie since i’m thinking of ending things back in September. I did watch a snippet from Portrait of a Lady on Fire a few weeks ago, though. That’s the closest thing I’ve got to watching any film recently.

name the last book you read: This one I’m even more uncertain about.

name a place you've been on vacation: South Korea.

name a place you'd like to go on vacation: Malta or Turkey.

name 3 things you can see from where you're sitting: It’s pretty dark so I technically can’t ‘see’ anything, but based on what I know I brought up to the rooftop tonight I have my phone, my salad, and my vape pen.

name your favorite musical: Miss Saigon, if anything. I’m not a big fan of musicals.

name an animal (any): Turtle was the first that came to mind.

name a fruit: Mangoes.

name a vegetable: Lettuce.

name a common breakfast food: Pancakes. They’d sound so good rn, too.

name a color: Grey.

name a type of flower: Dandelions.

name a type of tree: Uh...mango again? HAHA I’m not very good with trees.

name a city: New York.

name a state: Indiana.

name a country: India.

name a continent: Asia.

name a planet: Jupiter.

name a girl's name: Jessica.

name the last person to comment you on Facebook: Angela. She tagged me on this post that was promoting a local shop that makes customized face pillows and she told me we should order a Taehyung one for me and a Seokjin one for her, hahaha. The concept is definitely cute but it wasn’t my style, so I showed her another shop that also makes face pillows, but prettier.

name a clothing store/brand: Thom Browne.

name the last book you got at the library: If I remember correctly, it was History of the Filipino People which, coincidentally, my great-uncle wrote.

name a restaurant: Yabu but eugh, haven’t eaten there since the breakup. I should order from them soon to commemmorate moving on heheh.

name a grocery store: Can I just name a local one? SM.

name an iPhone app: YouTube.

name an actor: Eddie Redmayne.

name an actress: Emma Stone.

name a music group: BTS.

name your favorite/lucky number: It used to be 4, but I’m now going with 7.

name something you've accomplished: Continued from...last night, I think? I have no concept of time anymore. I managed to survive this week so far considering how deadly my schedule was.

name something you'd like to accomplish: Get a promotion once I’ve proven myself capable.

name someone who makes you laugh: Hans can make anything funny.

name something exciting coming up soon: Some of my online shopping orders arriving I’m guessing by later today, yayyyy.

name a song that makes you emotional: Oh man, there are a lot. O by Coldplay is probably the one that hits the worst, though; I still can’t listen to that song completely to this day. Recently, I also can’t really avoid being sad whenever I listen to Butterfly by BTS.

name one of your pet peeves: Overly slow drivers.

name someone you know who is an amazing singer: Hannah.

name someone who is the same religion as you: JM.

name a holiday you celebrate: Christmas.

name the last 4 digits of your phone number: That’s too many, lmao.

name one of your cousins: My cousin Lei from my dad’s side.

name a book you loved when you were younger: The entire Septimus Heap series. I must’ve reread Magyk (the first book) a hundred times.

name a song you loved when you were younger: Let’s go withhhhh Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. Making sure there were no adults around whenever I sang along to “I’m a motherfucking princess” as an 8 year old was always a thrill.

name your favorite movie: Two for the Road.

name a popular book series: Percy Jackson.

name a musical instrument: Saxophone.

name a language: French.

name what other tabs you have open: Archive of our Own, Dailymotion, Bzoink.

name 3 things on the walls of the room you're in: The walls of the rooftop are bare.

name your house number 4.

name your high school: Nope.

name your college, if applicable: UP.

name your middle school See high school.

name your elementary school: See high school.

name the college you wish you went to/hope to go to: I was able to qualify for the university and degree I wanted to attend.

name your favorite teacher: My music teacher in high school.

name the color of your backpack: Hm, don’t really use backpacks anymore but the main one I had in college - at least until I switched to a simple handbag (aka my senior year when I started to not care lol) - was a pink Herschel backpack.

name a dessert: Leche flan.

name a famous landmark: Statue of Liberty, only because of the question after this.

name a place you might go in NYC: Tiffany’s.

name an inventor: Nikola Tesla.

name an article of clothing: Jeans.

name an ice cream flavor: Pistachio.

name a religion: Islam.

name an emotion: Resentment.

name a room in your house: Mine.

name a website: Twitter.

name a car: Hyundai Palisade.

name something you need to do today: It’s a holiday today so I technically should be off work, but since it’s a holiday squished in the middle of the week that’s just another way of saying my dayoff will be a scam lmao. That said, I need to draft an article today for a client.

name someone you admire: My dad.

name someone you miss: My two best friends.

name a part of the body: Thighs.

name the last youtube video you watched: It was a Taehyung-focused compilation.

name a quote you love: “If you really love to be loved, it’d be good to show those who love you how much you’ve changed.” There’s some background context obviously playing around in here and most people might not recognize the weight it holds if they’re unfamiliar, but it’s a quote that really means a lot to me and came to me during a time I needed to hear it.

#survey #surveys

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softboywriting · 5 years

Text

Holding Fire | Shawn Mendes | Firefighter AU

Summary: Shawn is the newest member of Fire Station 15′s crew and he’s a hot one. It’s not long before you and Shawn hit it off and start an amazing new relationship. Will it last or go up in flames? [firefighter au] [slight angst] [fluff]

Word Count: 18k

|Masterlist In Bio|

When you were ten years old you watched your father’s bakery burn to the ground. When you were sixteen years old you watched your house burn to the ground. Now at twenty two you work at the deli across the street from the fire station that responded to both of those fires and saved you and your families lives. Two of the older firefighters and your father's ex coworkers, Mike and Jack, both stayed in contact with you and became like family to you and your sister after your father died when you were nineteen.

The owner of the deli is Mike, now an ex firefighter, and he hired you just after your dad passed away. The deli is nice and small, you have a few tables for eat in guests and you serve sandwiches and breakfast made to order on Saturday and Sunday mornings. It’s a local hang out for a lot of the town’s police officers and firefighters and it really feels like home. You have gotten to know everybody by name, you’ve memorized their orders and you even keep up with their personal lives as they come in and talk about their day while you make their lunches. Nothing ever changed much in your little town, not until you watched Shawn walk through the doors of the deli one day, Fire and Safety Station 15 shirt tight across his chest. That day...well...it was something.

______________

“Has lover boy stopped in yet today?” Mariel, your best friend and colleague asks from where she is wiping down the cutting boards after slicing up some lettuce for the upcoming lunch rush. “I heard he couldn’t stop staring at you the other day.”

“Mariel! That is not true! Who told you that?” you laugh and she just zips her lips. “Oh you’re the worst. But no, he hasn’t come in today. It’s not even lunchtime yet, he’s probably out working.”

“Oh yes, out saving kittens from trees and kissing babies!” Mariel cackles as she heads to the back room to grab some bread to put in the oven. “Oh Shawn, please, come rescue me!”

You turn scarlet and throw a towel at her. “Stop it! You’re so mean!”

“You’re so single. Get his number, or I will.”

“Mariel you wouldn’t.” She raises her eyebrows as if to challenge your statement. “Mare, you better not. You know I like him and that would be-”

Someone clears their throat at the order counter behind you and you turn around to see Shawn standing there with a flushed face and mess of wet curls on his head. “Could I order?” he smiles, biting his lip.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” you splutter, grabbing your order pad and a pen out of your pocket.

“Long enough to know you were arguing about a guy?” Shawn laughs and you let out a sigh. He hadn’t heard his name. Thank god.

You put your pen and pad on the counter and start scribbling down the orders Shawn gives you for the guys at the station. “And what would you like?” you ask, looking up to see he is smiling at you.

“Actually, I’d like you to make me something today. Your favorite?”

“Yeah?” you giggle and he crosses his arms, making that oh so fitted tee pull across his chest. “You think you can handle my favorite?”

Shawn bites his lip and chuckles. “I think I can handle it, just no tuna please. I’m not wild on tuna salad sandwiches.”

“Damn, my favorite is the tuna.”

“Really?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No! No really. Tuna is gross. Alright, one special of the day.” You scribble it down on your order pad and clip it up on the sandwich station. Mariel comes over and helps you to prepare meats on the slicer for the sandwiches while Shawn leans with his arms folded against the high counter where the toppings are all displayed for easy choosing.

“He’s staring at you,” Mariel whispers and you clench your jaw. “I think he is looking at your ass.”

“Mariel, I’m going to slice my hand if you don’t stop distracting me.”

“I’m just saying, he’s staring right over the counter like a love sick puppy dog.”

You turn around to grab a new ham from the cold case under the topping station and you’re met with Shawn staring, just like Mariel said. “Was there something else you needed?” you ask and Shawn shakes his head. “Just curious?”

“Very curious.”

Mariel turns around and grins. “Curious enough to ask for her number?”

Shawn turns bright red and looks between the two of you. “Well I-I really meant I was curious about what kind of sandwich she's making me.”

“It's a special. Don't worry about it,” you smile teasingly and Shawn drops his head against the top of the case. “I know what you like.”

“Damn girl,” Mariel clucks, elbowing your side. “He's gonna turn into a tomato if you keep up that flirting.”

From the counter behind you, you hear a mumbled “too late” and you know it's Shawn still hiding his face in his arms. He was so cute, a grown man but still somehow boyishly cute. Ugh. Perfect.

You prepare Shawn's sandwich the way you like yours on your lunch break. A classic Italian with extra pepperoni, olive moufletta and spicy brown mustard, toasted. You're sure he will love it. He always got the Italian cold or the French dipped roast beef with extra onion and pepper relish. You had to admit, the guy had good taste in sandwiches. Unlike some guys who came in and they looked cute but their plain turkey with American cheese and mayo turned you way off. Bland eats what bland is.

Mariel helps you sack up the sandwiches and label them according to the list Shawn gave you. She spares you any further embarrassment or attempts at flirting and rings him up while you clean up the slicer and building station. That doesn't stop Shawn from saying goodbye, smiling and tucking a ten dollar bill into the tip jar on his way out.

“You gotta get that man tied down,” Mariel says as she watches him jog across the street. “He's too fine to be the one that got away.”

You wipe your hands on your apron and shrug. “Well...I dunno. I'm just a little wary about him. Like where did he come from? We know everyone in town and this mysterious stranger just appears and has an interest in me? I dunno.”

Mariel rolls her eyes. “You're such a weirdo. If you need to know his whole life story why don't you ask him out?”

“I can't! I mean look at him!”

“Look at you! Damn he thinks you're the best thing since sliced bread! Come on girl read the signals, they're saying, date me date me in big flashing red letters!” Mariel flashes her hands out in front of you for emphasis. “Don't. Let. Him. Slip. Away.”

“Okay! Fine. This weekend is the annual firehouse block party. I'll try to talk to him then.”

“You better or else I'm going to find some way to trap you in a room with him so you have no choice.”

“I will. I promise.”

__________________

Station 15’s annual block party was the event of the summer. It was held at the end of August every year rain or shine and always included live music, barbecue, dancing, games, you name it. Ever since you were little you could remember going to it. The real fun started after the kids went home and it was just the adults in the firehouse drinking and shooting the shit with each other. You remember how your dad would always talk for hours with Mike and Jack, sending you and your sister home with the babysitter for the night. It wasn't until you were eighteen that you were allowed to stay, and even then it was mostly older towns people who stuck around.

These days there was a lot more of a younger crowd, people in their twenties like you are. All your friends having come back from college or having already graduated. The party is bigger now, with families growing every year it seemed. You love it, seeing everyone so happy and together. Usually you'd end up playing games with the young kids because they always looped you into their shenanigans, but this year you had a different agenda. One with Shawn written all over it.

“Can I get a whiskey ginger?” You call out to the guy with his back to you at the bar that is set up inside the firehouse garage. He turns and you find it's none other than Shawn.

“Hey,” he beams, smile going ear to ear. “I didn't know if I'd see you tonight.”

“Ah yeah, I come every year. What about you? Why are you bartending?”

Shawn grabs a bottle of whiskey and starts preparing your drink. “Well I volunteered while the actual bartender stepped out to get some more ice. He should be back soon.”

“Do you know what you're doing?” You chuckle as he accidentally pours the soda all over the little wooden countertop.

“Shit,” he mumbles, wiping it up quick. “I do know what I'm doing surprisingly. Bar tending put me through college,” he chuckles, passing you your drink in it's red solo cup.

You raise your eyebrows. A firefighter who was a bartender who possibly has a degree. What kind of dream boat were you dealing with. “That's interesting, what'd you go to college for?”

“Nothing really, I ended up just going to a community college in Ashland for two years before I decided I hated it. A friend of mine got me into the fire academy and here I am.”

“Wow, you like it though? Firefighting?”

Shawn makes himself a whiskey ginger as well and places it next to yours on the counter top. “It has its days but it's generally very rewarding.”

The bartender returns with a bag of ice that he pours into a cooler. You recognize him to be a guy you went to high school with that you're pretty sure your sister dated. You don't want to hash that past out so you grab your drink and lead Shawn over to a couple of lawn chairs set up for the fireworks show.

“How bout you? College?” Shawn asks as he sinks into the chair beside you. He takes a sip and smiles expectantly.

You shake your head. “College wasn't really on the table for me when I graduated. My sister and I had a hard time after our house burnt down when I was in high school. Then not too long after I graduated my dad died so, it just...it was hell for a few years there.”

“Oh, wow. I didn't realize that I had brought up such a sore subject I'm so sorry.”

You take a sip and lean back in your chair. Your dad's passing still hurt, even three years later and it still felt like just a few months ago. You missed him, especially during things like this, things he helped set up in the community. “No, it's fine. It's been three years now. Cait and I are surviving, I've got the deli and my side business. She got married last year and has a kid on the way.”

“Side business?”

“Yeah, I bake. My dad was a great baker, he started late in life after an accident as a firefighter messed up his leg, had his own place and everything. It burned down, but he reopened a year later. When he passed I couldn't run it alone and Cait had already moved out of town and was starting her own life. We closed up and I started work at the deli while baking on the side, mostly catering small events.”

Shawn crosses his arms and just looks at you. In awe of you it would seem. “You've survived two fires? Damn. My story isn't half as interesting.”

“Oh yeah? Spill your guts.”

“Well, I graduated and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. So I took a few classes at the community college just to get some credits out of the way y’know. I picked up bartending with a friend at a bar in downtown Ashland for some extra cash. I did that for about two years before realizing I hated everything about college and the stress caused me ulcers. Another friend of mine had just joined the fire academy and I figured why not? Turned out I was pretty good at saving people.”

“So you never dreamed of being a firefighter? Like as a kid?”

“Nah, never. I wanted to be a doctor but I couldn't commit. Too much responsibility and too many years of school. I guess I just wanted to help people, and this job is just as rewarding and important as being a doctor.”

You glance over and he has his head back, watching the stars appear in the darkening sky overhead. His profile is amazing, strong jaw, perfectly shaped nose and soft lips. He was living art and you're not drunk enough to be admiring him this way. “That's pretty deep,” you say over a sip of your drink. “Do you always pour your heart out to women you like?”

Shawn chuckles as his smile grows wide, a flush on his cheeks. “I don't but I guess you're easy to talk to.”

“Yeah? You're easy to talk to too.”

A loud noise from your left makes you jump and you see a big glowing ball shoot into the air. It's the first firework and it pops, showering the sky with purple and blue light. Shawn downs the rest of his drink and stands, moving his chair right beside you instead of a foot or two away. You don't say anything about the boldness but you like it. He was definitely one worth pursuing.

______________

Sunday. You're still feeling the effects of the block party as you walk to work. You rarely drank enough to get drunk but when you did, whew, you sure did. You and Shawn had ended up meeting up with a couple of the other firefighters and staying up until well after midnight drinking and chatting. It was the most fun you've had in ages and the residual gross body and headache was well worth it.

“So you and hot stuff get together?” Mariel asks as you slip your apron over your head to start the day. “I saw you two in the firehouse drinking and giggling.”

“No,” you chuckle, grabbing some sausage from the fridge to get it started for breakfast. “Shawn walked me home and we parted ways at my doorstep. Like a gentleman.”

“Right but did he kiss you?”

“Mariel, come on! He didn't kiss me. He just said goodnight and went home.”

Mariel snorts. “Do you think he's...”

You sigh and send her a look that could cut glass. “No. I don't think he is gay. He was plenty interested in me and it is not like the time that I read everything completely wrong with William Hannover.” You flip your sausage patty angrily, hitting the flattop with a little more force than necessary with your spatula. Just the idea of going through the embarrassment like you did with William was enough to piss you off. “God, just because he didn't kiss me after one night doesn't mean he's gay. I'll have you know he was-”

Mariel eyes go wide and she mouths “Shawn” and points to the front counter. You turn slowly and Shawn is standing there. He looks like he's just gotten out of the shower, cheeks rosy and hair a little damp and wildly curly on top. His shirt is threatening to rip over his biceps as he puts his arms up on the counter. That must be some damn good cotton stretch fabric. He raises his eyebrows at you. God only knows how long he was standing there but clearly heard you going off.

“Good morning,” he says softly. “And for the record, I am not gay.”

“Oh my God.” You feel like you could just die. Just shrivel up and blow away like a tumbleweed. “I don't think- I mean Mariel just said that because you didn't kiss me...not that you needed to because...fuck.” You put your hand over your flushed face. What a complete ass you've made of yourself. “I've just had a misunderstanding in the past and it's really stupid and-”

“It's okay. I'm not offended or something. I just didn't kiss you because we were drunk, and I don't think anyone should do anything if they're not fully aware and consenting.” Shawn brings his hand up to prop up his chin as he stares at you, smiling around his words. “I actually came by to see if you'd like to go on a date.”

Mariel steps in and grabs the spatula from you. She pushes you toward Shawn with a “I'll worry about the food, go talk to him.”

You walk up to the counter and bite your lip. A date huh? Were you up for that? Maybe. “What kind of date?”

“Dinner? Walk on the beach? Matching tattoos?” He smirks at the last one and you narrow your eyes.

“Dinner is fine. Casual or fancy?”

“Is casual okay? Your choice of restaurant.”

You take a deep breath and smile. “Okay, casual it is. Meet me at The Crab Shack?”

“Tonight or this weekend?”

“This weekend is good. Saturday around six?”

“Perfect. Now, can I get some breakfast or...”

“Oh shit,” you feel around your apron for your order pad. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Shawn laughs. “Take your time, it's a big order. All the guys want something.”

_____________________

Wednesday. You wake up and you just know it's going to be a shitty day. When you look at the calendar and see the date, you know exactly why. It's been a year since you broke up with your ex, Brodie Douglas. Six months you dated him and it seemed serious, you were sure he was gonna be the one you settled down with. Until you caught him in your bed with another girl. It was disgusting. You actually took your mattress to the dump after that and used your savings to buy a new one.

You hadn't seen Brodie since then. The day he left your house he was gone for good. He didn't live in town, he lived closer to Ashland about an hour away. It hurt, still sort of hurt to be honest and every guy since him had been a real flop too. Until Shawn. He actually seemed to have some respect for women and other human beings in general.

You push your thoughts aside, putting the past in the past where it belongs. You had work to do, people to see, a life to live. A life without any assholes in it.

You get in the shower, hot steam filling the bathroom. Your favorite body wash is almost out and you sigh, filling it halfway with hot water and shaking up the remains. That sucked. You definitely didn't want to make a trip into Ashland just to go to the bath and body works. The cab fare alone would dig into your savings. Regular drugstore body wash it would be then.

Midway through soaping up your hair you hear a knock on your front door. You figure if you ignore them they'll probably go away. Besides if it was someone you know then they could text or call you before coming over. You continue washing and the knocking returns.

“Okay fucking really,” you mutter, snatching your towel off the rack and going to the front door. Your hair is dripping wet and there is soap in your left eye. This person better really need something. “Hello?” You ask sharply as you pull open your front door to the cold morning air.

The person on your porch turns and your stomach drops. It's Brodie. His hair has grown out, he looks like he's gained a few pounds and by Gods he's so ugly. Why the fuck were you ever with him? Did he always look like this? Fucking hell.

“Hey, long time no see,” he smiles weakly.

“Goodbye.” You slam the door in his face and flip the lock. This was a joke right? He was going to show up a year later on the day you kicked him out? This had to be some sick joke. What kind of psychopath was he?

“Wait! I need to talk to you!” Brodie yells through the door and you turn to go back to your shower. If he thought you wanted to hear a single word out of his mouth then he was gravely mistaken. “God you're such a bitch!”

You take your time getting ready for work, blow drying your hair and putting on your lotion far slower than you ever would regularly. You want to make sure he is gone before you leave the house. At a quarter till 7 you peek out your front curtains. His car is still parked across the street. The same piece of shit Honda he had before. Great.

You leave the house out the back and jump your neighbors fence to cut across the yards to the intersecting street that lead to the deli. You're sure Brodie is going to notice you haven't left the house and he'll come searching for you eventually, figuring out you snuck out the back. You'd deal with that when you came to it.

Surprisingly work goes smoothly for the most of the morning. You don't mention Brodie to Mariel because you know she will hunt him down and probably knife him. She was there for you after the break up and dealt with the fallout with you. She hated Brodie about as much as you did. It's not until lunch that shit hits the fan.

You're in the middle of making an order for the station that Jeremy called in a little after noon when Brodie appears. You've just finished an italian sub and you look up the see Brodie standing there at the counter.

“Hey, come on, hand me the...” Mariel trails off as she turns to see what was taking you so long. “What the fuck do you want?” She sneers, eyes boring a hole through Brodie and into the back wall.

“I need to talk to you,” Brodie says completely disregarding Mariel's existence. “I wanted to talk about-”

“Yeah I really wanna talk to you after you called me a bitch this morning.”

Mariel steps around in front of you and grabs the lettuce knife out of it's holder on the counter. She rests her arm casually up on the top of the countertop window, knife dangling oh so threateningly. “Listen buddy. If she wanted to talk to you, she'd give you a call. You fucked up, you don't get a second chance.”

“Please I just want to apologise. It wasn't me, I wasn't myself back then or at the house today,” he says, leaning to look past Mariel to where you've turned your back to him.

“Fuck off,” Mariel growls. “Or you're going to be the special of the day.”

“I'm not talking to you bitch,” Brodie sneers at her and pushes off the counter, knocking the tip jar to the ground where it shatters. “I'll see you later then,” he says and he slams the door behind him, the bell chiming harshly throughout the deli.

Marel drops the knife in it's holder and puts her arm around you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, tears in your eyes. “Thanks. He showed up at the house this morning but I shut the door on him. I knew he'd be back but I just...I just wasn't ready.”

“No no, it's okay. I got your back.”

“Thanks Mare. I hope he gets the hint y'know?”

“Yeah or else.”

_____________

Brodie doesn't get the hint because he's about as thick as an oak door when it comes to reading situations. It's 3pm and you're heading home, watching for Brodie's car as you exit the deli, hand on the pepper spray in your pocket. Not that you think Brodie would try anything but you never know. You're crossing the street toward the fire station when you see him. He's heading toward you on foot as if he had been waiting at the park catty corner to the deli.

You know exactly where to go. The firehouse. All the guys knew you, it would be safer than walking alone with Brodie following you. You keep your eyes locked on the side door to the garage where the trucks are kept. It was always unlocked while the guys were in house. You had delivered sandwiches a few times. You can hear Brodie getting closer, his boots scraping on the pavement behind you.

The door opens just as you get to it and you push past Jeremy, the current station manager. Jeremy mumbles a quiet “What the hell?” But you don't waste time explaining.

Shawn is sitting on one of the old sofas in the living area that is open to the garage and he looks up as you make a bee line for him. He was safe. He would keep Brodie out. You know it. “Hey, what's going on,” he asks and stands up, circling the sofa to meet you.

“I...can you take me home?”

“Yeah, you okay?” Shawn lays his hand on your arm and rubs up to your shoulder. “You look pretty shaken.”

“Was that guy bothering you?” Jeremy asks as he walks into the living area. “I saw him following you and then turn away when you came in.”

You glance over at Jeremy and shake your head. “Yeah, he's nobody. It's fine. I just need a ride.”

“No, was he bothering you?” Shawn asks, stepping past you and heading to the door. “I can go talk to him. No, y'know what, I'm gonna.”

“Shawn don't.” You follow after him but his stride is longer and he is already opening the door. It's half closed by the time you get to it and when you go out you can see Shawn walking across the driveway towards Brodie who's heading back to the park. “Shawn! Stop!”

You jog over just as Shawn reaches Brodie. “Hey, you,” Shawn barks and Brodie turns around.

You grab Shawn's arm and pull him but it's no use. He's far bigger than you in every way. There is no way you can hold him back, he's over six feet of basically pure muscle. His arm flexes under your grip and you can't help but squeeze tighter. “Shawn, please.”

“The fuck do you want dude?” Brodie asks, eyes going to you and then to your hands around Shawn's arm, and finally to Shawn's face.

“You better leave her alone, and stop following girls home.”

Brodie scoffs. “I wasn't following her home. I just need to discuss some private business with her.”

“Yeah, that seems like it would have been a very one sided conversation if she came to the firehouse to get away from you.”

“Who the fuck are you anyway? Her fuckin body guard?”

“Brodie, just go away. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to hear anything you have to say. We're done, it's over. It's been a year, move on dude. I have.” You step back so you're more behind Shawn. For some reason you're very uncomfortable with Brodie. Something about him wasn't right.

Brodie clicks his tongue and lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh I see what this is. He's your boyfriend right? Got yourself a firefighter in case your house burns down again?”

That hurt. Like a punch to the gut. You don't have time to snap back at him because Shawn's arm is pulling away from yours and colliding with his face. The sound is sickening and you're sure Brodie's nose is broken. He drops like a sack of potatoes, crumpling to his knees on the pavement holding his face.

“Let's go,” Shawn says, shaking his hand out and putting his arm around you to walk you away. “I'll drive you home.”

“You hit him, Shawn, you just punched him!”

“Yeah because he was being an asshole. Don't act like you didn't think about doing it yourself.”

You try to look back, not out of concern, but out of curiosity. Shawn turns your head back forwards and keeps walking you toward his truck parked in the stations lot. “Is he going to be okay?”

Shawn shrugs. “Listen,” he stops with you by the passenger side of the truck. “If you wanna go back and see if he's okay, be my guest. Somehow I really don't think you're going to though. Now can you get in the truck so I can take you home?”

You look back and Brodie is still on the ground. Fuck no you weren't going to go over there. He was an asshole and frankly Shawn was right. You had thought about punching him in his stupid face since the day you found him cheating. Yeah your punch probably would not have done nearly as much damage and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't just as gratifying to have Shawn punch him for you. Maybe he'd get the hint now.

Shawn clicks to unlock his truck on his key fob and you open the door to climb up and in. It's really nice, clean inside like it was new and big. Fitting for a guys Shawn's size. Somehow you don't think it's an overcompensation thing. Shawn gets in and starts it up, pulling out of the lot and passing Brodie who is now up and heading toward the park again. You get just barely a glimpse but you could tell his face is a gruesome scene. Suits him. The ugly prick.

Shawn drops you off, walking you up to your door and making sure you get inside okay. You highly doubt that Brodie would come after you for any reason but honestly you couldn't be one hundred percent sure. He seemed to have snapped and lost his mind in the last year.

“You sure you're gonna be okay? I can stay a while just in case,” Shawn says leaning against the doorway. “I don't mind.”

“No, it's fine. I don't think he's going to bother me anymore. If he shows up I'll call the cops.”

“Yeah, good idea. But just in case I'll give you my number.”

You raise your eyebrows. He was slick. Just working that number exchange right in there like that. “Alright, okay,” you smile, shaking your head as you pull out your phone and he tells you his number. “I'll text you if I need you.”

“What's your number?” He asks, pulling his own phone out of his cargo pocket.

You shake your head. “I'll text you if I need you. Then you'll get my number.”

Shawn smiles, chuckling just a little. He thought he was slick, well, you were slicker. “Alright then. I see how it is. Well, have a good night. Be safe.”

“Yes sir,” you murmur with a little salute as you grab the door and close it with a goodnight. Letting him in was tempting but you think maybe you oughta have a first date before he gets to see the inside of your place. You'd learned your lesson about diving head first into relationships already.

___________________

Saturday. You're sitting on a bench outside the crab shack waiting for Shawn to show up. It's a calm night, breezy and a little chilly. Enough to warrant a light jacket. You mentally note to ask for a inside table and not one on the deck. The restaurant is fairly busy, Saturday night being a popular date and family night apparently. You're not too surprised though. You used to work weekends bussing tables here in high school for about a year before things went to shit with your house and your dad falling ill.

You sigh, looking up at the big decorative crab that held onto the sign over the front doors. As a kid you always begged your dad to lift you up to touch it. It wasn't until you were eight that you ever actually reached it. How satisfying that day was.

“Hey.”

You turn and look to see who's calling out and you see Shawn walking up in a pair of jeans and a nice sweater. “Oh, hey, you made it.”

“Of course I did. Whatcha looking at?” He asks, nodding toward the sign.

“Oh nothing. Just the crab. I used to beg my dad to lift me up to touch it.” You chuckle at how ridiculous that sounds now. “Come on, let's go inside.”

Shawn lets you lead the way along the sidewalk and up to the doors. As you approach the doors a pair of hands wrap around your waist and suddenly you're being lifted up. You let out a shriek and you hear Shawn laughing.

“Touch the crab!” He says, hardly audible through his laughter.

You reach out and touch the lowest dangling leg and he brings you down quickly. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Oh you know you wanted to touch the crab.”

You smack his chest and he giggles, jumping back to avoid further assault. “Okay, okay I'll warn you next time.”

“Oh so you think there's gonna be a next time?”

“A guy can hope right?”

“Right,” you roll your eyes and walk into the restaurant, Shawn hot on your heels.

The two of you are seated right away in a booth that had a window out to the deck. You chat a little bit about how the firehouse is pretty slow and Shawn mostly naps all day or works out. The waiter comes and takes your orders. You get a burger with a side salad and Shawn gets the shrimp linguine. He makes fun of you for not getting seafood at the seafood restaurant but it's all in good fun. You both know the burgers are just as killer as the seafood and he really can't blame you.

“So, how'd you end up here?” You ask, sipping on your strawberry lemonade.

“The firehouse was looking to hire on a few guys and I was looking to get a job.”

“So you grew up in Ashland?”

Shawn shakes his head. “No, I grew up in Benton. I just went to the community college in Ashland.”

“Benton? The farm town?”

“Yeah, my parents are soybean farmers. I am a farm kid,” he chuckles, looking out the window. “What a shocker I know.”

“Not really. You definitely aren't like any of the guys from the city I've ever known. I guess you were probably raised better than a lot of them though.”

“I dunno. I mean my parents instilled a lot of values into me as a kid, but I got into my fair share of trouble and I had my less than graceful moments growing up.”

You shrug. “I think we all have had our moments in our youth, it's whether or not you learn from them and grow up that matters.”

“You're right, that's a good way of putting it. Damn did I learn some hard lessons though. What about you? Are you from here?”

“Yep. Born and raised here. My parents were both bakers, my mom passed away shortly after I was born so I never really knew her.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, no it's fine,” you pause, stirring your lemonade. “Cait, my sister, was like a mom to me growing up. Well, as motherly as she could be. She's only five years older.”

“You said your parents were bakers, that's what you like to do too right?”

“Yeah. I have all my dad's recipes and I'd love to have my own place one day but that's a far off dream. For now I just cater small events and I have a Facebook page.”

The food arrives and your conversation slows as you eat but quickly picks back up as you start discussing the food and trying each other's meals. Shawn tells you about the first time he came to the crab shack with the guys from the station. They ordered two crab boils and ate out on the deck on the long party tables. You'd done it once before for Mike’s birthday a few years back.

The night dwindles down and your pack up what's left of your burger and a few of Shawn's shrimps that he saved for you. He pays, refusing to show you the bill and saying don't worry about it even though you insisted on splitting the cost.

Shawn drives you home, walking you to your door like he had done each time he had taken you home before. This time though you don't go inside right away, you linger on the porch.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You're welcome, I hope you had fun. I know I did.”

“It was great. And thanks again, y'know for the other day with Brodie.”

Shawn crosses his arms and chuckles, looking down as he kicks the toes of his boots against your doormat. “Of course. Anytime. I don't mind punching a douchebag.”

“Fuck, oh my god no!” You laugh, pushing his shoulder. “I meant thank you for being there for me in general. I don't want you punching people.”

“Right, right. But you kinda liked it, I know you did because you had a little triumphant smile on your face the whole way home afterwards.” He reaches out and pinches your cheek. “Just a cute little smirk right here.”

“Quit it!” You giggle, batting at his arm.

He flattens his hand and cups your jaw, instantly changing the whole mood from playful to intimate. His fingers brush against the nape of your neck, thumb smoothing over the little chicken pox scar on your cheek from when you were very little. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says quietly, stepping closer so there's but a few inches between you.

“You're not too bad yourself.”

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” Shawn asks, eyes heavy on your lips.

You give a little nod and he leans in. His lips are soft against yours and he caresses the back of your head. It's easily the tenderest kiss you've ever received and it leaves you a little speechless.

“Goodnight, I'll see you tomorrow.”

You nod numbly, the feeling of his lips lingering as he steps off the porch. He crosses the yard and gets into his truck. You're left there, nerves memorizing the feel of his hand in your hair, his palm on your cheek, his lips on your lips. You never want to snap out of it, you want to stay like this forever.

______________________

For the next few days Shawn stops in for meals for the firehouse. He always chats a bit, making you giggle and flush. Mariel loves to tease you endlessly when he leaves but you can't care because he makes you so happy. Shawn hasn't mentioned a second date yet and you don't want to bring it up in case he doesn't want to, though you're sure he does. You suspect he may be giving you space after the Brodie incident.

You have an event to cater on Thursday. A baby shower in town for your ex coworker Cara. She has asked for three dozen baby boot shaped cookies in blue icing and a small cake with blue iced middle an a white outside. A classic gender reveal cake. You start work on Tuesday so you can be ready to go on Wednesday evening. It's a fairly simple order.

Thursday after work you head to the party, driving Mariel's car to transport the baked goods safely. You arrive and the mother to be, Cara, is elated with the cookies and cake. She helps you set up the cake on a stand and get the cookies into a little box she had on hand to keep them a secret until the reveal.

You're on the deck outback talking to an old friend from high school when you hear a familiar voice. Shawn. You turn and look through a small crowd of people and see him, towering over everyone by the sliding glass doors. He is hugging Cara, and holds up a little bag with a bow on it. So he knows Cara, small world.

“Hey you,” Shawn grins, catching your eye and walking over after greeting Cara. “What're you doing here?”

“I could ask the same.”

“Cara is my cousin.”

“Ohh. I know her because she used to work at the deli. Wow such a small world.”

Shawn chuckles. “Very small. Can I get you a drink?”

“I'm good. Thanks though. How's work been? I know you said you had a call on Monday and that's why you didn't come in for lunch.”

“Yeah, it wasn't much. Just some punk kids setting fire in a trash can at the high school. Everything was fine.” Shawn follows you as you walk into the house because Cara is gathering everyone around for cake and cookies before starting the baby shower games. “How bout you?”

“Usual, work and then going home.”

“No word from Brodie?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. I think he got the message to leave me alone.” You take a seat on a stool in the kitchen while everyone gathers around Cara at the table in the attached dining area. “Have you been keeping your distance because of Brodie?”

Shawn raises his eyebrows. “I've been keeping my distance?”

You shrug.

“Is this because I haven't asked you out again? Because Brodie has nothing to do with that. I promise I want to go out again but I've been covering Ryan's over nights at the station. His wife is sick and I volunteered to help him out.”

“You've been working twenty four hours?”

“More like seventy two hours almost. I got this evening off since Ryan wasn't scheduled.”

“You are gonna crash. I know you can take naps at the station but still, it's not good sleep.” You lay your hand on his arm. “Promise me you'll get some rest tonight?”

“I promise I will. Are you free Friday night?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Meet me at the station around eight?”

You raise your eyebrows and he looks away as the group around the table cheer in congratulations for Cara. James, Cara's husband, calls Shawn over and he walks away to give Cara a hug and congratulate her as well. You watch as he snags a cookie from the box on the table and grins at you, holding it up before taking big bite while James talks to him about something. You roll your eyes. You were definitely going to go on the date with him, even if it was just hanging out at the firehouse. You liked Shawn that much, you could just watch TV with him. Damn. He was getting to you.

_____________

Friday night. You have no idea what to expect as you walk up to the firehouse. Shawn's truck is in the lot and so is Jeremy and Max's. Three meant that was the whole overnight crew. Had Shawn forgotten about your date? You open the side door of the firehouse and walk into the darkened garage toward the living area. It's quiet, no one around and you can feel your heart sink.

“Hey, you're early,” Shawn says, appearing from a doorway to your right. “I was just coming to meet you outside.”

“Oh, are we leaving? Aren't you on the night shift?”

Shawn chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. His shirt strains across his chest and you can't help but bite your lip. “I am on the night shift. I hoped we could stay in and have our date here?”

“Here? But aren't the guys here?”

“They're asleep in the bunks upstairs. I promise we won't be bothered.”

“And what are we doing?”

“Well,” Shawn steps back through the doorway and you follow him. He leads you into the small station kitchen and you can see all the basics for baking laid out on the counter tops. “I thought maybe we could bake together. Or more of you teach me how to bake.”

You grin. A baking date might just be the best thing you'd ever heard of. Shawn was truly a man after your heart. You circle around the center island and touch the bag of flour, chocolate chips, sugar and mini cupcake liners. “So do you want cupcakes or muffins?”

Shawn walks around to meet you and he's holding two aprons in his hand. “Muffins. They're my favorite cheat day food.”

You slide the apron on over your head and look down. It has a little muffin picture glued on to a felt heart. It's cute and you're pretty sure it's hand made. “Did you make this?” You giggle, smoothing your hand over the front of yourself.

“I did. I thought it was cute and you'd like it.” Shawn puts his apron on and his has a matching design. “Now, how bout those muffins?”

Shawn doesn't pay attention to half of what you say as you make the muffins. He tries so hard, he really does and you can tell. His focus is mostly on you, telling you how cute you are and how you're so good at this because you can do it without a recipe.

Every time you ask for him to measure something for you he asks what cup that is. You're pretty sure he has never baked a day in his life let alone used a measuring cup or measuring spoons. How he survived this long you'll never know.

“Shawn, have you not cooked before?” You ask with a giggle as you swat his hand away from the chocolate chips you're measuring.

“I cook all the time. I just don't bake. I don't measure anything other than rice or like liquids.” He leans against your back and tries to sneak his hand around to steal chips. He thinks he's slick. “Let me have some!”

“No!” You giggle and jerk the cup of chips away from his hand. You end up spilling them mostly in the bowl. “Oh you better stop.”

“Or what?” He asks against your ear. His voice sends shivers down your spine. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

“I won't make your muffins.”

Shawn's hands slide around your front and up your stomach. “Just one chocolate chip. Just a little tiny one.”

“Fine.” You grab exactly one chocolate chip and hold it up.

He leans over, pressing you into the counter with his chest and waist slotted firmly against your back. He closes his mouth around your fingers and takes the chip. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your ear, kissing it tenderly.

“You're welcome,” you whisper though you're very much alone in the kitchen with him.

Shawn pulls away, turning to grab the muffin tins off the island counter and the tension is broken just like that. He oils the pans just like you reminded him to earlier because the liners he bought were for a mini pan and he had a regular size pan. You can't help but watch as he carefully wipes each cup with an oiled paper towel, deliberately coating every inch of the metal. Something about him being so focused, so interested in baking, makes your heart flutter.

You turn your focus back to the batter. There was no time to be getting caught up in your feelings yet. This was only the second date. “Are you ready for the batter?”

“Yes ma'am,” Shawn grins, holding up his oiled pan. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Yes,” you chuckle. “I promise I won't make you eat muffins that are scraped out of the tin.”

“I mean I'd still enjoy them, but yeah it's a little easier when they're whole.”

“Okay, put them in the oven for twenty minutes and then we'll be set.”

Shawn carries the pan to the preheated oven and puts it in. “So, what do we want to do while these cook?” He grabs a handful of chocolate chips off the bowl on the counter and shoves it in his mouth. “We have movies.”

“You don't have a plan?”

“Well...ah...” He rubs his neck. “I suck at planning?”

“Obviously.” You walk towards him, hand raised to wipe a smear of chocolate chip on his lip. “You got some chocolate. Hold still.” You wipe it with your thumb but it just smears it. You can't help but stare at his soft pink plush looking lips. They're so kissable, so not chapped and ready for you to lean in and taste.

“Did you get it?”

“Quit talking.” You try again and it almost all comes off. “Hold still there's a little bit left.”

Shawn raises his arm and wipes it on his hand. “Better?”

“Worse!” You let out a laugh and he looks helpless. “I think you had some on your hand!”

“You're gonna have to lick it off.”

“Oh no I'm not.”

“Oh?” He steps closer, backing you against the island. “So you don't want to kiss me? That's not why you were staring at my lips, mouth parting, tongue peaking out to wet them...”

“Shut up.” You lean up and kiss him, licking the chocolate off his lip and smiling in the process. His lips were just as sweet and soft as you imagined.

Shawn brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “Knew you wanted to.”

“You talk too much.”

Shawn grins and presses his lips to yours once more. The kiss grows heated and intense. His hand find your hips, yours find his hair and back. You lick into his mouth and he responds just as eagerly.

You're so lost in each other that you don't hear someone walk in. You don't even know they're there until you hear, “In the kitchen? Come on.”

Shawn turns his head, eyeing the intruder. You look too, cheeks hot with embarrassment. In the doorway is Jeremy.

“I don't want to know. I just want a water bottle and one of whatever you're making when they're done.”

“Of course, yeah,” you say with a nervous little laugh.

Jeremy grabs his water and mutters something about damn kids these days. As soon as he's out of sight you raise your eyebrows at Shawn.

“They were asleep, I promise.” Shawn pleads. “I'm sorry I embarrassed you.”

“It's okay, I'm not that embarrassed. We were just kissing. But since he is up now, maybe we should keep it a little more low key?”

“Yeah,” Shawn chuckles. “I'll grab some cards if you're up for a few games?”

“Sure.”

The rest of the night you and Shawn play cards in the kitchen, eat muffins and just talk about all sorts of stuff. He asks about Brodie but you're not too keen on rehashing that past quite yet. You ask him about his parents and what they think of him becoming a firefighter and not taking over the farm. They're actually very proud of him and never expected him to work the farm if he wasn't interested. They were very supportive of him. The night winds down and you're stuffed with enough muffins and decaf coffee to gain a few pounds. Shawn offers to take you home and you accept, taking one last muffin for the road.

________________

“So what's new?” You ask Cait as you walk around your room looking for something to wear on another date with Shawn this coming weekend. He had stopped by the deli on Monday and asked you to go to the beach with him.

“Oh not much, just bedridden and seriously fat,” Cait laughs.

“Oh quit it. You're not fat. The baby is probably fat.”

“You're right on that one. Adam is a big guy, I'd be shocked if this baby was less than seven or eight pounds.”

“So you're due any day huh?”

Cait shuffles around and you're pretty sure she drop the phone for a second. “Any day now. I insisted on not being admitted early because of the bills. I'm beginning to regret that though. This little bugger is killing my back.”

“I bet. Have you picked a name yet?”

“Not yet. We're torn between Nathaniel and Andrew.”

You put your phone on speaker and grab a dress out of your closet. It's a nice simple black A-line. Maybe not too beachy. “Why not use one as a middle name?”

“I'm using dad's name for his middle name. Besides, I'm partial on Nathaniel. It works best with dad's name.”

“You're right. Definitely go with Nathaniel.”

“Duely noted. What about you? How has things been with the firefighter guy?”

You smile to yourself. Was perfect enough of a descriptor? An absolute dream? No. You sound crazy. Shawn was nice and good but he wasn't quite prince charming. Yet. “It's going really well. We have another date this weekend.”

“I Facebook stalked him, he seems like a real genuine guy. What does he like?”

“He likes books and food. I know he likes working out and he definitely has a soft spot for dogs I think. Every time Mr. Peter's walks his dog by the deli, Shawn stares like he wants to pet him so badly.”

Cait laughs. “If he pets that dog he will lose a hand! Remember when it chased us home from the park one time?”

“Oh my God I forgot about that. Damn that dog is old as hell.”

“Probably a real hellhound if you ask me.”

“Cait! Be nice.”

Cait scoffs. You can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Anyway, Shawn sounds like a good guy. I hope he works out for you, God knows you need it.”

“Are you saying I'm hopeless?”

“Your usual taste in men could be better.”

You roll your eyes as you reach for your next dress in the closet. Too fancy for the beach. Jeans and a tee were looking to be the best option right now.

“Are you still planning on coming to the hospital with me?” Cait asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Of course. Mike knows when I get the text from you that I need to go.”

“Awesome. I can't wait to see you. I'm gonna hang up now though, I have to pee and I think I need a snack. Talk to you later, love you.”

“Love you too sis. Bye.”

_________________

It's just before midnight when you wake up to the smell of smoke. It's all too familiar and strikes a deep fear into you immediately. You jump out of bed and look around, there is no smoke in the house. For a split second you think it must be a nightmare, your brain playing tricks on you. Wouldn't be the first time.

You circle your house, taking a walk from your bedroom to the living room and ending in the kitchen. That's when you smell it again. The unmistakable smell of burning. It's coming from the open window in the kitchen. You turn and look to the front door, sure enough there are lights flashing, blurry from your curtains. The sound of sirens suddenly blaring in your ears.

You grab your robe and pull it on, heading for the front door to see what is on fire and where. The moment you step outside it's apparent where the smoke is coming from. One house down in your row of houses, there is black clouds billowing from the front window. The other neighbors are all in their front yards too and four of the firefighters are approaching the house.

One of the crew pulls away and starts jogging across the yards toward you. He pulls his helmet off and you see it's Shawn. In seconds he wraps his arms around you, the bulky gear rough against your exposed skin.

“Oh thank God it's not you.” He says desperately as he squeezes you tighter, face in your hair.

“What's going on? Of course I'm okay.”

“I saw the address and my stomach sank. I thought you were in danger, I thought I was going to lose you.” He pulls back and cups your face with his gloved hands. “But you're okay.”

You hold his arms and lean up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Yes I'm fine. Go do your job.”

Shawn looks back and two of the guys are walking out of the house carrying fire extinguishers. The owner, an elderly lady, is sitting in her lawn chair just shaking her head. “I think they've got it handled.”

You cup Shawn's cheek and he looks back to you. “Go. I'm fine.”

“Yeah...you're right. You're sure though? Are you feeling okay? I know the fire probably stresses you out.”

“I'm fine. The panic has passed. As much as I'd love to keep you as my emotional support firefighter, I'm sure Jeremy probably wants you with them.”

Shawn chuckles and kisses your cheek. “Tell your neighbors not to scare me half to death again. I dunno if my heart can take it.”

“I'll be sure to do that. Go on,” you shoo him away and he walks backwards, hand in yours until your arm is stretched out to just your fingertips touching.

“Good night,” Shawn says and you let your fingertips slip from his glove.

“Good night Shawn.” You grin and wrap your robe tight around yourself as you head inside to get some sleep.

________________

“Order up!” Mariel yells, passing you a sandwich to ring up.

You punch in the cost and turn to grab a bag of chips from the rack behind you. Your phone buzzes on the shelf under the counter and you spare a glance, obviously too busy to pick it up. It was probably just a telemarketer anyway. Or maybe Shawn making plans since your date the weekend before was amazing. You had taken him for sushi in Ashland and he loved it.

“Alright, that's ten dollars. Would like to add any extras today? A cookie or a drink?” you ask and the customer shakes his head and slides his card.

Your phone buzzes again and this time Mariel steps in and says you should answer it. You grab it and walk over to the side counter. The screen shows an unknown number and you roll your eyes before clicking answer. “Hello?”

“Oh thank God, it's Adam. I'm at the hospital with Cait. Something happened and I can't explain. She's okay but we need you here. She is freaking out.”

“Adam what happened? Is she in labor? What's going on?” You ask frantically, already pulling your apron off as you head for the front door. You glance back at Mariel and she just waves you off. “Adam, what is going on?”

“Cait fell, I don't know how. She called she was taken in an ambulance. They said she is okay but they're doing an ultrasound now. I have to hurry up, I'm using a pay phone outside and I'm out of change. We're at Berkin Ho-” The phone cuts off and the line beeps.

Your stomach churns. You have no idea how you're going to get to Berkin hospital. It's over half an hour drive and you're not really up for trying to find a car and drive there. You pull up the cab services number and as you hit dial, you see Shawn walk out of the firehouse and unlock his truck.

“Shawn,” you mutter desperately. You jog across the street and he looks up with a smile when he sees you. “Shawn, can you take me to Berkin Hospital? Please I'll give you anything you want, I'll owe you a thousand muffins. Please.”

“Whoa hey are you okay?” He asks, circling the front of the truck to hold your arms, eyes scanning you for injury. “What happened?”

“It's not me. It's my sister. She's pregnant...she fell or something I don't know,” you're sobbing, body shaking like a leaf. “Her husband called from a pay phone and he sounded scared and he said Cait is freaking out.”

Shawn pulls you into a quick hug. “Let's go, you need to be there.”

________________

By the time you get to the hospital Cait has just been taken in for a C-section. Adam is in the hall beyond the emergency waiting area and he comes out to explain what happened. He says that Cait said she was going to the kitchen for water when Boo, their cat, got under her feet and she fell backwards onto her butt. Her water broke and she called emergency services, and then him in the ambulance. The doctor recommended a C-section because he is afraid of something having happened in the fall, the baby getting jarred a little harshly, and he doesn't want to wait until Cait is fully dilated in the event there is injury. Cait agreed and decided to have a C-section now, but they're in prep and waiting for her doctor to show up.

You turn to Shawn as Adam walks back through the door to the emergency wing, intending for you to follow him. “You can go home. I'm okay, thanks for bringing me.”

“Can I stay? I really don't have anything going on at home and you look like you could use some company.”

“Uh yeah, sure. Come on.” You lead Shawn through the doors and into the small room where Adam is sitting. “Hey, Adam. Do you mind if Shawn stays?”

Adam looks up from his phone. His eyes are red, he's been crying and you can just now see it in the bright lights of the sterile room. “No, that's fine. He's your boyfriend right? Cait told me you were seeing someone.”

“Ah, yeah. He's my,” you glance over to Shawn and he's trying to hide a smile but failing. “He's my friend. We've gone out a few times. It's whatever.”

Adam looks between the two of you with a half smile. “Me and Cait were just friends too.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, shoving Adam. “Hey, I thought your phone was dead.”

Adam holds it up on a bright purple cord that attached to a wall charger. “One of the nurses got a cord from a lady up in the ICU for me.”

“Oh, that's good.” You look around the small room and lean against the wall awkwardly. There was only one guest chair and Adam was sitting in it.

Shawn picks up on the situation and clears his throat. “Anyone want some food? I can swing by the cafeteria while we wait.”

“No thanks man. I'm not hungry, too nervous,” Adam says and turns back to his phone.

You nod, knowing Shawn probably hasn't eaten in a while. “Yeah, I should eat something. I don't feel like it really but I haven't eaten since breakfast.”

Shawn puts his arm around you and leads you into the hall. “I know my way around here pretty well, and I have a discount at the cafeteria.”

“Yeah? Work brings you here?”

“Not always,” Shawn chuckles. “Not always.”

________________

Shawn tells you to get whatever you want as he stands in line at the hot bar. You look around at the selection on the soup and salad bar and decide to just get a small salad and crackers. You meet up with Shawn at the register and he has a tray loaded with food. He shows some sort of ID badge and the cashier scans it before he pays.

“So firefighters get a discount here?” You ask as you dress your salad. “Or are you just special?”

Shawn chuckles. “All emergency service personnel gets a discount here. But I am special too.”

You roll your eyes. “Special huh?”

“Yeah, I was admitted here as a kid. I spent like three weeks in the ICU while they figured out what was wrong with me. Turned out my appendix had attached itself to my muscle tissue and was inflamed to nearly ten times it's size.”

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Shawn chuckles over a bite of his chicken sandwich. “Yeah of course. The appendix is pointless anyway, but it was hell for the doctors to get it off the muscle wall without it bursting. I've got a scar now but it's not too bad.”

“Damn. You're lucky then I guess.”

“Very lucky. Wanna see the scar?” Shawn stands up and tugs his shirt up for you to see. It's pale pink, about the length of your index finger and right along the V of his hip to his lower stomach. “It's faded a lot now.”

“That's big. Did they take any of the muscle with it?”

Shawn plops back down and sticks some fries in his mouth, shaking his head. “Nah. The doctor was really good. But anyway, how about you? Any crazy medical stories?”

“No,” you laugh softly. “I was a healthy non reckless kid.”

“That's no fun. No broken bones? Toys stuck where they shouldn't be?”

“No, oh my God. My dad kept an eye on me and so did Cait.” You push your salad around on the plate, momentarily lost in thought. “Cait is gonna be a good mom.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Mmhmm. I'm glad her and Adam finally got pregnant. They've been trying for ages. She deserves it y'know? After all we've been through, she deserves a happy ending.”

Shawn bumps his water bottle against yours and you look up from where you've spaced out, staring into the depths of your salad bowl. “You deserve it too. Don't forget that.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “Yeah I guess so.”

________________

You and Shawn talk a little longer, mostly about family stuff and some crazy childhood stories. Most of his make you wonder how he's even alive still, but you conclude he must just be extremely lucky. Adam texts you and says the doctors are taking Cait to a room to recover and he gives you the floor and room number. You and Shawn wrap up and head for the elevators to get upstairs. Cait would want to see you no doubt.

“So do they know what the gender is yet?” Shawn asks as he leans forward, holding the door open for a nurse who was jogging to catch it.

“Yeah, it's a boy. I just hope they settled on a name.”

“Shawn?” The nurse asks as the doors close softly.

“Uh yeah?” Shawn tilts his head, looking her over as if trying to figure out how she knew his name.

“Darcy, from the emergency responders luncheon two years ago?” The nurse says, grinning.

Shawn shakes his head. “I'm sorry, I don't recall. Did we sit together or...”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

You give Shawn a look and he just kinda deadpans.

“I'm really sorry. I must have been out of it.”

Darcy scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah obviously. You'd had a few but I didn't think you were smashed enough to forget me.”

Shawn turns scarlet. His eyes go wide and you have a feeling he remembers exactly who Darcy is now. He remains silent until her floor dings and she gets off, leaving you with Shawn alone in an awkward silence.

“She sounded upset. What was that about?”

“Listen, I was a jerk a few years ago. Brand new firefighter with cockiness to spare. Believe me. I was a douchebag. She probably should have slapped me.”

You let out a low whistle as the doors open on your floor and the two of you step out. “So I should be careful huh?”

“I grew up. I promise.”

“Mmhmm.”

You get to Cait's room and she is overjoyed to see you. The baby is sleeping on her chest, so small and fragile, only five pounds she says. His name is Nathaniel. You introduce Shawn and explain that he brought you to the hospital, and he's the one that you'd told her about on the phone. Cait plays it off like she didn't recognize him immediately from her Facebook creeping. After a while of visiting you get to hold the baby while Cait rests.

Shawn looks like he's going to die when you glance over to where he's sitting in one of the guest chairs. He just stares at you while you're cuddling this little tiny bundle of baby and blankets in your arms.

“Do you want to hold him?” You grin and he looks terrified.

“I don't know. I probably shouldn't.”

You stand and walk over to where Shawn is sitting and you carefully pass Nathaniel to him. He cuddles him against his chest awkwardly, arms huge in comparison. “It's not too hard. See, he fits right in your arm there.”

“He's so small.” Shawn boops the baby's nose. “I always wanted kids one day. But when they're this tiny I'm nervous I'll break them.”

“They're more resilient than you might think.”

Shawn pets back Nathaniel's little bit of sparse dark hair. He looks so soft, so natural holding a baby like this. It makes you smile, and gives you a strange butterfly like feeling in your stomach. Shawn with kids is a little too much for you to dream of but you'd be damned if you weren't.

“You're still here?” Cait asks sleepily from the bed.

“Yeah, Adam is on his way back now. I figured we would stay until he got here.”

As if on cue, Adam walks in with Cait's over night bag. You help Shawn put Nathaniel into his bassinet and give Cait a hug. You say your goodbyes and promise to visit as soon as she's is home and feeling up to visitors. Shawn drives you home, leaving you with a chaste kiss and plans to meet up after work tomorrow evening.

________________

It is just after four in the afternoon a week later and you sit outside the deli waiting for Shawn to get off work. You check your phone, scrolling through social media and chatting with some people who messaged you. Before you know it half an hour has passed and still Shawn hasn't come out of the firehouse. You don't want to seem like that annoying girl but he made plans and wasn't even replying to your texts.

You cross the street and knock on the door. No answer. You try the handle and it's locked. They must be out on a call. You feel kinda bad now, not even thinking about the possibility of him actually working late. You had just gotten used to them not getting called out very much recently.

You decide to walk home, maybe stop by the minimart on the way to grab some snacks. There was no telling when Shawn would be available or if he would even feel like hanging out after a call. It's fine, you would just talk to him tomorrow.

The minimart bell dings and you raise a hand in greeting to Mae, the old woman behind the counter. She greets you with a smile. You grab a few things, a small pint of chocolate ice cream, a Snickers bar and a bag of chips.

“Bad day?” Mae asks, ringing up your purchases.

“No, just wanted a few snacks.” You glance over at her little tv that is showing a newscast from a reporter in a field. There is a massive blaze behind him and he keeps glancing back warily.

“That's sad isn't it?” Mae asks, looking back at the TV. “They said the drivers of both vehicles are dead and the explosion hurt some of the emergency responders trying to get them out.”

Your stomach sinks. Shawn was probably out there. “Oh my God. What happened? Where is it at?”

“Tanker truck hit an SUV I think. It's just off route 45 to Benton I think. Probably a truck coming to fill up the tanks at the Phillips station.”

“I-I have to go.” You leave your items on the counter and take off running for the deli.

The door clatters loudly as you rush in the deli and up to the counter. The few people in the dining area give you worried looks as you lean over the counter.

Mariel comes out of the back area and sees you, her face falling immediately. “What's wrong? What happened?”

“There's an explosion and a crash on 45. I need your keys I need to get there now. Shawn could be there.”

Mariel digs in her apron pocket and hands you her keys. “Be careful.”

Ten agonizing minutes later and you pull Mariel's little blue car over off the side of the highway and leave it in favor of walking the last few hundred feet. The tanker is still on fire, both fire engines are parked off to the side, no hydrants are available for water this far out on the highway. You look around for any of the firefighters, desperate to find out if Shawn is there.

“Ma'am, you can't be here!” An officer yells as you walk past the news crews who are waiting for more details.

You ignore him, your sights set on a group of firemen standing by an ambulance. Your heart is pounding, none of them look tall enough to be Shawn.

Another officer cuts you of, holding up their hand to stop you from getting at closer. “Ma'am you need to go back to your car. No bystanders are allowed near the wreck.”

“I'm not going to the wreck I'm going to the ambulance over there,” you say, pointing to the ambulance that's getting ready to leave.

“No you're not. You need to leave.”

“Sir you don't understand, I need to-”

The officer steps forward as you start to try and pass him. “Ma'am, I'm not going to tell you again. Go back to you vehicle and leave.”

“Jeremy! Ryan!” You shout and the officer says something but you can't hear him. He grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. “JEREMY! JEREMY!”

Jeremy turns around and sees you being pulled away by the officer. He comes walking over, calling the officer off as he approaches. “What are you doing here? This is a dangerous situation.”

“Where is Shawn? Is he here? I saw on the news that some people got hurt trying to rescue the drivers.”

“Shawn will be okay. I need you to leave. I'll call you as soon as I can with more information.”

“Oh my God,” you start trembling, stomach churning. “Ohmygod he's in the ambulance isn't he?”

Jeremy puts his hand on your arm and you lean against him. He pulls you into a hug, hand on the back of your head as you let out a heavy sob. “He will be fine. He's strong, he knows the dangers of his job. Please, you need to go home. There is nothing here for you.”

You don't go home. You go to the hospital and wait in the ER lobby for two hours. Two agonizing hours. The receptionist won't tell you anything, she doesn't know anything actually. She says she will let you know when he is allowed visitors. You text Mariel that you have the car and you're at Birkin Hospital. She says she walked home and it's fine that she understands.

You're curled up across two hard seats, half asleep when the receptionist says that Shawn is allowed to have visitors. You grab your purse and push through the automatic doors as they open slowly to the ER rooms. You turn down the hall to room 042 and push the door open and your heart stops.

Shawn is asleep, chest rising and falling softly. He has an oxygen tube in his nose and he's hooked up two a few monitors and an IV drip. He's in a white hospital gown. His face is mostly clean, a few remnants of blood and what looks like mud on his chin. You just stare, tears burning your eyes and spilling over your cheeks. You take a shaky step forward and grab a couple paper towels and wet them in the small wash sink to the right of his bed.

“Jesus Christ what were they doing for two hours?” You wipe at his face, clearing off a smudge of blood from his cheek. It's then you notice his arm is in a white plaster cast and there is tape and gauze sticking out from under the collar of his gown.

The door opens and a nurse walks in. “Oh, hello. I'm Shona. I'm the nurse on rounds for tonight.”

You introduce yourself, lying that you're his fiance just in case she doesn't release any information to you. You watch as she administers a syringe of something into his IV drip. “What is that?”

“Morphine. He's going to be hurting when he wakes up.”

“What happened? I mean, what took two hours? I know what happened, like the accident.”

Shona grabs a chart on the wall beside the bed and flips it up. “Fractured arm, multiple lacerations to the chest and stomach. Bruised ribs.” She scans down the chart. “Looks like he was on oxygen and being monitored for smoke inhalation and potential internal bleeding for a few hours. The bleeding was negative. That's what took so long it seems.”

“Jesus Christ Shawn.” You ball the paper towel up in your hand and take a seat in the guest chair.

“If you need anything or if he wakes up, let me know. Just press the nurse button and I'll come see how he's doing.”

You nod and Shona leaves the room. You don't care how long it is, you're going to stay until he wakes up.

Jeremy shows up a little while later. He talks to the nurse, getting a run down of Shawn's condition. The two of you talk briefly and and says to text him when Shawn wakes up. Let him know if he wants visitors or if he's going to be admitted. You promise that you'll keep him updated.

________________

“What're you doing here?”

You sit up from where you've passed out across the two hard plastic chairs. It's almost midnight according to the clock on the wall. On the bed Shawn is sitting up right, well, propped more upright with the help of the bed.

“You're awake!”

“Yeah. I just woke up, what happened? Why are you here?”

You stand and go over to the side of the bed. He grabs your hand and holds it in his. “I'm not entirely sure what happened. I think the tanker exploded and you must have been knocked back? You're pretty beat up.”

“Fuck.” Shawn closes his eyes and licks his lip. “I knew I shouldn't have gone into try and help the truck driver. He was already fucking gone.”

“Shawn, it's okay. You were doing your job.”

“I was being an idiot. I know better than to try and go into a situation like that. I could have died.”

You lay your hand on his cheek and turn his face to look at you. “You didn't die. You're fine, a little rough, but you're fine. Stop beating yourself up.”

“What are you doing here?” He asks, eyes tearing up. “You should be at home, sleeping and angry I stood you up. Why are you sitting in a crappy ER room with me?”

“I'm here because I saw the news and I just knew something had happened. I don't know how, but I knew you were hurt and I had to get to you.” You wipe a tear away with your thumb. “I’ve been here since they brought you in. Jeremy came by but he didn't want to hang out too long. I gotta let him know you're awake.”

“How did you know they brought me here?”

“I followed the ambulance. Shawn, I drove to the accident because I was freaking out. I almost got arrested for resisting an officer just to get closer to find out where you were.”

Shawn's eyes widen. “You are the craziest woman I know.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“God I love you.”

“Shawn, you better just stop talking. It sounds like the morphine is making you a little loopy.” You grab the bed remote and press the nurse button. You pull your hand from Shawn's and he pouts, eyeing you from across the room as Shona comes in and starts taking vitals and asking how he feels.

You excuse yourself to the hall so you can call Jeremy. Really it's because Shawn's words just gave you a heart attack and you're pretty sure if he kept talking you'd go into cardiac arrest.

________________

Six hours later and Shawn is released. Jeremy had stopped by with a change of clothes for him from the firehouse. You had tried to get him to call his parents, to let them know what happened, but he said he wasn't ready. The doctor said he shouldn't be left alone, that it would be best if you or someone stayed with him over night just in case but all his vitals were normal and other than bruising and the broken arm, he was in amazing condition. He was lucky.

The drive home is quiet. You swing by the 24 hour pharmacy on the way out of town to get the pain medication that the doctor prescribed. Shawn waits in the car. You grab some snacks and a couple of reusable hot/cold compresses. You're sure he will need them.

You help Shawn into the house and he insists on sleeping on the couch but you know that is not what he needs. You don't mind taking the couch for a few days or even weeks. However long Shawn needed to stay with you was okay. It takes a lot of convincing but he eventually agrees to sleep in your bed propped up.

“You don't have to do this,” he says for the dozenth time since you left the hospital. “I'll be alright.”

“Shawn, I'm not going to leave you at your place alone. The doctor said to monitor you and that's what I'm going to do.”

He's quiet, just like every time he tried to get you to leave him before. You don't know what he's getting at by telling you the same thing. You're also not sure, but it could be a side effect of the pain medicines making him a little loopy and forgetful. “You're amazing.”

You fluff a blanket out across his lap and shake your head. “You would do the same for me.”

“I would. A thousand times over I would.”

You lean forward to grab a pillow and he grabs your hand, stopping you halfway. You look down at his scraped up knuckles against your soft skin. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” He whispers, eyes finding yours. “I’m sorry I scared you and put you through this.”

You rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “You we're doing your job. I know what dangers come with being a fireman. I know what I signed up for.”

Shawn cracks a soft smile. His tired face looking far more gorgeous than it should right now. “You say that like we're a couple.” His eyes are glassy and you want to discuss relationships and feelings right now but somehow you know it's not going to do any good. His medicine was knocking him out and he was getting loose lipped. You don't feel right talking about something serious while he basically has no inhibitions.

“Get some rest,” you say, pulling your hand from his and cupping his cheek. “I'll be in the living room and you can just holler if you need anything.”

“Yes ma'am.” He hums and leans back against the pillows, eyes closed. You move around the room quietly, picking up a few things before leaving him be and by the time you finish he is passed out, soft snores filling the room. You give him one last look from the doorway and sigh softly. You were definitely gone for him and you don't mind one bit.

________________

The next few days Shawn's spends mostly in bed. He doesn't go out, just hangs out at your house while you go to work. The guys from the fire station stop by the deli and ask about him, you tell them he's doing alright. Which he is. He just seems a little shaken up still, like it's really hitting him that he could have died. Jeremy brought you his keys and spare clothes from the station to take home with you so he would have some things to wear.

It's Wednesday and you wake up stiff from sleeping on the couch again. It's your day off and you plan on trying to get Shawn to go visit the guys at the station. You sit up and Shawn is standing in the kitchen trying to break eggs into a bowl with one hand. He's getting visibly annoyed and you climb off the couch to go help.

“Shawn, let me do it,” you say softly as you approach him and see three shattered eggs in a bowl.

He sighs heavily, stepping aside to let you take over. “I hate this.”

“I know.” You fold the carton closed and turn the stove off. “We're going to go out for breakfast. You've been cooped up here for days, it's time to go out.”

Shawn grumbles. “I don't want to go out.”

“Too bad. You're becoming a grumpy old man. And you owe me a date.”

“I do,” he sighs softly. “Okay, you got me. I'll get dressed.”

Half an hour later and you are walking together along the beach and you're feeding him bites of a muffin. The two of you opted to get some blueberry muffins and coffee from the cafe to go.

“I'm really sorry,” he says as you head for the underside of the pier that was attached to the deck of the crab shack

“For what?”

“For putting you through this kind of stress. I was reckless and I got myself hurt.”

You finish off the bit of muffin in your hand and shake your head at him. “I mean, I know what risks a firefighter has to take. I know you're going to get hurt. I don't like it, and yeah, you were reckless and you could have died. But you didn't.”

“I don't even have anything to show for it. I didn't save the truck driver.”

“Hey,” you grab his hand and he threads his fingers through yours. “You have your life to show for it. I'm not angry at you, I'm not even disappointed. I'm glad you're alive and barely hurt.”

Shawn drops your hand and sits down in the sand. You sit beside him and the water washes up over your toes. “Why do you care so much about me?”

“Because I like you. You're an amazing guy and you're sweet. You're everything I've ever dreamed of in a guy. How could I not care?”

He shrugs. “I guess I've never felt that sort of thing from anyone I've dated. We hit it off so fast, I was actually really nervous I was going to fuck everything up.”

“Well you didn't.” You laugh and lay your head on his shoulder. “You actually did quite the opposite.”

“I did everything right?”

You nod.

He grabs your hand and plays with it. His knuckles are scrapped up, red and a little bruised. He measures your hand against his, palms together before bringing it up to kiss softly.

“Can I ask you something really cheesy?”

“Of course.”

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laugh softly. Before you met him, you probably would have said no. But there was something about Shawn that changed everything for you. Something that made you feel like you couldn't get enough of him. Something that made you wanna go all in and not stop.

“I think I do.”

________________

Six months later

“Hey hot stuff,” Shawn purrs, hands on your waist pulling you back against him. “Is this my shirt?”

You let out a squeal and drop the spatula you are using to stir your scrambled eggs. “Yes it is. What are you doing scaring me like that?” You laugh, leaning your head back against him.

“Notice anything different?” He wiggles his fingers against your sides. You don't feel the familiar hard edge of his cast pushing against your skin.

“Your cast is gone!”

He turns you around and holds his hands up. The blue plaster cast is totally gone. You put your hand in his and he squeezes gently. “It's going to be weak for a while, but I have stretches and stuff to do to build the strength back up. The doc said my bones looks good and the muscles should bounce back in no time since I did the exercising with my fingers with the cast on.”

“I'm so happy. You'll be able to do more than just in house work at the station. I know between that and hanging around here you were getting a little stir crazy.”

Shawn grabs your hips and lifts you up on the counter top so you're just a hair taller than him. He steps between your legs and bumps his nose against yours. “The only thing that makes me crazy is you.”

“Mmm,” you lean in for a kiss and he kisses you slow and drawn out for just a lingering moment. “This is very sexy and all, but you probably shouldn't be lifting me quite yet.” You lay your hand over his forearm and he makes a noise of protest as he bumps his nose against yours for another kiss. “I'm serious Shawn.”

“I know.” He pulls back, looking at you softly. “I got excited. I haven't been able to do what I want for a while.” He grips the swells of your hips and grins. “Couldn’t hold you like I wanted to.”

“Shawn,” you flush and he gives you bedroom eyes. “Later.” You reach over and pull your pan off the burner so your eggs don't over cook any more.

Shawn looks over and steps back so you can get down and finish making your breakfast. “I'm just saying, my station tee would look really good on the floor of the bedroom right now.”

You turn and point your spatula at him. “And I'm just saying, it sounds like you need to take a cold shower and calm that fire in your pants, hot stuff.”

Shawn just groans and turns away, going to the bathroom. You hear the shower come on and you just laugh, sitting down to eat your breakfast.

________________

“Are you still interested in the old antique shop next to the deli?” Shawn asks one day over lunch. You're sat together in the station dining room while the other guys nap in the bunks upstairs.

“Yeah, but I'm a little over a thousand dollars short. I might take out a loan or something. I really want to open the bakery. I'm so close but it's still so far.”

Shawn twirls a stir stick between his fingers. “I uh...I have a couple grand in my savings.”

“No.”

“Honey, I'd be an investor. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be able to come back to firefighting full time with my arm the way it is. I've got permanent screws in it. If I can make your dream come true, and possibly be a part of it, then that's everything I could ever want.”

You lay your hand over the scars on the back of his forearm and sigh softly. “You're making great progress. The doctor said the screws shouldn't stop you from doing your job.”

Shawn sighs. “It's just...what if I get hurt again? What if it's worse?”

“Shawn.” You turn his face up to look at you across the table. “Why did you take this job? Remember what you told me when I asked why you became a firefighter?”

“Because I wanted to help people.”

“That's right. And you're going to do that. You're going to save so many lives Shawn. I know you're anxious about returning to the job completely, but don't get into the mindset that it's not going to work. You can do anything.”

“You're right. I can. So I'm going to be a firefighter and I'm also going to be an investor in your bakery.”

You shake your head as you let out a laugh. “Shawn, no! I can get a loan.”

“Listen,” he covers your hands with his and lifts them up. “I always wanted to help people, that was my dream, and I'm doing something I love no matter how anxious I am about returning to it. You want to bake, you deserve to have your dreams come true as well. Let me be part of it, please?” He kisses your fingers gently.

“Fine. Just the thousand, I'll pick up the rest. It'll be enough to get the lease on the shop, supplies and pay the first two months utilities. I have all of dad's equipment in storage so we just have to install everything.”

Shawn grins big. “I know a couple of strong guys who would love to help out in exchange for some baked goods.” You giggle and he leans over the table to kiss you.

__________________

“The place is all set up with fairly new electrical and plumbing, everything is up to code for a food business or retail. What was it you wanted to put in here?” The realtor asks as she walks you and Shawn around the empty shop.

“A bakery.” You stand by a counter that could use some love but would work for the time being.

“Oh! Well the building was actually a bakery at one time so the outlets should definitely be up to code for food equipment.”

You turn and look at the realtor. Her name is Peggy. “I know. It was my dad's place.”

“Wow! Really? That's amazing. Does the landowner know that?”

“I'm not sure. Why?”

“Well, sometimes people are sentimental to family businesses. I can talk to him if you like, it's worth a shot.” Peggy lays down her folder on the counter. “I'll leave you with some of the information on the building. I'm sure you probably know most of it, but take a look at it and get back to me with an offer and I'll contact the owner.”

Shawn walks over from the windows and puts his arm around your waist. “Why didn't you tell me this was your dad's place? This is going to be amazing.”

“I know, I can't wait,” you beam, taking the folder off the counter and following Peggy out of the building.

_______________

You walk in the doors of the firehouse and the place is loud and bustling. The garage and living area have been turned into a party room. It's the annual fill the boot fundraiser, where the firefighters raise money to fill one of the boots from their gear to donate to a charity. It's an adult only event that goes over quite well with the town's residents. There is food, drinks, games and even a little something special. Every year a couple of the guys volunteer to play a game where they dress up in all of their gear and attendees pay set amounts for certain pieces of clothing and gear to come off. All proceeds from the game, food, and drinks go to “fill the boot” for the years charity. This is only your second year attending and Shawn said you had to come, that he'd be devastated if you didn't.

You're a little late, having worked an extra hour at the deli to help deep clean behind the counter. You had already promised you would or else you wouldn't have stayed. There is loud music, some catchy country band blaring over the speakers in the garage. Everyone is chatting and having a good time. You don't see Shawn right away, eyes scanning for the hard to miss giant.

“Grab a table, I'm gonna get drinks!” Mariel shouts from beside you over the music.

You no sooner get sat down then the DJ for the evening is announcing that they're going to have their next firefighter come out for the clothing bidding and that the goal is three hundred dollars. It's a steep amount, usually the guys go for a hundred or so.

“Again, that goal is three hundred dollars! And as always no touching the firefighters unless they allow it. Keep your hands in your pockets and your cash ready to donate!”

Shawn walks out of the office in his gear and you can't help the smile that spreads across your face. No wonder they were looking to raise so much. Shawn was the youngest on staff and by far the most attractive. Of course you're biased, but you see the way people stare at him when you go out. Honestly you can't blame them, but he is all yours.

Mariel sits next to you and slides you a Coke. “Is that your man?”

“Yes.” You lean back, folding your arms in amusement. You can't wait to see how fast his clothes come off.

The DJ starts the bidding with his helmet at twenty dollars. Usually it's a ten dollar item but not with this hot commodity. The helmet is gone instantly, a lady you recognize from the grocery store hands over a bill for it. Gloves fly off at twenty. Boots at thirty take a minute but someone takes one for the team to get the ball rolling. His jacket is next and you just chuckle at the crowd already getting excited.

Shawn looks to you and you just shake your head. He walks into the tables toward you and starts unbuttoning his jacket, opening it and cheering people on to donate the forty dollars to take it off. He winks at you, biting his lip. There is a taker as soon as he leans against the table of a group of college girls across from you.

The pants are next, it's just the fireproof ones but the way Shawn undoes them you'd think he was taking off his jeans already. People are getting rowdy, young ladies reaching for him. The pants donation goes fast. He returns to the front area where the DJ is calling out the next article of clothing. He is barefooted, standing up there in his blue jeans and tee shirt. Of course he has on one of his station shirts that is tight and shows off his body. The jerk. He was loving this.

Mariel lets out a whistle as the DJ calls for his shirt donation. A whopping fifty dollars. You roll your eyes and he grabs the edges, ready to pull off. A guy walks up and drops the donation into the DJ's hand. Shawn pulls the tee up and over, revealing a tank top underneath.

“Are you sure he's wasn't a stripper?” Mariel laughs.

“Nah, he's just cocky. He knows all these people want him.”

“He's just showing off for you.”

“Probably.”

The DJ announces his undershirt for fifty dollars. There's a hesitation in the crowd. It's a lot, and it's one of the top two with the best result physically. “Fifty dollars, for the elementary school to get new play equipment! Come on up, you know you want to see this hot piece of man take his shirt off. It's the best part of the evening- We got a taker!”

Mariel stands up and walks across the room with her money. “Take it off Mendes!”

Shawn throws his head back and laughs. He pulls the tank top off and the room goes apeshit. He crosses the room and hands his tank top to you and Mariel. “Too bad babe, you should have bid on my shirt. I'd have brought it to you too.”

“But I'm going to get it tonight anyway.”

Shawn leans forward and grins. “Yes you will.”

Up next is his pants and that's the last fifty dollars. It takes no time, the DJ doesn't even finish announcing it before three of the college girls come up, the money between them. Sure enough, Shawn undoes his button, zips them down and shucks them. He stands there in his dark red boxers while everyone cheers.

“That is it! Three hundred dollars and you Mr. Mendes are free to get dressed!”

“How much for the boxers?!” Someone yells and Shawn flushes. You laugh.

Shawn goes to the booth and says something inaudible. The DJ leans over to talk to Jeremy who's handling the donation totals.

“Four hundred dollars?” The DJ says quietly, but loud enough everyone can still hear on the speaker. The three men talk quietly for a moment and then Shawn steps back, walking with a smirk to the middle of the front area.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Shawn grins, hands on his hips. “For the remaining amount that we need to raise. For four hundred dollars, yes, four big ones, I will take off my boxers right here and right now.”

Your eyes go wide and you stand up. Shawn looks at you with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. You shake your head as he silently dares you to stop him.

“Do you take credit cards?” Someone yells jokingly.

Shawn saunters out into the crowd and glides his thumbs along his waistband. “No cards, only cold hard cash.”

You leave your seat and walk around to meet him. You lay your hand on his chest and walk him right back up to the front, eyes locked on his the whole time. He knew how to get you riled up. That was for sure.

“No touching ma'am!” The DJ calls out

Shawn raises his arm and waves him off, allowing it for you.

“You want me to donate it don't you?”

“I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of you.” He leans in and whispers, “It's working.”

“Do we have a donation?” The DJ asks and you look over to him. To the right you can see a table of people getting their money together. It's about to happen.

“You got your rise.” You glance down at his stomach and he chuckles.

“I did. Grab my wallet out of my jeans. There's a couple hundred in there for tonight.”

You step past him, grab his jeans and fish his wallet out. You march to the DJ booth and hand over the money.

“Ladies and gentlemen we have hit our goal!”

Shawn grabs the mic from the DJ and grins, “If you guys don't mind, I think I'll take my boxers off in front of the lady here in private.”

There's a sigh of disappointment from the crowd.

“Now now, I think she earned it since she is the sole donor.” He looks over at you and you roll your eyes. “And my beautiful girlfriend.”

An awe from the crowd erupts and they cheer as you help Shawn gather up his gear and clothes to take back into the office. The two of you squeeze into the tiny room and Shawn just laughs.

“You're such a little shit,” you laugh and shove his shoulder. “What if I didn't step up?”

“Then I guess I'd be flashing a room of people right now.”

You cross your arms and he steps close, hands on your hips.

“Honey, I'm teasing. I would have made the donation myself. You know I'm yours, I'm not going to show the goods off to the public.”

“There were enough eyes on you tonight. Thank God they can't touch you.”

“Hey,” he whispers, tilting your head to look at him. “I'm yours and you're mine remember? It's just for fun.”

“You're right,” you sigh and close your eyes. “I'm jealous over nothing. I'm sorry.”

He leans in and kisses you softly. “I forgive you. Now, you wanna see my dick?” he laughs.

“Not unless you're putting it to good use.” You smirk and he raises his eyebrows.

He growls and pulls your hips against his and gives you that look that could make you do just about anything. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”

________________

Three months later

The grand opening if Hot Stuff Bakery is easily one of the best days of your life. The owner of the building accepted your offer after the realtor told him your history with it. You ended up getting it for quite a bit less than you planned so you actually had a little left over to do some extra renovation to the front end.

You and your friends and family are all standing around talking, everyone is enjoying your dipping bread and muffins. The whole town has come out to see your shop and reminisce on the days when your dad owned the place. Many say it has the same charm and for that you couldn't be more proud.

“Hey,” Shawn comes around with a little white to go box in his hand. “I made you something.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, grabbing his box and opening it to find a little white frosted cupcake. It's a perfect spiral, just how you'd showed him.

“I made it at home while you were here last night. I even made a strawberry filling. But there is another surprise in there too.”

You raise your eyebrows. Mr. Fancy over here was really trying to win your heart. As if he didn't already have it. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.”

You go over to the refrigerator case and pull out a chocolate iced cupcake. “Well, see the funny thing is, I also made you a special cupcake.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes.” You laugh as you set it down in front of him. “I'm appalled you stole my idea.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and smiles. “I guess we’re like meant to be together or something.”

“Yep. Now, rock paper scissors to see who gets surprised first?” You hold your fist up over your hand and he does the same. Three quick rounds and he emerges the victor. “Ugh! I don't wanna go first.”

“Too bad.” Shawn places the cupcake in your hand.

You dig your thumbs into the side of it. “I gotta see this filling.” You look up at him and he's just grinning. You pull the soft cake apart and out oozes some very delicious looking strawberry jam but also something hard. You pick it out of the sticky filling and realize exactly what it is. A wedding ring.

“Will you marry me?” Shawn asks taking the ring and wiping it on his jeans.

Your jaw drops. You turn and grab his cupcake. “I think your answer is in here.”

Shawn frowns, confused about your reaction. He takes the cake and opens it like you had. There is no filling in his, and a little tiny toy baby falls out onto the counter. “I... don't understand. How is this my answer?”

“What is it?”

“A toy baby? I don't get it, am I supposed to-” His eyes widen and you can literally see his brain working. “You're pregnant?!”

“Two months!” You blurt out and everyone looks at the two of you.

Shawn drops down, hands shaking on your waist. He presses his forehead against your stomach and lets out a little cry of joy and kisses you. He stands back up, hands all over your sides and stomach. “I'm going to be a dad... I'm going to be a dad! I'm going to get married!”

Ryan and Jeremy start the congratulations, clapping loudly and everyone joins in. “You always said you were gonna marry her one day!” Jeremy laughs and you look over and back to Shawn.

“You really said that to them?” you laugh and he wraps his arms around you and spins you around.

“I did. The first day I met you in the deli, I knew I had to marry you someday.” He sets you down and cups your face. “I can't wait to be your husband, and a dad.”

“Me neither.” You grin and he bumps his nose against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too. To the moon and back.”

You close your eyes and smile. “To the moon and back.”

End

______________________________________

Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me everything you thought, felt, or things you wanna know! I appreciate every ask and reblog I receive. Please please please leave feedback via ask, reply, message or reblog!

Thank you again. Without amazing readers I’d never have kept writing.

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 3 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

Summary: Adore has always loved Courtney differently than she should. As time goes on, Adore embraces who she is, but it’s hard to accept the love that she has for her best friend when Courtney doesn’t feel the same. Courtney hides from herself in a love story that everyone wants to hear: best friends that have known each other all their lives that fell in love. But did she pick the wrong best friend?

Or: Over the years, it keeps coming back to the tree house.

Chapter Summary: Just best friends doing what best friends do. Right?

TW: Internalized homophobia

Chapter 3: Mercy

“Spend the night at my place tonight,” Courtney begged, wrapping her hands around Adore’s arm until she relented.

Adore probably should have known that something was off as Courtney grew jittery when they neared her house. And then, the smell of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread coming from the kitchen was the second clue that Adore should have caught, because Courtney’s dad usually avoided garlic like the plague. But of course, she didn’t. It wasn’t until Courtney tugged Adore by the hand into the kitchen and there stood the older woman, her silver-blonde hair pulled into a neat bun, her bright green eyes gleaming, that everything clicked.

Courtney’s Grandma Muriel was in town for the next few days and although Courtney loved her grandmother dearly, sometimes she needed backup to survive her visits. Unlike Courtney’s own parents who were free spirits that wanted their children to think for themselves, Courtney’s grandmother was a bit of a control freak with a closed-minded outlook on life. And it didn’t help that Courtney’s sister Kim was visiting home to kiss the ring - with her perfect grades and her perfect life and her perfect boyfriend, Brandon, the surgical intern who’d just spent three months in Mexico giving vaccinations to poor children.

“Why are you holding her hand, Courtney? Adore’s a big girl,” were the first words to leave her grandmother’s lips.

Courtney smiled tightly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Grandma Muriel’s cheek.

“Hi, Grandma,” she said, still clinging to Adore’s hand.

“Hello, dear. Sit down, we were just hearing about how Brandon and Kim met.”

Courtney and Adore exchanged a look.

“Uh, we have some homework,” Adore volunteered.

“Yeah, let us know when dinner’s ready!” Courtney said cheerfully, relieved, pulling Adore from the kitchen as fast as possible.

Courtney and Adore abandoned their homework rapidly in favor of a movie as they waited for dinner to finish. With Courtney’s favorite fluffy blanket, the pair cuddled up on the couch together, Courtney leaning against Adore. After a few minutes, Courtney moved to lay her head in Adore’s lap, snuggling up to her further. Adore had mindlessly brushed a bit of Courtney’s hair behind her ear and Courtney found herself chasing Adore’s hand as it disappeared.

“Play with my hair, Dory,” Courtney said softly as she grabbed Adore’s hand.

“Okay, do you want me to braid it?” Adore asked as she started to card her fingers through Courtney’s blonde locks. The only response Adore received was Courtney nuzzling against her and a soft sigh of contentment. Adore giggled, continuing to run her fingers through Courtney’s hair, now more focused on the girl than the movie.

“What’s so funny?” Courtney asked, turning her body to look up at Adore.

“Nothing, it’s just that, you remind me of a cat,” Adore smiled as she twirled Courtney’s hair around her fingers before going to lightly scratch her scalp.

“Am I a pretty cat?” Courtney giggled as she nuzzled into Adore, even more feline-like than before.

“The prettiest,” Adore complimented.

An, “Ahem,” startled Adore and she looked up with wide eyes to find Courtney’s grandmother standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Adore removed her hands from Courtney’s hair and tried to nudge the girl in a sign her for to rise up, but Courtney stayed put. Courtney’s grandmother crossed the room, narrowed eyes on the girls making Adore anxious.

“The food will be ready soon,” she informed them before making her way through the living room to the dining room with a large bowl of salad.

“Okay,” Courtney responded and the woman exited the room without another word.

Courtney relaxed back into Adore’s lap and looked up expectantly at her.

“Keep playing with my hair,” she whined, “it felt good.”

Adore only shook her head, not really understanding why Grandma Muriel’s stare made her feel like she had done something wrong.

“No, let’s just watch the movie until it’s time to eat,” Adore tried to persuade her, but Courtney seemed determined for things to go her way. She crossed her arms and pouted, letting out huffs of disapproval until Adore finally gave in.

“Courtney!” Kim’s voice rang out sharply, and Adore nearly jumped out of her skin. “Get off your ass and help set the table. Lazy little brat.”

“Ughh,” Courtney groaned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“I’ll help too,” Adore offered, the hammering in her chest slowing a bit.

“Come on, Dory, just taste it,” Courtney giggled, holding a forkful of faux meatball to Adore’s lips, which were clamped shut.

Adore shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not eating that vegan stuff.”

“It’s really good, I promise! It’s not like tofu. Brandon, you’re a carnivore; tell her it’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s good, Adore. I mean, it’s not as good as meat, but it’s not bad,” Brandon offered. When Kim hit him on the shoulder, he added, “No offense.”

Karen laughed. “None taken,” she said, patting his hand.

“I’ll stick to the spaghetti,” Adore said dryily.

Courtney nuzzled her neck, wheedling some more, “But how will you get your protein, Dory?”

Adore pushed her away, feeling Grandma’s steely eyes boring into them. “Knock it off,” she whispered.

“Courtney, stop harassing your friend, she’s trying to eat,” Grandma Muriel said.

Courtney sighed, rolling her eyes, then grinning mischievously and giving Adore a big wet kiss on the cheek before sliding back over to her plate.

“Adore, are you spending the night?” asked Peter.

“Um, yeah, I think so. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, love, you’re always welcome here,” said Karen.

Grandma raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t see a sleeping bag,” she commented to no one in particular.

“I have a double bed,” Courtney said, picking the olives out of her salad and shoving the last forkful of lettuce into her mouth.

“Wait, how come you get to share a bed but I have to sleep on the couch?” Brandon asked teasingly.

“Cause you’re a boy,” Courtney said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Doesn’t seem fair,” he mused.

Courtney held out a peace sign in his face and affected a British accent, saying, “Girl power,” and tossing her hair.

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, Courtney.”

Courtney’s head whirled around to look at Kim. “Gross!” she exclaimed, horrified, then added, “No offense,” and batted her lashes.

Adore snorted, nearly spitting out the all-natural clear sparkling liquid that Karen claimed was soda. “And also, the Spice Girls? Were never cool.”

“You take that back, Adore Delano!” Courtney lunged across the bench, pretending to pull Adore’s hair, while the brunette shrieked and giggled.

“Alright, alright, everyone please calm down,” said Peter.

Karen added, “Courtney, if you guys are gonna act like maniacs, you should probably be excused from the table.”

“Okay great thanks goodnight,” Courtney said quickly, grabbing Adore by the wrist and hightailing it out of the dining room.

Grandma watched them go, Courtney jumping onto Adore’s back as they approached the stairs and disappeared from sight. She made a disapproving noise.

“For god’s sake, mother, would you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Those noises. They’re just kids. I know what you’re implying. Leave it alone,” Karen said.

“You do have a double standard, mom,” Kim said. “I mean, if I acted that way with a boy when I was 15, you’d have locked me in my room, in a chastity belt.”

“First of all, you did act that way with boys, and no one locked you anywhere. Second, nothing I say or do is going to have any effect on her sexuality but it sure as hell could have an effect on her self-esteem, so I’m not going to judge her or make her feel self-conscious. And third, you all need to relax. It’s not like Adore’s up there getting her pregnant.”

“Wow,” Brandon said, “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was so fucking cool?”

Karen leaned over and patted him on the arm, explaining, “Jealousy, my dear.”

Kim scoffed, and Brandon looked over at her, eyes sparkling with glee. “You sound like your grandma.”

Karen burst out laughing, pouring some more wine in Brandon’s glass.

Peter raised an eyebrow at Kim, muttering under his breath to his daughter. “Courtney’s not the one you need to watch. Your mother’s the flirt in this house.” He grinned affectionately at his beautiful wife.

Kim shook her head. “Jesus.”

Adore was in agony. For months, she’d been having twice a week “tutoring” with Violet, which was half tutoring and half messing around. (Just enough tutoring so that her grades were not suspicious and they could keep hooking up, if Adore was honest with herself.) And the thing was, Adore really liked Violet. She was funny and cool and didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of her, but the truth was, it was mostly a physical thing. Yes, she was undeniably beautiful. And seemed to be quite experienced in certain areas, which Adore was truly, truly, truly grateful for. But Adore would never love Violet. She knew that.

(Not that Violet seemed to care, so at least she didn’t have to feel guilty about it.)

The reason, of course, that Adore could never love Violet, was that her every waking moment was consumed with thoughts of her best friend. Her beautiful, vivacious, problematic best friend, who of course had no idea, and who was currently wrapped around her, fingers laced with hers, casually chatting about cheerleading practice and the Spring musical.

“You should audition too, you have the best voice! Roy said that Ms. Maguire is really cool and will totally give leads to freshman if they impress her. I mean not that we’ll get leads necessarily and it’ll be fun either way but I think we should go in with the intention of totally kicking ass and–oh my god! Adore!”

“Yeah?”

Courtney raised herself up onto her elbow, looking into Adore’s eyes. “Can you believe Kim thought I was flirting with Brandon? How disgusting was that?! He’s like…almost thirty years old. Plus he looks like the guys on the cover of Danielle Steele novels.”

Adore giggled. “He totally does.”

“So not my type.”

“So…what is your type?” Adore asked softly, painfully aware of her hands on Courtney’s waist, palms getting sweaty.

Courtney paused, considering the question, a hand tucked under her chin.

“I don’t know,” Courtney frowned.

“Well, what do you like…light hair, dark hair?” Adore egged on, almost too invested in what her answer would be.

“Yeah, dark hair, nice eyes, full lips…” Courtney trailed off.

Unable to help herself, Adore volunteered, “Like…Roy?” with a teasing lilt to her voice, but slightly nervous about the response.

Courtney grinned.

“Roy is cute. I like his dimples. But…he’s such a know-it-all. I can’t really imagine kissing him…”

Adore seized this opportunity, affecting a deep robotic voice, saying, “Courtney, the angle of the lips really needs to be 90 degrees for optimal kissing conditions. You’re clearly doing it wrong.”

Courtney broke out into peals of laughter, resting a head on Adore’s shoulder, hugging her around the waist.

“Oh my god, or sex …”

“The velocity of penetration is best achieved through rapid thrusting,” Adore kept going in her robotic “Roy” voice, thrilled by the response she was getting, feeling only slightly guilty at throwing her biggest competition under the bus. “Courtney, you’re going to have to work on your flexibility or I’m afraid I’ll be moving onto a newer model.”

Courtney laughed and laughed, gasping for air.

“Stop, oh my god,” she exclaimed breathlessly, gripping the fabric of Adore’s pajama top.

“You guys could have a bunch of little blonde, dimpled, robot babies,” Adore continued, “and he’d calculate their feeding and pooping schedule on a spreadsheet.”

Courtney smiled dreamily.

“Our babies would be pretty cute…”

Uh oh. Adore needed to think fast.

“I bet his dick doubles as a laser pointer.”

That was the one. Courtney lost it, shrieking with hysterical laughter, and then biting on Adore’s shoulder to not wake the rest of the house. Her leg tightened around Adore’s, bare skin slightly sweaty under the mountain of comforters.

Adore tried to shift away, change positions so that her mind would stop reeling, stop imagining what would happen if she just turned her head, pressed their lips together. There was a part of her that thought maybe Courtney would welcome it. But the bigger part, the chicken shit part, knew she’d never do it. Knew she’d always be the one bracing herself while her bestie rubbed against her and cuddled her and talked about boys. She felt like screaming but settled for clearing her dry, itchy throat.

“Court?”

“Yeah?” The blonde still had a residual case of the giggles.

“Can we…um…I’m just…I just got really tired…can we go to sleep?”

“Sure.” Courtney kissed Adore’s forehead and let her roll over onto her side, spooning her from behind. She wrapped her arms around Adore’s waist, hugging her tightly, face buried in her thick hair.

Adore could felt a cheek resting on her back. She swallowed hard, wishing away the thoughts that raced through her mind. Was this always how it had been with them? It had just been since her adventures with Violet that things had started getting so uncomfortable for Adore, although she remembered that there were other times, one in particular that suddenly popped into her head…but that was over two years ago…

Adore was laying on her sleeping bag, head resting on one of the beanbag chairs, scrawling lazily on a sketch pad and sucking on the end of a popsicle, when Courtney burst through the trapdoor of the tree house like a bat out of hell, tumbling inside, a bundle of gangly limbs and sharp edges. Courtney at twelve was all legs and arms and big green eyes, blonde hair constantly in her face.

“Oh. My. God,” she began, “You will never believe what just happened!”

“Aliens again?”

“No! Oh my god, Adore, I literally…I literally just walked in on my parents having sex.”

Adore burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny! I’m scarred for life!”

“I mean, maybe they weren’t having sex…like, are you sure?”

Courtney smiled patronizingly.

“Ohhh, I see. Yeah, you’re picturing some nice little scene where they’re under the covers kissing. No. That’s not what this was. So I’m looking for my sleeping bag and I go to my mom’s room to ask if she put it away with the camping stuff, and I open the door, and first of all, there are no covers. They are both buck ass naked and my dad is laying on the bed, and mom is…” at this point, Courtney swung a leg over and straddled Adore to illustrate her point, “…sitting on top of him, tits out, just like…” Courtney started to thrust her hips, moaning, imitating her mother.

Adore’s pulse quickened. A minute ago she was laughing but now it wasn’t quite so funny anymore. The seam of Courtney’s jean shorts was rubbing against her and she started to feel things that she was pretty sure she shouldn’t be feeling, not with her best friend. She wondered if she should tell her to stop.

Courtney leaned forward, lips brushing against Adore’s ear, and whispered, “And my dad was holding her like this…” she moved Adore’s hands to her ass, continuing to grind against her, getting into the performance of it all, blissfully unaware of Adore biting on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over, Courtney giggling and sliding off to the side, with an awkward, “Ummm…aaanywayyyyy…”

Adore cleared her throat, as the raging hormones inside her were replaced by first confusion, and then calm, as things settled back into their typical dynamic - Courtney playing with her hair, cuddling against her, bare leg thrown over hers. Just an epic mindfuck, but nothing Adore would give up if you offered her a billion dollars.

“So…uh…did they see you there?”

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

“Oh! Oh my god!” Courtney remembered how this scene began and started laughing. “Yeah, that was the worst part, actually. My mom looked up at me in the doorway and gave me this look, like…like I was there watching on purpose, like I wanted to see them like that.”

Courtney imitated her mother’s knowing look perfectly, one eyebrow raised. Adore was, frankly, as unconvinced as Karen that Courtney wasn’t there on purpose, but she held her tongue.

“And then she goes, ‘Courtney, can you please close the door? We’re in the middle of something.’ And then just goes right back to fucking him. My dad hadn’t stopped at all.”

Adore laughs again, shaking her head. “I would have died. Thank god Bonnie doesn’t date.”

“I mean, there is a bit of silver lining, though, I guess.”

“What’s that?”

“My mom looked really good with her tits out. So that gives me hope for the future.” Courtney smiled brightly.

Adore dissolved into giggles again. “You do have the hottest mom in the neighborhood,” she agreed.

“And you know, with my family, it could have been much more embarrassing. Did I tell you about last week when Kimmy came home from college and started asking me about masturbation at the dinner table?”

“What?!”

“Oh yeah. And mom’s just like ‘does anyone want more vegetables?’”

Adore shook her head. “Your family is so weird.”

“I know.” Courtney ran her fingers through Adore’s hair. “Hey, Dory?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about…like, what it’s like to have sex?”

“Um…I don't…” Adore was suddenly hyper-aware of Courtney’s leg pressed against hers, the smell of her apple shampoo. “I guess?”

“It seems kind of…violent. Don’t you think? Some boy just ramming his dick inside you? Like being stabbed.”

Adore swallowed. “Yeah, I mean, but it doesn’t have to be like that.” She trailed a hand down Courtney’s shoulders.

“I know, I know. If you love him and all. But still.”

Adore turned her face to look at her best friend, taking in her earnest green eyes. She laced their fingers together.

“Right. If you love him.”

“Dory?”

The sound of Courtney’s soft voice snapped Adore back into the present. “Yes?”

“I love you.” A tender kiss was pressed to the back of her neck.

“I love you too, Court.” Adore said, willing the tears not to fall from her eyes.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #courtney act #adorney #angst #fluff #lesbian au #high school au #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #tw internalized homophobia

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indiaalphawhiskey · 4 years

Text

SD Drabble #1

Note: Another prompt I thought of long ago, that I’m still so in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the time to write it, but here it is anyway. Posting under the tag “Sugar Daddy AU”. Please excuse my self-indulgence. xx ---

“Have you got that?” the woman asked. The tone of her voice, coupled with the patronizing pinch of her newly ‘refreshed’ lips, screamed condescension.

Harry offered her a soft, subdued smile. “I have, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

She sniffed and her nose, already two and a half inches in the air to begin with, titled higher in doubt. “Repeat it, then.”

Harry let out a slow exhale through his teeth.

“Of course.” His smile never left his face as he ran through the list in his head. “For the table’s appetizers, the Rockefeller oyster platter, baked garlic lemon butter scallops, lemon butter sauce separated into individual sauce dishes, garlic to the side, and a Caesar salad, with no dressing, no bacon, no chicken, and no croutons, to be served twenty minutes before the main dishes. For his entree,” Harry said, turning to offer the gentleman – who had been scanning him from head-to-toe with a rather lascivious smirk – a quick nod. “Sir will have the cherry-glazed rack of lamb, with marble potatoes instead of garlic rice pilaf, potatoes pre-cut into quarters, and a whiskey double.” He turned back to the woman, a challenge in his tone. “Madam will have the Chilean sea bass and braised asparagus, asparagus to the side and blanched instead of braised, with the pesto and lemon sauce on a separate dish, and a glass of Semillon. Dessert will be two pieces of the dairy and gluten-free chocolate truffle cake, and two glasses of our best sherry.”

The woman’s gaze remained unimpressed.

“Fine,” she breathed. She flicked her fingers away once, the sheen of her opulent diamond ring reflected on the white tablecloth – a dismissal.

Harry bowed politely, face impeccably calm as he gathered the menus from the table and began to walk away.

Oyster platter and scallops baked in nothing, he recited in his head as he weaved his way around the tables. Plain lettuce masquerading as Caesar salad. Lamb with an entirely different side dish than the one on the menu – Chef will be pleased as fuck, by the way––

Snap! Harry startled at the sound. What the f–– Snap! Snap! Snap!

He leaned back reflexively to avoid the hand aggressively snapping right in front of his nose, before turning to find it was attached to a portly man in his mid-fifties. His face was tinged red with impatience, his breath laboured as he heaved himself back onto his chair now that he had Harry’s attention.

Harry took a deep breath before facing the table.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,” he began politely. “But my colleague will be with you in just a mo –”

“Oh, you’ll do, sweetheart,” the man crooned, licking his lips as he surveyed Harry. “You’ll do just fine.”

His impatience had faded completely, Harry noticed, though Harry much preferred irritation to… whatever this new expression was. Having only had this job for three days, it took all of Harry’s willpower to swallow the cutting remark that was already resting on his tongue. He managed, but unfortunately, the way his skin was crawling with discomfort was not as easily dealt with.

He exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he needed this job. Unbidden, the events of the last week flashed before his eyes.

Finding unrecognizable lingerie under his pillow. Being told by his fiance that he was being left for a nineteen-year-old pilates instructor slash aspiring male model. Discovering three months’ worth of unpaid rent bills hidden in their (now his, he supposed) bread box, and a discarded bill for a ‘12-carat gold-plated necklace with ‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive�� (Gross.) in his trash (already paid, thank God for small favours). Combing coffee shop bulletin boards for part-time jobs that fit his tedious grad school schedule. Chicken-flavored ramen for the three straight dinners.

He tried not to sigh.

Relax, he told himself. Be professional, get your check, and get out of here.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Harry said, miraculously polite.

“Well, handsome,” Lecherous Restaurant Patron purred, drawing out the pregnant pause as Harry quelled a rising gag.

“Come off it, George,” his companion cut in. He tacked on a chuckle at the end like an afterthought, though it couldn’t mask the slight edge embedded in the words. It made Harry think of the way a cheeky thief smiles as he runs his finger back and forth against a switchblade – just a hint of a threat. “Just order, mate. The kid’s busy.”

It was hardly a white knight stepping in to defend his honour, but after the week Harry had, it was close. He had barely glanced in his saviour’s direcion before George spoke again.

“I own the place, Tomlinson. He can spare a couple more minutes, can’t you, darling?” He punctuated the question with two hefty slaps to Harry’s arse cheek. The first made Harry freeze in shock. The second made his vision go red.

Lingerie.

‘He’s… amazing, Harry. I love him.’

Rent.

‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive.

Wanted: Part-time Wait Staff.

‘Repeat it, then.’

Slap! Slap!

The punch flew out of Harry, the crisp sound of knuckles against cheekbone ringing satisfyingly in his ears, loud and clear over the scuffle, over the yelling, over the firing. It was all Harry could hear until the harsh slam of the restaurant’s back door, and the biting whip of the winter wind.

Cheated on, left, in debt, harassed, fired, tossed out on my arse, Harry thought to himself, raising his fist in a sarcastic cheer. B-I-N-G-fucking-O. What he wouldn’t do for a joint right now.

He let out a deep, bone-tired sigh, winter’s icy fingers creeping around his open coat and up his too-thin undershirt (they had taken his uniform straight off his back, the bastards), before making his way out of the tiny back alley. He hunched his shoulders automatically, the wind somehow stronger out on the dimly lit main street, and began his long trudge to the tube stop, large hands stuffed awkwardly into his coat’s faux pockets because he had also lost his favorite gloves to bloody Neverwhere this morning.

“Mind the gap, indeed,” he mumbled to himself sadly, taking a little solace in the fact that he had remembered to bring his earphones with him today. He was convinced the morose opening chords of Landslide would manage soothe his broken heart, if he played it enough times. (Hey, if Stevie made it through, so could Harry.)

Lost in thought (and in the gargantuan task of untangling the aforementioned earphones), the barely audible crunch of gravel next to him didn’t register at all.

“ – genuinely feel like you’re ignoring me on purpose now but, once more, with feeling – Do. You. Need. A. Ride?”

Harry jumped, clutching at his heart and dropping his earphones in surprise. “What the bloody –”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. He offered Harry a sheepish smile, his elbow resting on the window of his cheesily predictable top down. “But I’d been here for like seven minutes –”

“You’ve been stalking me for seven minutes,” Harry deadpanned, so done with these absolute shits. “Yeah, not a great line to lead with.”

“Not stalking,” he tried to chuckle confidently, but the tone came out slightly uncertain. “But like, offering you a ride. You know, to make up for…” He tipped his head backward, motioning to the restaurant. “My partner. Business partner,” he clarified seriously, and ––

Oh, Harry thought. The other guy. Tomlinson, he remembered. No wonder his voice was familiar.

“No, thank you,” Harry said curtly as he began to walk again, his face resolutely blank, eyes trained stubbornly on his destination.

A huff of disbelief weaved itself between the sound of slow-rolling wheels.

“C’mon, kid,” Tomlinson tried. “It’s cold as shit.”

“Then maybe get a car with a roof,” Harry said, quietly.

Tomlinson chuckled in answer, wheels still painfully in time with Harry’s steps.

“Fair point. C’mon,” he repeated. “You’ve had a shit night. You’re cold and tired. Let me give you a ride.” When Harry stayed silent, he continued. “You’ll be home quicker. Home, and clean,” he needled. “And warm.”

At that, Harry let himself steal a glance, and was greeted with Tomlinson’s smirking profile, his eyes on the road. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, the lovely peak of a small nose – everything was slim and pointed. Pixie-like, Harry caught himself thinking, though the delicate quality of his face was offset by just a hint of handsome stubble. A healthy amount of silver decorated his temples, but the hair on his head was still a touch more pepper than salt. Not quite a silver fox just yet.

Fifty, Harry guessed. Fifty-five at most.

“Is this your M.O., or something?” Harry asked, trying to keep the raking irritation from bleeding into his voice. The calmer he was, the less Tomlinson would think he was getting somewhere. “Is that how this works? You go to a restaurant, find a target, get your wingman to act like an arsehole, and then swoop in for the kill?”

A startled laugh broke through the hush of the street.

“Just a wee bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Tomlinson teased.

“Evasive, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock.” Harry could still hear the amusement in his voice. “I do have killer flirting skills, but not serial killer flirting skills.”

Harry sighed then, so, so exhausted. “Right. Well again, no thank you on the ride. In case my little demonstration at the restaurant was somehow unclear, I don’t date men who are old enough to be my father.”

He tipped his chin up higher, because while Harry may not have any money (or a job, or a fiance), he still had his dignity.

Or at least part of it, he corrected, pushing away the curdle of humiliation as he remembered finding those awful panties.

“So you only date cheap men,” Tomlinson said, decisively.

“God,” Harry whispered under his breath, his annoyance now too hard to ignore. Louder he said, “Fuck off.”

“Cheap,” he continued confidently over Harry’s insult. “Young, handsome bastards who get one big paycheck and think that makes them Drake or whoever the fuck –” The cool-dad rap reference, plus the well-timed dig at his stupid, necklace-engraving ex, made Harry’s lip twitch upward against his will. “ – and then fuck off with some barely-legal twit who sucks dick like a champ but can’t name a single city outside of London.”

Harry snorted.

“Know him, or something?” he asked sarcastically, eyes trained on the tiny Underground sign that was still about three blocks away.

“Know him? Oh love,” The way he said it – ‘Luhv’ – made Harry finally turn to him. It was a mistake. His eyes were sharp – a searing blue even in the orange cast of the street lamps – and his smile devastating. “I am him,” he admitted freely, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smirk widened. “Only, you know,” he shrugged. “With a few more checks, and slightly higher standards. I mean,” he blinked, almost sweetly. “You can name at least three cities outside London... can’t you?”

Harry could feel a gentle heat settle at the tops of his cheeks, the insinuation about his blowjob skills decidedly not lost on him. He felt his stomach do a sudden somersault. He pushed it away, convincing himself it was just the rush of attention, the electricity of an unexpected ego boost and that quick, first moment of feeling pretty again after getting horribly, horribly dumped.

His brief silence must’ve signaled a chink in his armour, because Tomlinson then took it as an opportunity to say, “I’m Louis.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said, tongue fast, though the fact that he hadn’t yet ducked into a not-suitable-for-sports-cars-sized alleyway probably softened the blow.

Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous. “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?”

“Closer to twenty-six,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “Which is an entire fully grown adult between us. You could have kids as old – nay, older – than our age gap.” Did he just say ‘nay?’

“Did you just say ‘nay’, Shakespeare?” Louis teased. “So definitely at least three cities outside London, then.” Harry didn’t smile but it was a close thing. “And I promise you,” Louis continued. “I haven’t put myself in the position to bear children since you were – nay, before you were born. Been in a lot of other positions since then, though.”

He had the audacity to punctuate it with a wink. It was annoyingly charming, and Harry had never been angrier at himself.

“Besides,” Louis said, with the kind of smile that knew victory was close. “It’s just a ride, love, no strings attached. Unless of course, getting tied up is what you’re into,” he added, so incredibly pleased with himself. Harry wanted to smack him. But he could also feel the blessedly comfortable heat radiating from the car’s vents.

“Fine.”

#sugar daddy au #larry drabble #iaw drabble #SD1 #writing exercise

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hoodoo12 · 4 years

Note

Beetlejuice is my man ❤️. Honestly, him showing up and interrupting a bad date, and the fem reader leaving with the Beej would be great. Only if you want to of course. Ps, love your fics. ❤️

Thank you for this fun idea! I had a blast writing it and hope you enjoy it. SFW, Beetlejuice/f!reader, mild swearing. Stand alone story, although a second (nsfw) could be added . . . 😉. If anyone is interested in something like that, let me know!

Bad Date

You fiddled with your fork. The droning--the god awful, incessent droning--from the other side of the small table never ceased. The man sitting there, the man who you agreed to go out on this date with, hadn’t stopped talking about himself. The. Entire. Time.

It wasn’t as though he had interesting or fun stories either. He had opinions on everything, no matter the subject, and considered himself an expert on everything too. He worked at a car dealership, for the love of god, and although he bragged about how much money he made and the fancy vehicles he drove, you had a suspicion he was more on the level of a lot attendant instead of a top salesman.

Why did you ever swipe right on his photo?

You slipped your phone into your lap and discreetly checked the time. You’d been at this restaurant for thirty minutes, and although the waiter had taken your orders, you’d only gotten drinks and a basket of bread so far. This was insufferable. How were you going to last through salad and an entree with this guy? You didn’t even want to think about coffee and dessert.

While he continued to prattle on about the border wall or car tires or whatever, your mind drifted.

Beetlejuice had not been happy you’d gone out tonight. He’d expected another lazy evening in, but it wasn’t like the two of you were exclusive or anything! Who knew how many people the ghost had on the side? It wasn’t like you could keep track of him. And whenever you dared try to mention the word ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or anything of the sort, he stammered and turned a more sickly shade of pale, and found excuses to change the subject. That, or he just left, no matter what the two of you happened to be doing at the moment. Sometimes, for fun, you teased him about it, just to make him squirm.

Tonight you’d give anything for it to be real. Then you’d never be in this mess.

You wondered if typing his name into a text message would summon him.

No harm in trying . . .

With a quick glance up at the guy across the table flapping his lips--oh god, he saw you looking and thought you were encouraging him!--you quickly dropped your gaze to your phone again. Because Beetlejuice wasn’t listed in your phone, you pulled up a cousin’s contact page as a proxy.

Quickly you tapped out, “Betelguese, Betelguese, Betelguese,” into a new text message.

You hit send. You could explain to your cousin later.

Nothing happened. You gave it a few more minutes while the yammering from your date continued, and still nothing happened.

You decided to try again, with a phonetic spelling this time.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”

You crossed your fingers this time that he’d appear.

Nothing.

Your date continued to be oblivious to the fact you were completely ignoring him.

Nothing.

Then a tiny ‘ping!’ from your phone!

“What the hell? Is this some kind of safe word?” your cousin texted back.

With a wry smile, you thought your cousin had no idea how the answer to her question was the truth. You also hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until you got some kind of response. You let it out in disappointment that it wasn’t Beetlejuice, but used it as an excuse to leave the table.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you blurted, interrupting your date and getting out of your chair before he could respond. You darted away from the table towards the restrooms.

In the restroom, you ignored your phone and stared into the mirror. Someone else was in one of the stalls, but you disregarded that too; you just wanted help!

Watching your lips form the words, you muttered, “Betelguese, Betelguese, Beteguese.”

You closed your eyes at the last syllable. When you opened them, he was standing right behind you, his mouth curled into a snarl and his eyes dark under furrowed brows.

You spun on your heel to him.

Before you could tell him that you needed rescuing, he spit,

“What the hell do you want?”

Startled, you couldn’t answer. Typically he was pleased to hear his name--

“I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight,” he continued in an angry growl. “You had your date, and I was supposed to sit around, twiddling my thumbs, watching reruns of the shit they show on TV in the Netherworld--it’s all garbage like Manimal and My Mother the Car, nothing even entertaining like the Jerry Springer Show--”

“Beej, you’ve got to help me!” you interrupted. “You’ve got to get me out of this date!”

At least he had the decency to stop talking when you said something, unlike the guy still sitting at the table.

Beetlejuice fixed you with an undeniable “I-told-you-so” expression, but it didn’t soften his anger. “Nope. You got yourself into this, you get yourself out of it.”

That was not the answer that you had expected. Beetlejuice was usually ecstatic to rain chaos down on the living. He usually jumped at the opportunity to harass people. And now, at all times, he’d decided to, to . . . make you pay for one measley mistake?

Tears welled in your eyes. Deep down, you knew you deserved it.

You grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed your eyes. Okay. He wouldn’t help? Then you’d sit through the rest of this horrible date, pray to god the guy didn’t get handsy or expect anything physical in return for paying, and then you’d take a long hot shower when you got home to try and wash away the memory of this disastrous night.

“Okay, Beej,” you told him quietly. Because tears began forming again, you couldn’t see the expression on his face. You imagined it was triumph. “I’m . . . I’m sorry about tonight.”

With the apology, you reached for his hand, gave it a quick squeeze, and left the restroom. As the door began swinging closed behind you, you heard an old woman’s voice from the stall exclaim, “I heard a man’s voice! There better not be a man in this ladies room, or I’m speaking to the management--”

The door closed completely, and you never heard a retort from Beetlejuice.

⁂

You made your way back to your table. Your date was there, looking annoyed he’d lost his audience. You sat down again, murmured a quiet lie that your cousin’s dog was sick and she was giving you an update, and your date launched into a diatribe about how veterinarian medicine was a money-grabbing scam.

You went back to fiddling with your fork, feeling miserable. Once or twice you tried to at least look interested in whatever nonsense erupted out of the mouth of the guy sitting opposite of you, but it wasn’t a facade you could maintain.

Luckily, a waiter bumped into your table. It broke your date’s soliloquy, thankfully. Salad plates were dropped in front of the two of you. Your date looked annoyed, but you were just happy to have something else to focus on. You thanked the waiter without looking up.

To keep yourself occupied, you tried to remember and list all the ingredients in a Ceasar salad while you stabbed some with your fork. Now your date was talking about some other fancier restaurant he’d gone to, with grilled romaine lettuce for the salad, and croutons made daily with their own milled flour for the bread, and wild-caught yeast, and, and, and--

Mechanically you chewed. Nothing had flavor.

“--it was nothing like this! These are obviously store-bought croutons!” your date was saying, because he’d suddenly become a celebrity chef along with a veterinarian and car dealer. “Subpar ingredients! I’d hope that they are saving money so the steak I ordered will be higher quality, but I know that won’t be true--what the hell is this?”

You couldn’t even fake enough interest to lift your head.

“What the actual hell?” he exclaimed, then more loudly, he snapped his fingers and called for the waiter. “Hey. Hey! Waiter! Get over here!”

You stabbed another bit of lettuce. As you raised it to your mouth, the waiter got to your table. “Yes sir? Would you like some freshly cracked black pepper on your salad?”

The waiter’s voice was soft with a bit of a scratch that made it sound like he may have the beginnings of a sore throat. You didn’t look up at him, but from the corner of your eye saw that his trousers were faded black with uneven pinstriping. Wasn’t the rest of the staff in solid black clothing?

“No!” your date admonished rudely. “There is something in my salad and I want to know what it is!”

Curious beside yourself, you looked over the table.

Your date was red-faced and angry, pointing at his plate. You didn’t see anything in it. When he tapped it with his fork, however, some of the lettuce moved on its own.

The waiter reached into the salad with dirty-looking fingernails. In slow motion, everything happened at once: you looked up his arm to Beetlejuice’s face, a decidedly evil grin began to widen his lips, and he plucked a tiny, four inch, black and white sandworm out of your date’s salad to hold it up in front of him.

Time snapped back into proper speed as your date gasped.

Still holding the wriggling, hissing sandworm, Beetlejuice grabbed a chair from another table, swung it around so he could straddle it backwards, and plopped himself down between the two of you. He didn’t say a word to you.

He held the angry sandworm in front of your date’s face.

“This, Matt,” he said, putting an obvious tone of dislike on your date’s name. He grabbed your date by the shoulder to keep him seated, then continued like this was a nature show and he was presenting a fascinating creature. “This is a baby sandworm. Look at the little fellow! See his little stripes and blue lips? That’s because he’s poisonous. He’s warning predators off! But, interesting fact, he’s also venomous. Those teeny tiny fangs’ll inject you with venom and paralyze you so you don’t struggle as he’s swallowing you! Look how mad he is!”

Beetlejuice shoved the sandworm closer to Matt’s face, making him flinch back.

“Oh, he’s so mad you can see his secondary mouth! Usually those don’t appear until they’re older!”

The sandworm writhed and continued to hiss wildly.

“Now. Matt. Listen,” Beetlejuice continued like this was a perfectly normal conversation, even though you could see Matt wanted to bolt. The ghost’s grip was white-knuckled tight on him. “This little guy, yeah. He’d mess you up some. Make you sick if you ate him, or if he got shoved into some bodily orifice. But he probably wouldn’t kill you.”

You imagined you almost saw a look of relief pass over Matt’s face.

“His mother though . . .” Beetlejuice mused thoughtfully. “Sandworms are really protective of their young. This baby gets inside you and his mama is going to come looking for you, and she’s gonna be fifty solid feet long of pissed off.”

The expression of horror on Matt’s face made a small smile crack your lips. Beetlejuice grinned too.

“So Matt, what do you say? You wanna apologize to the lady for being a total d-bag and wasting her evening with your non-stop drivel and an ego that is, to be honest, even impressing me a little bit with its size? Or would you like to see how quickly little Sandy here can wriggle his way into your brain or stomach? He’d fit in an ear, I bet, and if not, definitely down your throat--”

Matt managed to wrench himself away from the grip holding him in his seat. He stood up so fast his chair tipped over as he backed away. That caught the attention of the other patrons, but your date didn’t care. He stumbled through some creative, cussing descriptions of you, Beetlejuice, and the whole situation, his voice growing louder as he continued.

Restaurant staff began converging on the table. You were mortified but felt a little surge of warmth that Beetlejuice hadn’t abandoned you. Beetlejuice’s expression was a mixture of amused and bored. Matt’s voice rose until the ghost stood up abruptly and grabbed him again.

“Apologize,” he ordered, “and don’t even think of contacting her again.”

Being held with the still hissing sandworm dangerously close to his face, Matt choked out an apology to you. Beetlejuice released him, dusted Matt’s jacket off, and gave him a slight shove.

By then the restaurant’s manager had arrived. Matt, since he wasn’t restrained any longer, continued to swear, trying to describe what just happened to him, talking about the sandworm and being accosted and this establishment going to be shut down--

--he was escorted from the premises.

Before anyone could turn their attention to you and the ghost poorly imitating one of their wait staff, you and Beetlejuice hurried out the door as well.

Outside, you threw your arms around his neck. “Thank you! You don’t know how much it means to me that you did that!”

Beetlejuice pursed his lips like he was a little disgusted with himself for coming to your rescue, but the quick kiss you planted on him erased the expression.

“Are sandworms really protective of their young?” you asked. “Is one really going to come looking for that baby?”

“Hell no!” he scoffed. The tiny sandworm he still pinched between his fingers had calmed down a little. That, or it was tired from all the activity. “They give birth and then its every one of them for themselves! If the babies don’t bury themselves quick enough, the mother eats them! Nasty little buggers.”

“Ugh,” you agreed. “Well, get rid of it, then. And I owe you big time.”

At that, Beetlejuice looked you straight in the eye and leered. “I’m going to keep you to your word on that, baby.”

He offered you an arm, so you hooked your hand through his elbow, and the two of you left for home.

fin . . .?

#beetlejuice #betelguese #fanfiction #writing #sfw #request #sandworm info

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keelywolfe · 5 years

Text

Drabble: The Measure of Fine (baon)

Summary: Really, it’s fine. Just fine.

Blue and his brother have lunch. It’s swell.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Brotherly Relationship

Notes: This chapter has mentions of depression and therapy, just to give a heads up!

We don’t see as much of Blue as we do Red, and I had the urge to peek in on him. So here we are!

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it Here!

~~*~~

If he were asked, Blue supposed he would say he missed his brother most in the mornings.

Back in Underswap, Blue would be the first one awake, downstairs and dressed, ready to begin the day with a hearty breakfast. His brother would come downstairs much later, sometimes when the smell of coffee wafted upstairs, sometimes when Blue called to him. (And sometimes those calls needed to be both energetic and exasperated before Papy would emerge.)

Papy didn’t often eat breakfast. He was far more likely to wordlessly drink several cups of coffee while mangling a piece of toast, but so long as a few bites of that toast were consumed, Blue didn’t press. If by dinner he hadn’t eaten much, Blue would be more persistent but for breakfast, he didn’t like to start the day on a bad note. They spent their mornings together with Blue chattering away and Papy not saying much and that was fine.

Things didn’t change overly much when they came to the surface, although Papy was far more likely to wander back to bed after his coffee and toast bits without a sentry job to keep him awake. It had left Blue at a bit of a loss and worse was when his duties as a diplomat took him away for weeks at a time. There was no one to care for his brother and Blue lived by his cell phone, calling and texting to reassure himself that Papy was eating, that he wasn’t just lying in bed eating chisps and mainlining coffee while he smoked.

It was better when Papy started to do lab work again. Those days he might forget to eat, but he would scarf a sandwich absently if Blue brought one. Busy was better, Blue always said, and it was comforting to know his brother was close by, only a flight of stairs away rather than the length of the Underworld in Hotland.

And then he started dating Edge.

That was fine, of course. His brother deserved to have a relationship with someone who cared for him. That it was Edge was…well, unexpected, to be sure, and Blue couldn’t really say he completely approved even now that they were married, especially considering their rocky beginning.

To begin with, he knew full well that Edge allowed Papy to sleep as long as he liked rather than urging him to get up with him in the morning, something Blue discovered when they’d first moved in together. He’d gone over to bring his brother breakfast, only to find him still asleep. It had taken a fair amount of knocking to rouse him, and from Papy’s sleepy dismay, Blue came to the unpleasant realization that his brother hadn’t expected him for breakfast.

It was…different from home. It wasn’t his kitchen, wasn’t his coffee pot, and rather than a chat with his sleepy brother, Blue found he was uncomfortable here with Papy in what was obviously Edge’s bathrobe, falling asleep at the table because he’d been up all night doing stars knew what.

Papy had tried to reassure him that it was all right, but Blue hadn’t gone back over for breakfast since.

It was fine, really. They were adults now and adults did their own thing. Obviously it was different with Sans and Papyrus, they still lived together, but that was their choice and his brother was with Edge. And that was fine.

Edge loved Papy, that was unquestionable, and if he handled some of Papy’s issues differently than Blue would, it wasn’t really his place to bring it up. Not terribly much, anyway. And besides, Edge was the one who came to him to ask about learning healing magic and if he was terrible at it then at least he was trying.

Blue could never fault someone who was trying, especially as hard as Edge did. He liked Edge, he did. He just didn’t quite understand what someone like him saw in someone like his brother.

No matter; he didn’t have to understand, and that they did love each other was painfully and sometimes sickeningly obvious. Blue gave up his daily breakfasts for weekly lunches and that was fine. It was.

Today Papy was sitting at their (no, his dining room table, his alone), watching as Blue made them sandwiches. He piled fillings high on his homemade bread, along with a modest side of Papy’s favorite chisps, and did not stare or comment on the way his brother was fiddling with his lighter and the napkin holders.

His brother would bring up what was bothering him when he was ready and not one moment sooner. Pestering only made him shut down tighter. That had been a hard lesson for Blue to learn, one that had taken years.

(He didn’t resent how Edge seemed to have figured it out quickly, not at all.)

Instead, Blue chatted about how things were at the Embassy, about how talks were open on building a new one in southern California, something the Hotland Monsters had been petitioning about for some time now. How someone had started a rumor that there was a group of secret Monster spies with the interns and now many of them were trying to figure out how to join. How somehow the Embassy cafeteria found a way to make tuna salad even worse.

When he slid their plates onto the table and hopped into his chair, chatter turned to eating.

At least his chatter did. Papy only poked at his plate idly, moving the chisps from one pile to another. Then he picked up his lighter, toying with it again. Blue was halfway through his sandwich when Papy finally spoke.

“so, i’ve been in therapy for a while now.”

“Yes, and I’m proud of you for staying with it, Papy.” Blue kept it at that, not wanting his brother to glean his lingering hurt that he’d been willing to go for Edge, but not for him. He was going, that was the important thing.

Papy didn’t look up from his lighter, watching it flip through his own fingers. “yeah…anyway, um, i wanted to say that i’m sorry that i was a pretty shitty big brother for a long time there.”

That stopped Blue almost mid-bite. He chewed his mouthful furiously, swallowing down bread and lettuce to sputter out, “You were never--"

"come on, bro,” Papy smiled at him thinly, finally met his furious gaze, only to look quickly away. “you don't have to pretend.”

"Who told you that?" Blue said, low. It couldn’t have been Edge, he was sure, it couldn’t have been, he would never and if he did, oh, Blue had some words for him, because how dare he ever make Papy feel—

But Papy only blinked in surprise. "what?”

Blue was almost shaking with fury, pushing aside his plate with enough force that a couple chisps fell onto the table in a trail of crumbs. "Who told you that you were a bad brother? Because that is a lie! You were a wonderful brother!"

“yeah, wonderful,” Papy said. It had been so long since Blue had heard that tone from him, years, emotionally blank and listless. “letting you work and train for the guard and take care of the house, me playing at being a sentry while you took care of everything. i was primo all right.”

“What I remember is a brother who sacrificed for me so that I could have clothes, who worked two jobs for a very long time to make sure I never went hungry,” Blue said tremulously. His sockets were stinging and he blinked hard, struggling to keep his voice even because he wanted his brother to believe. "Who encouraged me in my dream to join the guard and never once told me I was foolish or wasting my time. Papyrus, you gave up so much for me your entire life, I...yes, things were a little different when I was older, but that was because I was old enough to help! You helped me your whole life, Papy. It was my turn to help you."

Papy sniffled noisily, wiping at his nasal aperture with his sleeve even as tears started sliding down his cheek bones. “okay, yeah, my therapist said i should ask you about it, but-“

“No,” Blue interrupted gently. “No buts.” He took a deep breath; it hurt to say it, but, “I'm overbearing sometimes, I know that. But that's because you're the best big brother anyone could hope to have and I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. I love you, Papyrus.”

His own tears finally escaped when Papy slid down to the floor, knee-walking over to wrap his arms around him. Papy rested his skull in Blue’s lap and Blue leaned down to press a kiss against it, inhaling the honied tones of his brother’s magic, sweeter even than his own.

"thanks, bro,” Papy’s voice was muffled into Blue’s lap. “i love you, too.”

Blue wiped away his own tears with a napkin. "You don't need to thank me for the truth, so I'll accept that for lunch.” He gave his brother a gentle push. “Now, eat.”

Papy scrambled to his feet, deliberately plucking a chisp from his plate with a sly grin and eating it messily, so crumbs fell to the table.

“Papy!” Blue complained and his brother’s laugh made his soul tighten with happiness.

“sorry, bro,” Papy chuckled. He picked up his sandwich and took a hearty bite, still chewing as he said around his mouthful, “so let me tell you what nugget did the other day, that little shit—“

Blue sat eating his own lunch, listening to his brother talk. Laughing at his stories about the chickens and the neighborhood children, grinning at his brother’s happiness, his delight in his life.

His happiness echoed soothingly in Blue’s own soul.

And it was just fine.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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punishandenslavesuckers · 5 years

Photo

Sometimes your life gets ruined over a ham sandwich and that’s just how the fuck it goes. Outtake from our home game because this part made us all lose our shit.

So a triton and a tiefling walk into a bar.

It’s cramped, kind of dark, and there are three reanimated skeletons sitting around one of the tables. They look super dead and super sad about being dead, just peering mournfully into empty drink glasses. There is also a bugbear drinking ale. (Alarming.) And a straight up fiend of some variety peering eagerly at them from behind the bar. (Also alarming.) The triton – who is generally ignorant about the interplanar ecosystems of the surface world – still kens that animated skeletons must be unusual and tightens her dainty and lady-like vice-grip on the tiefling’s arm.

“Ahh! New customers,” says the fiend in a voice that slopes strangely from word to word. “Welcome to the Salted Lich. I am the proprietor of this place—Dornias Voth. Please. Make yourselves at home and purchase a beverage.”

He puts a little flourish on the word ‘beverage’ for no apparent reason.

Blue smiles. Blue has a politician’s smile. She smiles like she smiled at the city guards she hoodwinked with her husband two days earlier. She smiles like it’s pageantry and carefully pulls her taller tiefling compatriot to the privacy of a far table where they sit and she – still smiling and talking somewhat strained through her teeth – says:

“I’ve been on the surface long enough that even I know that’s not normal.”

Rime could tell her, just straight up, that the thing standing behind the bar is probably the most dangerously malevolent thing he’s encountered in his whole life – a life that includes, in no particular order, mind flayers, murderers, and hobgoblin berserkers – but feels like she might wrench his arm off if he does.

So he just flags the proprietor down, casual as anything.

The fiend, upon closer inspection, is wearing a tiny pair of spectacles, perched on the end of a very long, dark, jackal-like snout. Rime nearly misses the nightly price for a room (three gold) because he’s staring at them. The fiend has very fine red robes, stands bi-pedal somewhere over six and half feet and whenever he – Dorias – speaks, the mouth certainly opens and Common tongue comes out, but jackal jaws shouldn’t be able to form consonants properly and he’s puzzled what magic it is that’s doing the work there.

Rime nods… then glances somewhat meaningfully at the pack of skeletons.

Dornias flaps a lazy hand.

“Friends of the previous owner. Sadly he cannot command them anymore, so I just let them hang around. They did not cause any harm. They simply sit there and remember when they were alive.” He straightens the tiny spectacles. “Sad. But… it is their fate.”

Rime hands over the three gold, casts Thaumaturgy, and a fabrication of his regular speaking voice originates from a point somewhere near his head.

“Do you have anything strong and… fun to drink?”

Dornias remains unflapped by the spell usage. “Of course! Of course! I can offer you the Glabrezu Brew. Made from the blood of fallen soldiers in the Blood War?”

A pause.

Blue’s head tilts exactly one inch to the right.

“That… sounds violent,” says Rime, like you turn down a garnish on a side-salad.

“Ah. Then I can also offer Devas’ Tears.” Dornias beams with pride. “Made from the sorrows of one-thousand celestials.”

Another pause.

“Can I have a shot of rum?” says Blue.

“Maybe just a shot of whiskey,” says Rime.

“Do you have anything to eat?” Blue adds when the drinks arrive.

“I have been told that my sandwiches are worth killing someone over,” says Dornias happily, fingers steepled, ears pricked forward. “Not that you would need to. It is merely two silver…”

They order food. (Though Blue confirms no one did, in fact, die for a ham sandwich.)

Dornias stalks smoothly away on long digitigrade legs and goes behind the bar where he very rapidly puts together the ingredients for the sandwiches; he slices fresh bread from a fragrant loaf, lays thick slabs of ham, cheese, and lettuce, lovingly assembling and securing the layers with an olive-garnished toothpick each. Rime props his chin in two hands and absorbs Devil sandwich design with rapt detail.

Dornias reaches for a large glass jar on a shelf behind him. It glows somewhat ominously as he unscrews the lid… and from the briny depths of the jar a screeching voice issues forth, howling, “A THOUSAND CURSES UPON YOUR BLOODLINE. MAY THE DAMNED TEAR AT YOUR SOUL FOR ALL ETERNITY! I SHALL DROWN YOU IN THE RIVER –!”

Dornias pulls out two pickles from the jar, puts the lid back on, and sets both on the sandwich plates.

Blue, upon receiving her plate, kind of unsubtly bats the pickle away from the rest of her sandwich.

Rime casts Thaumaturgy and through it says, “Can I ask what the screaming pickle jar is all about?”

“Oh, is the previous owner.” Dornias fetches the jar and sets it down on the table where Rime and Blue can observe a human skull with jeweled eyes tumbling angrily around inside the jar.

In Infernal Rime says, “What the fuck?”

Dornias, also in Infernal, eagerly explains. “The previous owner bound me to this place as part of a convoluted plot to take over the city, kill the Masked Lords, murder the Open Lord in front of his children, then rule from here as part of his own dark fiefdom.” He says all this while drumming idle claws against the lid of the pickle jar and in the tone of someone recounting a fond anecdote. “Naturally, like someone who thinks of such a complicated scheme he forgot to assure the bindings that held me in place were secure. So, I tore the head from his body and put it in this enchanted jar.”

He pats the jar and the raging skull inside spins furiously and silently.

“But I have found I like customer service!” Dornias beams.“I like seeing the smiles on a patron’s face! So here I stay.”A beat. “Also the binding was good enough that I cannot leave.”

Rime glances at Blue who is smiling and nodding like people smile and nod when they don’t speak a lick of Infernal. Which, given the information just volunteered, is probably for the best. Rime goes on, brows arching upwardly.

“You stay because it’s fun?”

“Oh, well, I suppose with time, a bit of blood, some tears, a lot of sweat, I could probably get myself free but…” He sighs a happy sigh, gesturing widely to the bar around him. “Is easy life. You wipe the counter. You serve the drinks. A horde of pit fiends never bursts through and slaughters the people you are doing the accounting for.” Another sigh. “Is the good life.”

Blue, not understanding any of that, says, “Excuse me? One more shot.”

Rime kind of laughs, falling out of Thaumaturgy into spoken Common.

“So you don’t get a lot of customers, I assume?”

Beneath his question, the passive vocal aberration in his speaking voice puts a hissing reverb in each word. Like a second, softer voice whispering and rasping beneath Rime’s regular speaking voice. Rime’s grinning a little, visibly happy for an opportunity to speak aloud in strange but (weirdly) safe company. Dornias doesn’t bat an eye at the Infernal reverb, just nods thoughtfully.

“Ah, we do not get many clientele, but we are up and coming business. I am certain the chamber of commerce will welcome me soon.” Dornias nods. “It has only been fifty years.”

Rime grins wider, feeling a little of the tension winding out of his shoulders for the first time in a few days actually because, again rather unexpectedly, being a visible weirdo is creating an unprecedented bubble of safety. Who, even the Xanathar gang on their most irritated, is going to start trouble in a bar owned by a barely bound demonic entity with the skull of his summoner in a pickle jar?

The city watch was right -- this is the perfect place to lie low.

“Sounds like you’re winning an uphill battle,” Rime enthuses.

“Yes. As for your other question,” continues Dornias, “Yes, but not in seven centuries.”

Blue glances at Rime and Rime blinks, puzzled, “My other question?”

Your other question,” Dornias insists brightly.

An awkward beat followes. Long enough for Rime to suddenly question their own recollection of a conversation less than five seconds past and say, “Wait, what other question?”

“The one you asked in your other voice.”

Dead silence then.

Rime hears absolutely nothing except the sudden thunderous crush of his own heartbeat roaring through his ears. He stares up at the jackal-headed fiend standing over him. He can feel Blue looking back and forth between them, enough context clues suddenly tossed out in a shared language to imply things. Then, after a long, confused, then horrifying stretch of silence, Rime whispers:

“What?”

“You asked how long it had been since I saw the fires of Ivernas,” says Dornias. “Seven centuries.”

Rime switches back to Infernal. “You can understand my subvocals?”

“Yes?”

“What? I – I don’t— I’ve never met anyone who could –”Rime sputters for a moment then, doubles down. “I didn’t know it was SAYING anything.”

Dornias nods as though this is not surprising. “Difficult to understand if you weren’t part of a few small platoons of Glabrezu soldiers who crossed the River Styx to make their way into Ivernas, storm the Nine Hells, and destroy the multi verse.” He shrugs a little. “Uncommon tongue.”

Blue, becoming bored of Infernal conversations she’s not part of, pokes Rime in the arm. “Rime. RIME.”

“Hmm? Hmm?!”

She pouts. “What are you saying?”

“Uhh,” Rime says, glancing Dornias. “It’s an Infernal thing?”

“Are you okay? Blink twice if you need me.”

Rime’s tone softens a little. “I am okay.”

“Are the shots going to kill me?” Blue demands, face serious and inebriated. “Is he poisoning me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Blue immediately holds up one finger in Dorias’ direction. “Third shot sir! Thank you, Mister Friend.” Then she whispers to Rime. “Is he a whowolf too?”

Rime supposes she means ‘werewolf’ but just says, “No.”

And at that moment the main door to the bar opens and both William and Bian – returned from their second meeting today with shady and unscrupulous criminals for profit – enter the bar. They immediately and understandably freeze upon seeing the clientele. Bian’s large tabaxi eyes dart around the room, one fluffy triangular ear twitching a little bit, her tail flipping back and forth as she squints particularly at Dornis and the bugbear and the rage skull pickle jar. Then she’s looking at Rime the way you look to any bellweather for direction, and takes his relative calm as cue to be regular in here.

Will, meanwhile, goes for his sword.

“Ah,” says Dornias, holding up a hand. “Please no violence on the premise. I would hate to eject you.”

Blue begins to wave down her alarmed life partner, flapping a blue web-finned hand at him. “HUBBY. HUBBYYYY.” She might be drunker than Rime first picked up on. “Come sit down and talk to our friend.”

Will nervously drops his hand from his rapier, holding his palms open as he moves toward the table. He eyes Dornias the entire way there. “Uh, yeah. I’m sorry I… sorry?” Then in a lower voice to Blue,“What have we missed?”

Bian strides (unflapped by skeletons, bugbears, or demons) across the room. She yanks a chair over to the table beside Rime, then takes a seat backwards straddling it. Properly settled, she then promptly steals and eats the pickle off Rime’s plate. Rime stares. The pickle crunches satisfactorily between sharp feline jaws and she smacks, small pink nose wrinkling slightly but otherwise shows no ill affect from eating the pickle from the cursed skull jar. Rime, somewhat warily, slides her his whiskey shot as a chaser and turns back to Dornias.

Still in Infernal, he presses, “It’s a Glabrezu dialect—?”

Blue, whispering loudly to Will, demands, “Did you know he speaks Angry Tongue?”

Will glances at Rime, then back to Blue. “No. Did you?”

“No. But I didn’t ask.”

Bian keeps gnawing on the pickle, one ear rotating toward the voices, but otherwise appears to ignore everyone. Will and Blue continue to discuss Rime just loudly enough it kind of involves Rime, despite his being in another conversation entirely. Dornias is pondering his question, however, so in the meanwhile he hears:

“I didn’t know you spoke Fishy-Fish.”

Will sounds resentful.

Blue looks offended. “I am a fish. You speak in Ely-Elf don’t you?”

Rime, loudly, butts in at this point. “It’s Infernal, by the way. All tieflings speak Infernal.”

Blue lunges up dramatically in her seat, pointing at Rime. “YOU TEACH ME INFERNAL. I’LL TEACH YOU AQUAN.”

Rime, rather taken off guard by her volume goes, “Okay. Fair?”

“Anyway,”Dornias breaks in finally, still speaking Infernal. “Most Glabrezu speak Abyssal but a few were trained in other tongues. A bastarization of Infernal, Abyssal, lil bit of Celestial, some of the language of the Modrin but not much. Aaand I had to do their accounting for a few centuries.”

Rime likewise speaking Infernal, says, “Accounting? What? You said they stormed the Nine Hells?”

Dornias switches to Common then, sounding confused. “Yes! Have you—? Oh! I forget! Material Plane. I am sorry. I am so used to the Lower Planes where everyone knows!”

Blue raises her hand like she’s in class. “I’m not from this plane either!”

Dornias looks at her, eagerly, leaning across the table a little to grin at her. It’s toothy and worrisome. “I know! I have bought and sold some of your kind!”

Then he switches to Aquan and with a voice like a man drowning, launches into some kind of extended conversation with Blue in her native “fishy-fish” tongue. To her credit, her face remains a perfect, hospitable mask of rapt glee the entire time. Will, meanwhile, steals Blue’s ham sandwich from her plate and starts eating it. He gets about halfway through one bite before a kind of involuntary rapturous look of bliss crosses his handsome half-elf features and he kind of zones out. Both Rime and Bian stare.

“You okay over there, bud?” says Bian, shooting Rime’s whiskey.

“It’s a really good sandwich,” Will whispers.

Dornias suddenly swaps back to Common. “I’m sorry. I forget people of the Central Planes are not used to conversing about the Blood War. It’s struggles and strategies.” He looks around the table. “How much do you know about the Creation of the Universe?”

There’s a pause. Before Rime or Blue can volunteer something vague, Will – a man who only a few days ago called Bian a ‘cat-person’ and Rime ‘basically a demon’ and then failed to correctly identify his wife’s native tongue – immediately lifts his head and says (mouth full of sandwich), “Well, one time, in a bar…”

And proceeds to recount in detail the broad strokes of how the universe was created. At least, as told to him once by a raging drunk wizard in a tavern somewhere. While this is happening, Bian elbows Rime slightly, leveling a weighted sidelong glance at him that Rime interprets as a generalized, ‘Are we okay? Or should I be worried?’

Because she must notice, if nothing else, the anxious tail-lashing that Rime’s got going on around his boots beneath the table. A tell that other species with tails generally ken to more quickly than other races. Rime glances at her, allowing a slight nervous uncertainty knit his brow, then wobbles one hand back and forth.

Blue, staring at Will, says loudly, “I’m so into you right now. Wow. You know so much for a surface walker.”

And while Will looks pleased with himself, Dornias addresses the table again saying, “Anyway, in war there is always the middle Neutral ground yes? The No Mans’ Land as it were? Where all must cross and blood and mud and stabbing each other and bone sticking out of the dirt? There is where I live. On the River Styx. Or at least that’s where I used to.” Proudly he adds, “Now I live in Waterdeep. I am Waterdaviancitizen.” He beams. “I won the court case.”

The whole party stares a little.

“Anyway,” Dornias says, speaking to Rime suddenly, “your weird vocal tic sounds like Glabrezu shouting orders from other room, basically.” If he notices Rime’s horror that he’s saying this to the whole table, he doesn’t act on it, but goes on knowingly. “Facility with all languages means, uh, well, I speak all languages.”

Blue looks at Rime. “So… are you like… possessed? Is it like a possession thing? Do your weird voice whispers tell you to kill people?”

Rime, horrified, completely forgets Thaumaturgy and sputters, “No! I don’t even understand it.”

Blue nods sagely. “Good to know.”

Dornias adds, “Sounds like you have direct connection to Abyss.”

Rime chokes. “What?!”

Blue slams her palms excitedly on the table. “THAT’S SO COOL, RIME!”

“Wait. I’m sorry. Sorry,” says Dornias while Rime’s body goes cold all over. “I mean Nine Hells. Occasionally you get Glabrezu across both sides. Big mess. So yes, you have direct connection to Nine Hells in your vocal cords.

Blue is now drunkenly yelling, “THAT’S AWESOOOOME.”

Rime’s frozen, gripping the table edge. “I don’t know if that’s awesome.”

Blue giggles. “What’s up with the demon possession?”

“I am not possessed!”

“Oh… so it just kind of piggybacking on you?” Blue props her chin in her hand, frowning, puzzled at him. “Like it sits on your shoulder and says shitty things?”

Rime’s cantrip keeps half falling apart in his head so he just keeps, unable to stop himself, speaking aloud out of pure instinctive panic. “I don’t— I don’t know what – Dornias, as I’m talking is it speaking to YOU? And like… as I talk can it hear you and the conversations I’m having?”

Dornias says, “Uhhhhhh.”

And then there is a very, very, very long pause. Rime can visibly see the ancient fiendish hesitate as if uncertain what to do. He’s trying to decide what to say. By the time Dornias finally moves again, Rime’s fingers are aching where he’s gripping the table. Dornias surreptitiously produces a piece of paper. Then he picks up a pen and writes something on the paper. That done, he flips the paper around for them to read:

IT SAID NOT TO TELL YOU.

Dead silence follows.

Bian breaks it by asking, deadpan, “So is it gonna kill us in our sleep?”

For a moment, Rime kind of fades out in a long buzzing silence where Rime is vaguely aware of Blue saying things and Dornias saying things and, weirdly, the thing he is most aware of is his own fingernails, blunt and digging into the wood beneath his palms. He can feel Bian kind of side-eyeing him, but can’t bring himself to look at her. The buzzing in his ears fades in time to hear Dornias promising to teach Blue a demonic dialect, but only after they kill a lantern archon and climb Mount Celestial on another plane of existence.

Rime plants a hand on Blue’s shoulder and says, “Blue. No.”

Blue doesn’t hear though, and is eagerly wooting, “Alright. Let’s go!” Just in time for Will to also grab her other shoulder and pull her back into her seat.

Rime brings up his hands and in deliberate Sign, he says, Do you understand me?

Dornias also brings his hands up and signs, Yes. I understand you.

Rime holds his gaze.

Have you ever encountered anyone else who has this affliction?

Yes. But specifically only those with powerful connections to the lower planes.

Can you elaborate?

Typically direct descendants of archfiends or demon princes.

So what would your theory be about me?

Dornias glances sidelong and Rime realizes Blue is pouting dramatically, glaring at their fast-moving hand-signs with the resentment of someone being left out of a conversation.

“Hmm, well let’s see,” he says aloud, moving suddenly toward Rime. “Red skin, horns…” He reaches up and taps one of Rime’s horns with a claw. “You have strong connection to Minaros. You might be distant child of Mamon. The Arch Devil of Greed. He through whose hands pass all coin and who sits unchallenged upon a throne of stolen wealth from all the multi-verse.”

Again. Dead silence for a moment.

Then Will, beaming over his sandwich plate says, “Hey! My kinda guy! I don’t have a faith, but I can get behind that.”

Then from the far end of the bar, the bugbear drinking from a bucket-like tankard wobbles around in his seat and burps, “Uh. Respect.” Then slurps his beer.

Rime jerks physically. “No!”

Blue is already shouting. “Shots for the four of us! And the bugbeaaaaaar!”

Cheering ensues.

Rime fumbling his Sign, tries to say something to Dornias who is eagerly pouring out more shots all around.

Dornias. Do you –?

Blue lays a hand on his wrist to get his attention, suddenly concerned and mildly wounded. “Are you not doing your shot?”

Rime stares wildly at her, then the shot glass, then her again.

He slams the shot mostly of pure Lliiran instinct and the sudden realization he’s not drunk enough for this and has not been for some time.

Blue somewhat fuzzily to Dornias, says, “Can I have another sandwich? My dog ate mine.”

Will shoots her a look, but she ignores him.

Dornias whizzes away to prepare another screaming pickle and sandwich while Bian and Will shoot their respective drinks and Bian steals Rime’s untouched sandwich. Rime sits, hands braced against the sides of his head, staring vacantly into the middle of the table until the new sandwich lands on their table and Dornias loiters again benignly by their table, delighted apparently by their general patronage.

Rime takes the opportunity to Sign to him.

So… the vocal tick is basically that someone has a two-way connection between me and this realm of hell and someone is speaking through it whenever I speak?

Dornias studies his hands, then says aloud, “Effectively, yes.”

“Fuck!” Rime cries, pressing one palm against his forehead.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Donias waves a hand. “Is slightly incorrect phrasing. Someones.” A beat. “At this point I have detected six distinct voices.”

Bian levels a cool look in Rime’s direction. “You got major problems.”

Rime snaps his fingers, his cantrip rebutting, “I’m fine!”

Blue folds her hands on the table, leaning forward with a knowing inebriation. “You know… Tritons respectour ancestors. Just saying…”

“I don’t know that’s what this is!”

Blue just eats her new cursed pickle while Will somewhat desperately flicks sandwich crust at her in an effort to stop her declarations about Rime’s suddenly deeply strange vocal affliction.

Rime turns to Dornias and through the spell, asks, “Is there anyway to stop it?”

“Hmm, is difficult process. But yes. I could probably stop connection.” Then, before anyone can get excited about his, he adds, “But you would have to die.”

Blue, still very drunk, flaps a hand at the fiend while Rime stares, speechless in every sense of the word.

“Do you just mean killhim?” She makes a kind of psssh/gargling noise of unimpressed-ness and jerks a thumb at Rime. “Because I can do that too.” She seems to realize how that sounds once said aloud, then mumbles, “I wouldn’tdo that… but I could.”

Dornias, trying very hard to be helpful, explains, “Process would specifically involving killing, removing heart, filling with lead, removing vocal cords, stretching them around an axe, and using it to chop up rest of body before burning in a fire from the Nine Hells.”

Blue is getting paper out of her bag. “Should we be taking notes?

Rime, very softly says, “No.”

Dornias is still explaining things. “Even after you die, connection will probably persist and eventually tear where devil soldiers will pour through into this plane of existence.”

Blue is scribbling on her piece of paper. “So definitely take notes. Can you go through that process one more time?”

Rime tries again, just once more, with shaking hands to Sign: Are you saying that I could be a portal? You said monsters could come through? What?

Dornias nods absently. “Yes, but will probably take long time. Unless you suddenly experience an enormous amount of negative energy passing through your body or alternatively someone held you down and ritually sacrificed you make it happen.” A little shrug then and a wave of the hand. “Buuut rare occurrence.”

Blue looks sincerely at Rime. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” she promises with liquor-muzzy fondness. She pats him on the arm. “But if you ever die, don’t worry, Imma un-portal you.”

Rime gets up. Rime can’t hear anything but a low roar. It might be his speech cantrip going out of wack. It might be his pulse in his brain. It might be the panic overriding every other process for receiving sensory data to his higher order thoughts.

Either way, he can’t hear a damn thing. He just kind of… stands up at the table, looks around… then runs. Bolts straight out the front doors, slamming his palms against the wood and knocking them wide open into the street outside. He hooks around the door on the right so he can fetch up hard against the tavern wall and, for just a moment, fall apart. He stacks both hands over his mouth and just… smothers the noise that tries to rush out of him. He strangles that like a kitten in a bucket and leans, breathing hard, against the wall.

Around him, people are passing idly by. Overhead, the sky is cold, autumnal, and clear. He closes his eyes and for the first time since leaving home, he regrets not leaving the other half of his sending stones in Secomber because more than anything, anything, anything right now… he’d bleed just to hear something familiar. He mouths over and over silently against his fingers, “It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s okay,” until the shape of the lie is like braille against his palms.

Rime opens his eyes. He won’t speak aloud again for a while.

#homegame #rae plays dnd #homegame fiction #long post #this was NOT supposed to come out for like 4 levels or something #but we tripped over the one guy #in the city #who would actually know #lol #rae writes #raewrites

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in-this-light-on-this-evening · 5 years

Text

99 Question Tag

@your-basket-case tagged me - thank you so much dear!!! I'm a giant sucker for tag games, so here. WE. GO.

1.DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR CLOSET DOORS OPEN OR CLOSED?

Actually it's always half open because I need that air to circulate hah!

2. DO YOU TAKE THE SHAMPOOS AND CONDITIONER BOTTLES FROM HOTELS?

Only if I like the smell.

3. DO YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR SHEETS TUCKED IN OR OUT?

Tucked in! How can you sleep with sheets tucked out omg?

4. HAVE YOU STOLEN A STREET SIGN BEFORE?

I WISH

5. DO YOU LIKE TO USE POST-IT-NOTES?

Hm not really. I usually keep a big notebook/notepad on my desk and I fill it with things to remember, drafts, etc

6. DO YOU CUT OUT COUPONS BUT THEN NEVER USE THEM?

We don't have as a big coupon culture here in Italy as it happens to be in America but sometimes I do!

7. WOULD YOU RATHER BE ATTACKED BY A BIG BEAR OR A SWARM OF BEES?

Bear.

8. DO YOU HAVE FRECKLES?

No but I wish I had them!

9. DO YOU ALWAYS SMILE FOR PICTURES?

For selfies yes, for other pictures not so much.

10. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE?

I have to many, honestly, but I guess Cancelled Culture and psycho stans are the biggest at the moment.

11. DO YOU EVER COUNT YOUR STEPS WHEN YOU WALK?

Maybe.

12. HAVE YOU PEED IN THE WOODS?

Yes. Traumatising experience.

13. HAVE YOU EVER POOPED IN THE WOODS?

You insane? I'm too scared of pooping in the woods.

14. I think I deleted this question on accident.

Lost in time and spaaace!

15. DO YOU CHEW YOUR PENS AND PENCILS?

Chewing pens and pencils? In this economy?

16. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH THIS WEEK?

3 with my imaginary lover.

17. WHAT SIZE IS YOUR BED?

I think it's an European King sized but I'm not 100% sure. I WANT THE CEASAR ONE.

18. WHAT IS YOUR SONG OF THE WEEK?

Hm, I'm still losing my mind over "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier but I just discovered the new James Blake's album and that, as a whole, is a big mood for this week as well.

19. IS IT OK FOR GUYS TO WEAR PINK?

Bitch yes?

20. DO YOU STILL WATCH CARTOONS?

Sometimes.

21. WHAT IS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE MOVIE?

Hm, nothing comes to my mind at the moment.

22. WHERE WOULD YOU BURY HIDDEN TREASURE IF YOU HAD SOME?

I can't tell you. It wouldn't be hidden anymore although:

23. WHAT DO YOU DRINK WITH DINNER?

Diet coke or water because I'm too broke for wine.

24. WHAT DO YOU DIP A CHICKEN NUGGET IN?

Nothing. I die like men.

25. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Sushi, pizza, pierogi, carbonara, tomato & corn salad, fried mozzarella, tiramisù.

26. WHAT MOVIES COULD YOU WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN AND STILL LOVE?

Stardust, Dead Poets Society, Mean Girls, Little Miss Sunshine

27. LAST PERSON YOU KISSED/KISSED YOU?

A guy that broke my heart last year.

28. WERE YOU EVER A BOY/GIRL SCOUT?

Yes!

29. WOULD YOU EVER STRIP OR POSE NUDE IN A MAGAZINE?

If I wasn't an ugly potato... yes.

30. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A LETTER TO SOMEONE ON PAPER?

2 years ago, I think.

31. CAN YOU CHANGE THE OIL ON A CAR?

32. EVER GOTTEN A SPEEDING TICKET?

Who do you think I am? A redneck?

33. EVER RAN OUT OF GAS?

No.

34. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND OF SANDWICH?

Rye bread + thin spread of cream cheese + lettuce + thin slices of chicken or smoked ham + tomatoes + red onion + pickled artichoke

35. BEST THING TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST?

Granola. Dry. Straight from your hand as if you're a starving horse in disguise.

36. WHAT IS YOUR USUAL BEDTIME?

00:00-01:00AM

37. ARE YOU LAZY?

I'm not lazy. I procrastinate.

38. WHEN YOU WERE A KID, WHAT DID YOU DRESS UP AS FOR HALLOWEEN?

Back in time Halloween wasn't a thing in Poland, so unfortunately I didn't dress up.

39. WHAT IS YOUR CHINESE ASTROLOGICAL SIGN?

I'M A HORSE.

40. HOW MANY LANGUAGES CAN YOU SPEAK?

3: Italian, Polish and English

41. DO YOU HAVE ANY MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS?

Nein, but I'd like to get Wired subscription.

42. WHICH ARE BETTER: LEGOS OR LINCOLN LOGS?

What are even Lincoln Logs... Did Lincoln harvest the logs himself, though?

43. ARE YOU STUBBORN?

Yes and no. Depends on the situation.

44. WHO IS BETTER: LENO OR LETTERMAN?

My tit.

45. EVER WATCH SOAP OPERAS?

Not anymore.

46. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?

Not really. But if I find myself on the edge of something high without a fence, I'll probably panic and casually fall down.

47. DO YOU SING IN THE CAR?

Do I sing? No. I PERFORM.

48. DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?

Only when I'm home alone.

49. DO YOU DANCE IN THE CAR?

Yeah, sometimes when the inspiration and the right bop kick in.

50. EVER USED A GUN?

A glue gun.

51. LAST TIME YOU GOT A PORTRAIT TAKEN BY A PHOTOGRAPHER?

Does the mugshot for the drivers licence count?

52. DO YOU THINK MUSICALS ARE CHEESY?

Depends.

53. IS CHRISTMAS STRESSFUL?

The concept by itself isn't stressful. My family tends to ruin it with the overdramatic stress.

54. EVER EAT A PIEROGI?

BITCH THAT'S MY MOTHERLAND'S MEAL WE SNIFF THAT SHIT LIKE COCAINE.

55. FAVORITE TYPE OF FRUIT PIE?

Apple, rhubarb, pear.

56. OCCUPATIONS YOU WANTED TO BE WHEN YOU WERE A KID?

Doctor, fashion designer, archeologist, paleonthologist...

57. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS?

Yes. I've had paranormal experiences and I'm still not over it.

58. EVER HAVE A DEJA-VU FEELING?

Very often.

59. DO YOU TAKE A VITAMIN DAILY?

No. I die like men.

60. DO YOU WEAR SLIPPERS?

Yes!

61. DO YOU WEAR A BATH ROBE?

I don't have any but I would like to wear one of those super cozy and soft ones!

62. WHAT DO YOU WEAR TO BED?

Hmm, depends. Now I'm wearing a hoodie, leggings and socks because it's cold as fuck.

63. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CONCERT?

I'm pretty sure it was DeMono, a Polish band. I casually saw them with my parents when we were on holiday back in 1997.

64. WALMART, TARGET, OR KMART?

I'M NOT AMERICAN BITCH. TESCO.

65. NIKE OR ADIDAS?

Both actually!

66. CHEETOS OR FRITOS?

What the fuck are FRITOS? I've never tried them, so I can't answer lol!

67. PEANUTS OR SUNFLOWER SEEDS?

BOTH. I'm a sucker for NUTS.

68. EVER HEAR OF THE GROUP TRES BIEN?

Of what now? Is this another American thing I'm not aware of because of my ancient and unbothered European nature?

69. EVER TAKE DANCE LESSONS?

Nein!

70. IS THERE A PROFESSION YOU PICTURE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE DOING?

I don't care, really. I do care about them doing what they love and want to do. If they'll be happy about it, so will I :')

71. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE?

Sí, señor!

72. EVER WON A SPELLING BEE?

We don't have this in Europe asdfkgkf

73. HAVE YOU EVER CRIED BECAUSE YOU WERE SO HAPPY?

Kind of.

74. OWN ANY RECORD ALBUMS?

I have regular cd's but I would love to start a vinyl record collection.

75. OWN A RECORD PLAYER?

Not yet!

76. DO YOU REGULARLY BURN INCENSE?

I used to but I don't do that anymore.

77. EVER BEEN IN LOVE?

Yes but nobody loved me back.

78. WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN CONCERT?

QUEEN. On the more possible side: Andrea Boccelli, The Struts, George Ezra, MORE HOZIER, The Killers, Arctic Monkeys... The list goes on!

79. WHAT WAS THE LAST CONCERT YOU SAW?

HOZIER. It was a magical experience, I love him so much, I want to cry 😭♥️

80. HOT TEA OR COLD TEA?

Both.

81. TEA OR COFFEE?

Tea.

82. SUGAR COOKIES OR SNICKERDOODLES?

Both.

83. CAN YOU SWIM WELL?

Avarage just so I don't die sucked into the abyss.

84. CAN YOU HOLD YOUR BREATH WITHOUT HOLDING YOUR NOSE?

Wait, people CAN'T do that? What dysfunction do you have? It's literally so easy?

85. ARE YOU PATIENT?

Yes, very much but in the last couple of years I've started slowly losing my shit in certain situations.

86. DJ OR BAND AT A WEDDING?

Band.

87. EVER WON A CONTEST?

No. I'm an avarage bitch that thinks she's more than that but the truth is that I'm not a winner.

88. HAVE YOU EVER HAD PLASTIC SURGERY?

Does the surgery on my toe count?

89. WHICH ARE BETTER: BLACK OR GREEN OLIVES?

BLACK

90. CAN YOU KNIT OR CROCHET?

Not yet but I will learn at some point!

91. BEST ROOM FOR A FIREPLACE?

Living room.

92. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

If I meet the love of my life then yes. The bar is too high, though, so I'm not sure if that's gonna happen haha!

93. IF MARRIED, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN MARRIED?

94. WHO WAS YOUR HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH?

His name was William and that was the most embarrassing moment of my life because a bitch that considered herself as my "friend" told everybody that I had a crush on him. When he got to know it, he basically humiliated me in front of the entire clique, if not the whole school. I hate him ever since and it's been already 10 years or so.

95. DO YOU CRY AND THROW A FIT UNTIL YOU GET YOUR OWN WAY?

No.

96. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

My dog is my son.

97. DO YOU WANT KIDS?

Kids? In this economy? On this planet? Just for my liking? Absolutely fucking not. That would be a crime and absolute torture for them and I don't want them to suffer as I do.

98. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?

Black, emerald green, gold, yellow, purple.

99. DO YOU MISS ANYONE RIGHT NOW?

Freddie Mercury.

I tag: @santonicababy, @chaotic-pansexual, @songparade, @fossa-poplitea and everybody else who wants to do this! :’D

#tag thingy #long post

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inopinion · 6 years

Text

Thanksgiving pt 2

Part 1

Sorry, mobile won’t let me do a read more…

@anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone @chelsthebookworm @mareshmallow @lilyharvord @spookysamos @delilahronnelle @runexandra @chaoslaborantin @mom2reesie (sorry if I missed you, going off memory).

Tramy jostles Cal into a center seat, upsetting Bree and pushing me to the other side. It’s clear, Cal and Mare will not be side by side but directly across from each other. Mare let’s Diana and Clara take the end. I am sitting next to Kilorn.

Cameron hovers, looking for a chair among arms and bodies. I point to the other half of my little bench. Her braids are long enough to touch my shoulder and tickle my neck. I try not to blush. Her leg is warm alongside mine. I can’t even respond when she says thanks.

Dad takes the head seat on my side, although Cameron is invading the corner. Mom takes Clara, tugging on her fisted hand and cooing. There’s no grace said at our table. Only soldiers in foxholes are foolish enough to think someone’s listening–or so dad says.

“I will say, I’m thankful for being together,” mom says more to Clara than the rest of us. It’s enough of a declaration of, “go” as we need.

Dad takes the first piece of chicken and passes the dish to Cameron. I already have a slice of bread. Cal looks at the mashed potatoes in Tramy’s hands like it’s gold. But Tramy passes across to Diana. Bree must count five lettuce leaves just to satisfy mom, because he hates salad, and then he sends it to dad. Mare watches the chicken and I know she wants the thigh so I take a drumstick. But Kilorn knows too and he takes it even though he likes breast meat. Mare takes a breast and passes the chicken, Kilorn switches their pieces to get her to smile. Diana is dishing for mom at the same time as herself so she’s a bottle neck on the potatoes. Food dishes are flying around in two directions. I nudge Mare and nod at Cal, who’s given up between our brothers. His plate is empty except for a bread slice.

“Ouch!” Tramy jumps. Mare’s kick is well placed and Mom looks up. Her evaluation is swift.

“Bree, Tramy! Shame on you,” her wooden spoon reaches Tramy, but not Bree. She gets Cal on the knuckles and gasps. “Not you! I’m sorry. Beat my brat down there will ya?”

Mare kicks at Bree but also gets Cal. I help her with a swift shot to my brother’s knee. I revel in the shock on his face. No one expects me to lash out, but it’s fun to pick on my brothers.

“It’s just a little fun… Can’t bring home a boyfriend and expect to get off free.” Tramy rubs his head.

Cal shimmers silver. I’ve never seen a silver blush before. “It’s okay, Mrs. Barrow.”

“We aren’t a bunch of ruffians, I swear.” Dad backhands Bree across the back of the head.

“He’ll get them back on the field,” Mare chimes. She passes potatoes across the table.

“Guess that means it’s me and Bree on the A team, who you want with you and Calvin on the B team?” Bree pushes the bread basket in front of Cal. Cal takes it and sets it in front of mom.

Not me… She’ll pick Kilorn. Then Tramy will have to pick me. But I’ll be last. I’m always last for teams.

“Cameron.”

Oh my God. They’ll pick Kilorn and I’ll be on Mare’s team. I’m never on Mare’s team, and with Cameron. My face is getting hot.

“Ouch, eh Warren? Fishboy is ours.”

“Bad move, Mare,” Kilorn mumbles around food.

And now, me.

“Diana,” Mare declares.

Shit.

“Dad,” Bree claims.

I’m better than Dad, aren’t I? But then I’m with Mare and Cameron.

“Oh no, I’m not ruining what I just got,” Dad refuses.

“It’s uneven though,” Tramy begs.

“Don’t be mean, take your sister,” Mom’s insistence doesn’t help my flush.

“What, uh… What are we playing?” Cal asks, his plate finally full.

“Bash the boyfriend,” Bree snickers, and another smack.

“Soccer,” Mare states.

“Oh, cool. I’m good at soccer,” Cal smiles. He’s put a sign on his back with that remark. Watching Kilorn trade glances with the other side, I don’t think Cal is gonna get off the ground enough to show his skill.

#red Queen #fanfiction #Gisa Barrow #Barrow family #Thanksgiving #my writing #glass sword #kings cage #camisa

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theaveragekenyan · 4 years

Text

Hungry Heart...

Hungry Heart.

A quick game of ‘Family Fortunes’. (Family Fortunes the game show where the answers were requested from a publicly polled question, i.e)

Q = Name a type of American Food.

A = Hamburger ....our survey says, Hamburger ✅ Top answer.

Next;

Q - Name a type of Italian Food.

A = Pizza …our survey says, Pizza ✅ Top Answer

Next;

Q - Name a type of Kenyan food.

A = Ugali…our survey says, Ugali ✅ Top Answer.

I’m confident the above responses would be the most popular answers to those questions if a survey were taken on the streets of Nairobi today.

Ask Donald Trump, what’s better than a Hamburger? Juicy, succulent ground beef with tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, pickle, mustard, ketchup all held together by an air pumped bread bun…nothing fake at all about that.

Or what about a Pizza? oven fired circular dough, topped with an infinite amount of cheese options under any mix of vegetables and meat varieties…a billion deliveries every year can’t be wrong.

And let’s not forget a Kenyan staple, Ugali, ground maize meal, mixed with boiling water and then formed into a solid white ball. Delicious, well, ok…it’s not really delicious…it’s more a way of life and enjoyed because there’s very little other choice.

Kenyan Food is interesting, because historically, food has developed into…well…food.

The food theory hasn’t moved too far away from the ‘don’t eat, die’ philosophy rather than into fancy cuisine.

This is why I find the average Kenyan meal to be “BnB”, basic and bland, and Ugali has to stand right up there as a great example of BnB food.

Ugali has various names across Africa and is eaten by many, so African’s aside, It is a guarantee that all foreigner’s will be quizzed by Kenyan’s to find out if they have eaten Ugali. If the answer is yes, the next question will be ‘do you like Ugali?’

And this is when the foreigner will become increasingly awkward, stutter and generally skirt around the BnB fact. The foreigner will mince out cloaked enthusiasm and say “Yes…I’ve tried it…it’s nice…I…..like it” blatantly, the foreigner doesn’t want to get anywhere near describing it’s taste or what it’s eaten with. Essentially anything to not offend the Kenyan national dish.

Then, in the not too distant future, the foreigner will be with the person, that asked all of the Ugali questions, when Lunch is served.

Naturally, the foreigner will be bumped up to pole position in the queue for food.

The food will be covered, all the lids down on the large metallic serving trays and then one by one up they pop. First serving tray open and it’s a large fresh tray of steaming Ugali.

As the cellophane is proudly pealed away, “Ugali” announces the Kenyan “You said Ugali is nice”

Now the food server hears this and loves it, how they laugh as the heavy serving spoon sinks into the epic Ugali field. The foreigner is now looking at the true scale of Ugali, out comes a Rugby ball sized portion and is placed on their plate “is that enough?” the server asks without irony.

“Yes, plenty, Asantee” squirms the foreigner politely. On piles the rest of lunch, but there’s not much room on the plate for anything else. So the foreigner sits down at a table, with their plate of Ugali and other small scale assorted bitings, as the Kenyan’s join.

They all ask the same question “Oh, you like Ugali?” “Yes, I do, but this is a little bit too much for me” replies the foreigner, only to be met with “Oh that’s not much really” from the Kenyan’s, the foreigner looks around and realises this is no lie, food is stacked up on top of Ugali which rises up to peoples chests, steam touching their chins. The foreigner takes the first enthusiastic fork full to barrels of laughter

“Eat it with your hands” say the Kenyans,

“We eat Ugali with our hands” the advice continues to come in.

The foreigner now has to quickly scan around to check how that’s done, they see many shovelling hands with golf ball sized portions of Ugali, scooping up sauce and trapping bits of meat and spinach. The foreigner gives it a go, but soon realise they’ve broken off too much Ugali and now their ball is the size of a Tennis ball. Oh dear, now they’ve got to eat up more Ugali than they thought they ever could. Each bite feels like it’s draining brain juice as their mouth dries to resemble the Sahara desert. There’s easily still 4 more bites of the Ugali ball to go. It’s time for evasive action, “hmmmm tha wath delithuth” splutters the foreigner as they stand up, turn around and spit their mouths content onto their plate and scrape it into the bin, I’ll never eat Ugali again they tell themselves.

I think the closest comparison to Ugali would be Mashed Potatoes, well mashed potatoes if you don’t add salt, pepper, butter and milk. At least with mashed spuds, the extra additions don’t stop there; cheese, beetroot, butternut, Brussels, balsamic vinegar, mustard, soy sauce, chilli sauce all work to break up the classic spud recipe’s monotony. Nothing like that with Ugali, oh hang on…it can be made either white or brown…the only difference being, brown Ugali soaks up your blood.

Speaking of Mashed Potato, there is a fancy mash version here called Mukimo, it’s very nice. It’s bright green and has whole kernels of hard maize in it. I prefer it to Ugali, but it’s definitely one to serve yourself and not have a Kenyan do it for you.

For the the larger part of Kenya, food is readily available, but with the poverty found in such places as the Nairobi slums, food has to be simple and within a ridiculously low daily budget, people don’t have too much of a choice to be flambéing duck or questioning how many times their chips have been deep fried.

From my travels, I’ve noticed that many Kenyan meals will have been cooked for a good proportion of the day. Usually a slow cook involves beans and pulses, incredibly healthy, wholesome and organic, but also served incredibly dull. It’s essentially a bean stew with little flavour or signature kick. It’s like a can of ‘no frills vegetable soup’ that’s been boiled for 5 hours. It has a certain appeal, but it’s nothing special, yet to talk to a Kenyan about boiled beans or “Githeri” as it’s called, is, as if, it is some kind of speciality cuisine. Each region seems to have it’s own version, but the variety doesn’t seem to change that much, maybe one region adds carrots or potatoes and that’s about it. I guarantee, if that dish had originated in one of the poorest regions of China, it would be a real delicacy now. Sure you’d get the odd bat claw stuck between your teeth, but nonetheless, I imagine it would be an overall tastier experience than “Githeri”. Thanks Chef’s of Kenya, but I’ll stick with the English delicacy of baked beans on toast, cupboard to table in less than 10 minutes.

That slow cooking style reverberates through many culinary styles. In fact, most food is slow cooked, this is why the over 70’s love eating here. Pasta is never al-dente, cabbage doesn’t come with a crunch, meat is a lottery as to how how much jaw action will be needed and eggs are always over cooked. Unless you’re in a Western priced Hotel or restaurant, food is never considered to be served ‘just cooked’, I’m yet to find a boiled salad, but I know it’s out there. Note to self, Boiled Salad, somebody get me Heston Blumenthal.

The word Koroga means 'to stir’ in Swahili. A ‘foody’ experience, that is often talked about, is the Koroga. This is apparently a uniquely Kenyan Swahili experience. However, from my experience, what I was told about a Koroga and what I actually encountered at a Koroga were two completely different experiences.

This is what I was told about a Koroga.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who will start the event off by selecting meats, vegetables, herbs and spices and then start adding them all into a large pot. These ingredients will be cooked by the party as as the pot is regularly stirred by the party, whilst allowing everything to cook for about 4-5 hours.

A Curry based BBQ, I mean that sounds like a proper great time.

No, not quite, in fact from my experience, this is what actually happens.

A Koroga is a get together of family and friends who, once everyone has arrived and is indicated to start will instruct a Chef to add meat, vegetables, herbs and spices into a large pan and then cook everything for the guests, this will be then served 3-4 hours later when the most stirred things are the guests who are totally shit-faced from all the boozing whilst waiting for the food to be cooked. I just think the Koroga idea hasn’t really been properly thought out. It’s closest relative the BBQ or Braai work extremely well, but its USP is about DIY food and standing around the grill complaining. The Koroga’s USP is that the Chef decided to cook everything outside rather than in the kitchen, sorry, I just don’t get the appeal.

One dish that is cooked quickly, at least I think it’s cooked quickly, is Nyama Choma.

Translated literally - Nyama is meat - Choma is burn. A Meat Burn.

“I’ve heard it’s going to be lovely on Saturday, so you’re all invited around to ours for a Meat Burn”

Fortunately, the meat isn’t burnt, not like at UK BBQ’s,

The choices of meat are;

Mbuzi = Goat.

Kuku = Chicken.

Nyama = any other type of Red Meat that is from a Cow.

Sorry Lamb and Pork, this scene is not for you, go find your own Meat Burn.

Just like any badly managed BBQ/Braai, the final cook quality is hit and miss, the hits involve nice juicy tender bites of meat and sucked out marrowbone. The misses include, chewy, sinewy, fatty meat if you can find it, and once again the experience lacks imagination. The only seasoning you will get is salt and there will only be one accompaniment to the meat which is called Kachumbari, a mix of tomato, onion and chilli.

So Kenyan Meat Burn’s are for the real purists only. I do love Nyama Choma though, if not just for it’s back to basic 10,000 BC appeal.

One experience I never tire of, is a Kenyan breakfast in a Hotel. The breakfast routine follows the International standard of the best planned meal of the day. It starts at the Juice bar and ends up at the bloated Pig table. There’s always a great choice at a Kenyan breakfast, although many will be disappointed at the lack of bacon on offer, that’s because Kenyan’s prefer sausages to Bacon hands down.

I like that many of the previous nights dinner offerings will be now re-served for breakfast. So there are always surprises to be had like Green Banana Curry, Githeri, Fish stew, Roast Potatoes, Lentil Stew and anything else that didn’t get eaten the night before.

Hands down, my favourite experience of a Kenyan breakfast is observing the Egg Chef. You’ll know it’s the Egg Chef because they will be dressed like the top google image search for Chef.

The egg is treated with the most respect, kept separately and away from all the other dishes that are hidden underneath aluminium lids. The Eggs will never come into contact with the mixed up serving spoons covered in bean juice and banana curry, they are not good enough for the eggs. But wait, what’s this, what’s hiding underneath here?, oh it’s the Hard Boiled Eggs, the common, dirty poor bastard parent of the free and easy, liberated, naked eggs that the Egg Chef will caress and massage into a beautiful work of art.

The Egg chef will be situated at the start of the line, but when you want him, he won’t be there. I say he, the Egg Chef is always a he, no Woman in Kenya is considered prestigious enough to do this job. The Egg Chef and Kenyan President are two Jobs women will never perform.

So what tends to happen is this, in the absence of the Egg Chef people will pile up their plates first. Then the Egg Chef appears exactly when he wants, just like the true artist he is, only then will the egg orders be taken.

Now the only cooking utensils the Egg Chef possesses are a frying pan and a spatula. So this limits the type of egg available to either a Fried Egg or an Omelette. I always like to joke I’ll take a poached Egg, but it’s short-lived because nobody understands what I’m saying. Don’t be getting technical with the Egg Chef, his position of authority is untouchable.

Fried Eggs will be cooked in either two choices, “cooked” or “sunny side up”. The majority of times I’ve requested Sunny Side Up, the eggs have been served closer to raw, which is a little too avant-garde for me. So, they have to be sent back which will be re-served ‘cooked’.

My advice, request cooked.

If you’re asking for an omelette it will be either served “with everything” or “without everything”. “Without everything” is a plain egg omelette “With everything” is an Omelette mixed with finely chopped onion, capsicum and chilli pepper. Both Omelette varieties are good, but as previously mentioned, they will be “cooked”, i.e a properly cooked through, no nonsense, fuss free, nothing moving, Omelette. That said, they go down well and the pomp and circumstance of the occasion overrides any need for a fancy, modern, runny consistency.

I’ve spoken to many people that blame the style of Kenyan food on Colonisation.

Typical, blame the Brits for bequeathing a bland stereotypical diet.

This is not true, because anyone that says they don’t like British Cuisine then goes onto say, except they like Pork Pie, Mr Kipling Cakes, Sausage Rolls, Full English Breakfast, Chicken Tikka Masala, Black Pudding, Sausage and Mash, Fish and Chips, Mushy Peas, Deep Fried Mars Bar, Jammie Dodgers, Sunday Roast, The Tasting Menu at The Fat Duck, Gordon Ramsey swearing, Monster Munch, Jellied Eels and Roast Badger.

There, conclusive evidence that England has a varied and incredibly well established culinary tradition of original and modern food.

So whilst there is an excellent and extensive varied selection of Kenyan restaurants, serving truly excellent food, once you step outside of all that and roam into the realms of “lazy” Kenyan food, you will be craving Pickled Onion Monster Munch all day long.

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jimlingss · 7 years

Text

First-Date BAIT!

Words: 11.3k Genre: Fluff Read the sequel drabble: here Read more at Service Series

Cr.

First dates are embarrassing. First dates are awkward. I’ve been through countless ones, sitting across from people who bored the living daylights out of me. It was less exciting than watching paint dry. Some dates were so utterly rude - I think you and I both know what it’s like to be on the receiving end on that. But now we both don’t have to waste our time anymore!

With First Date Bait they went out for me! Afterwards, they informed me if it was recommended to go out on a second date. It’s amazing with a 99.99% accuracy rate! That’s how I ended up meeting my husband!

First Date Bait. Why waste your time with awkward first dates?

He’s late.

That’s not a good sign.

You tap your foot impatiently, eyes sweeping the premises while sipping on your water. You deduct five points mentally on his tardiness.

The restaurant is rather fancy but it has dim lighting, something you never understood why restaurants did. Was it for the mood of the place? Maybe their cooking was so bad that they needed to cover it up with the darkness. At this point in time you were getting more light from the street lamp seeping in from the window next to you. When you turn on your phone, the mere brightness of it (that’s already turned down halfway) blinds you senseless and lets a curse slip through your lips.

You do another quick look around the dark restaurant, indifferent to the waitress who gives you a glance of pity - as if your date bailed out on you but he isn’t technically your date. And you can’t even manage to give a shit, you’re getting paid either way; so you continue to leisurely drink your water, chewing on the free bread that they gave you while you play a game on your phone.

But your fun doesn’t last very long when a shadow creeps up beside you. “Are you Boyoung?”

A husky voice makes you crane your neck slowly, looking up at the dark-haired man who gives you a lethargic, dead expression. Your eyebrow lifts slightly as you sigh, turning off your phone. “Are you Kihyun?”

“Answer my question.”

“Answer mine first.” You retort, boredly leaning your cheek in your propped up hand.

He sighs, falling into the chair across from you. “I’m a friend of Kihyun.”

“So you’re not Kihyun.”

“Answer my question.” He demands, toying with the petals of the fake flower centerpiece.

You smirk at him, finding amusement in the stranger. “I’m not Boyoung either. I’m filling in for her.”

His eyes flicker to you and he tilts his head. “You could say I’m filling in for Kihyun too.”

The waitress stops by the table to give Yoongi a glass of water, giving you a quick smile full of relief and you suppose that she’s happy that you weren't ditched after all; your date really did show up. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Well to be honest…” He begins, after a long yawn. “Kihyun didn’t want to show up. It was a blind date so I’m his substitute. But since you’re not her either, let’s just call this quits, okay? We can both leave and go back into our warm homes.”

You probe your eyes deeper into his skin, your amusement tripling ten folds on how brutally honest and straightforward he is. It’s a breath of fresh air compared to the nervous guys you always sit across from, stroking their clammy palms together and too afraid to look you in the eyes. This one is different - he isn’t scared of you.

“Are you listening to me? And can you stop looking at me like that?” He raises his eyebrows. “Is there something on my face or am I just too handsome?”

“Neither.” You spit out with another smirk. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Answer me first.”

“I’ll only answer you if you answer me.” He matches your lips, one side upturned slyly.

“Fair enough.” You cock your head to the other side. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yoongi.”

“Pleasure.” You clear your throat, finally sitting up straight and scanning the restaurant. Sure, you could leave like he suggested - it wasn’t like he was actually your client’s date after all. This guy was just some random. But on the other hand, you wouldn’t get paid if you left.

If you stayed, your delicious meal would get paid for by the company. If you left, you would walk home on an empty stomach to scavenge in your empty fridge, nibbling on lettuce and ice-cubes.

The choice was obvious and since he was just some random, you didn’t even have to waste your efforts or try that hard. It’s a win-win situation.

“Since we’re here…” You muster up a stiff, pretty smile and a chirpy voice that makes him frown. “...let’s just enjoy some food. What’s the rush in leaving?”

The man sighs, taking one that lasts ten seconds. “I mean-”

“Are you ready to order?” The waitress saunters back in time, interrupting right in the middle of Yoongi’s sentence. She smiles at the two of you, notepad in her hand.

“Yes.” You smile at her. “I’ll take the classic filet mignon, medium rare with a side of mashed potatoes and seafood chowder. Could we also get a bottle of Cabernet Franc red wine?”

“Certainly.”

When you turn to Yoongi, you nearly double over in giggles of how wide his eyes are. He quickly does a scan of the menu, scrambling and trying to decide. “I’ll take the lamb salad with fregola.”

“Great. It’ll be out as soon as possible.” She whirls on her feet and disappears behind the corner.

You cross your legs, staring out the window as Yoongi gapes at you. “Do you always just decide things on your own?”

With your lack of response that follows, he scoffs and falls back into his seat. You only turn your head when the waitress comes back with your wine bottle. Yoongi scoffs again when he notices how you lick your lips as she pours the deep, red liquid into the glass. After a simple ‘thank you’ and she leaves, you lift the glass to your lips and you almost down half of it.

“Alcoholic much.” He mutters under his breath but you manage to hear, narrowing your eyes at him.

“It’s been a long day.” You glare. “A lot of long days.”

“No. Don’t worry. I’m not judging you.” He shakes his head with a tiny smile. You wonder if the alcohol is already beginning to work it’s magic….but he’s kind of cute. “I understand how you feel.” That’s when you notice the black bags below his eyes, the exhaustion slowly seeping through his skin.

He raises his own glass to his lips and takes a sip of the red wine, orbs instantly brightening in the dark restaurant. “It’s good.”

“Damn straight it should be.” You murmur, flicking your hair over your shoulder. “Through the years of adulthood, I’ve finally narrowed it down to the best one.” The liquid swirls around as you rotate your hand. “Plus, it was expensive.”

“How expensive?” He raises a brow.

“Doesn’t matter.” You smirk back to him. “My company’s paying for it.”

“Company?”

“Nevermind.” You quickly answer, realizing that you shouldn’t tell him about the whole business when his friend is still a potential suitor and someone you have yet to meet or go on a first date with.

“You’re kind of strange.” He grins, gums showing as his eyes crinkle. You pause, halfway from taking another gulp as you gawk at him.

Oh. He’s definitely cute. There’s no doubt about that.

You gulp the rest in the next few seconds, still not peeling your eyes away from Yoongi. You don’t even feel any shame ogling him. It’s not like you’re ever going to see him again. “Maybe you should take it a bit slower.” He frowns and stares when you fill your glass up again but you ignore him.

That’s when it really hits you. The world is big and unless you were really (un)lucky, you’re never going to see this dude on the face of the planet again. Never. Ever.

Never again.

You giggle at that, hysterically while shifting your cup away when you realize that maybe you should take it slower. Yoongi stares at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed and eyes big at your complete hysteria. But you don’t even care if he thinks you’re a complete nut job, which he probably does.

This is your only chance - doing the complete opposite of your job. It’s your chance to conduct an experiment that you’ve been wondering for a long time. How fast can you lose a guy?

You take a deep inhale, settling down until you deadpan- “How much money do you make?”

Yoongi nearly chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“When we get married and I pop out a few of your little babies, I need to know that you can support them. I don’t want to be the only one busting my ass off.” You give him another giggle as he watches you, completely flabbergasted.

“Enough to buy bread.” He answers after a blink, short and sweet.

“Specifically.” You eye him closely with the side of your lip tugging upwards. “How much?”

“Definitely not enough to satisfy your expensive tastes.” He flickers to your wine and recalls your dinner order, one of the most costly items on the menu.

“Tch.” You click your tongue in annoyance before stealing another sip of the intoxicating liquid. “Shame. Minus ten points.”

“What?” A grin spreads across his cheeks as his bewilderment alters into amusement.

You wave your finger around in the air, speaking in a light voice. “You’ve lost fifteen so far and haven’t earned any.” A part of you wonders why he hasn’t run for the hills yet since in anyone else’s shoes, you’d consider yourself completely insane.

“How can I earn points?” He matches your lips in a smirk, staring at you in interest.

“Maybe if you left.” You point to the doors.

It didn’t matter that Yoongi wasn’t the person you were suppose to be meeting, all you had to say was that someone replaced him and you still went on a date. Only then would your expensive meal be paid for by the company and at this point, you merely wanted to be left in peace. Was that too much to ask for?

“Is there any other way?” He leans his chin in his propped up arm, staring at you. “I don’t want to leave.”

You don’t understand. You’re trying your best to lose this guy but the more you talk, the more you can see his orbs spark with interest.

Instead of answering, you take another gulp of the red liquid since the alcohol makes it easier for you to let go of any shame. That’s when you suddenly remember - an atrocious pick up line that was once said by some dude that you never recommended to your client.

“You must be Jamaican…” You’re already cracking with laughter. “...because Jamaican me crazy!”

There’s a horrendous awkward silence that kills your laughter. His face void of any emotion, telling you that he isn’t impressed in the least bit. A tiny smile bursts on your lips from your success and victory, presuming that he’ll probably leave the second he gets a chance. You’re sure that he’s just a mere second from asking if you want to check in to a mental hospital or turning around and running as fast as he can away from you. As he opens your mouth and you’re anticipating his excuses of leaving-

You’re both suddenly interrupted by the waitress. “I’m sorry that it took so long. The kitchen’s a little bit busy for tonight.” She places your flaming hot steak in front of you, your mash potatoes and your soup while Yoongi’s plate is placed in front of him. But as the waitress continues on her little ramble, Yoongi never peels his strong gaze away from you.

“Enjoy your meal~” The waitress chimes out with a smile.

“T-thank you.” You almost break out into a sweat with the way Yoongi’s still burning holes in your skin.

“Ah.” A quiet nose leaves his mouth and his expression washes over, as if reaching an epiphany and seeing right through everything that you’re doing. It’s as if you’ve turned completely transparent in his eyes.

You shift uncomfortably and Yoongi chuckles, taking his second sip of the wine as he continues his scrutiny. “So…”

And suddenly it becomes a battle of who will leave first.

His eyes challenge yours without needing to speak and any sign of discomfort is an indication of weakness that leads to a smirk plastered on his mouth. Sparks fly as you try your best to remain composed while enjoying your meal. Somehow, you and Yoongi both end up touching on the absolute worst topics to discuss during a first date - from his mother’s relationship to the dream you had last night.

If your boss saw you now, he would faint.

“My ex was the worst.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Like the sex was alright at first but then it got worse and worse. I tried to brush it aside for the sake of you know…‘love’ but god...I was a complete idiot. And I can’t believe I let him dump me!”

Yoongi laughs, swallowing his mouthful. “At least you didn’t get cheated on.”

“Damn.” You set down your wine glass, leaning across the table. “Spill.”

“I was working my ass off to try to buy her an engagement ring and I should’ve known..she was acting so shady.” He shakes his head with a smile of remorse. “I came home one night to find her in my bed with my roommate.”

“Then what did you do?” You blink and he chuckles at your curiosity, not carrying any spite.

“I kicked her out to the curb, what else was there to do?” He exhales tiredly. “What a fucking waste of two years.”

“At least you found out then. It’s a good thing that it happened.” You scoff. “You deserve better.”

He pauses for a moment before smiling at you. “Thanks.”

“-but I don’t know how you would know that after being with me for only an hour.” He adds on, lifting an eyebrow up.

“Call it my intuition.” You chime out with a grin. “You seem alright.”

“Does that mean I get points?” Yoongi teases and you ignore the heat in your cheeks.

“No. That means you get reset to zero.” You reach over to pat his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You were in the negatives before.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head. “I’m incredibly honoured.”

You giggle. “I’m glad.”

The conversation continues like that, the both of you discussing your past relationships while not bothering to close your mouth while chewing. There’s no time to swallow or cover it with your hand if you want to be able to eat at the same time and you don’t even give a shit of what he thinks. He shares your sympathies and with his stories, you get enraged for him. It’s the first time that you’re able to talk about your exes without anger but laughter instead.

You even dabble a bit of your storytelling into your old college days and partying self. “How many people have you slept with?”

Yoongi nearly chokes again, this time with his food but he manages while tossing his head back in a deep laugh. “I really didn’t expect you to go there.”

“Well?”

“You have to answer the question too.” He leans in and you follow, the two of you mere millimeters away from each other. It’s almost scandalous to be talking about such subjects amongst high class folks in the fancy restaurant.

Yoongi’s hot breath carrying the scent of the red wine fans over your lips as he whispers. “Too many to count.”

Your eyes widen and he chuckles, moving back. “Nah. I’m just kidding. Three or four, maybe five?”

“Nice.” You nod your head, taking another bite of your steak.

“What about you?”

“Me?” You look up, batting your eyelashes innocently. He chuckles at your attempt to evade the question. You sigh, chewing and swallowing slowly. “Double your numbers.”

He raises a brow and nods, looking rather impressed. “Don’t judge me.” You grumble at him. “I was just….a bit wild back in the day.”

“I’m not judging you.” He shrugs and then grins, gulping some wine down.

You do another eye sweep of the restaurant, making sure that the waitress isn’t approaching and that the next table isn’t eavesdropping. “What are your kinks then?”

As the words leave your mouth, Yoongi sputters and gasps, pounding on his chest. The wine goes down the wrong pipe and as he coughs, it almost shoots out his nose. A few people even look over but upon your laughter, they resume back, assuming that it isn’t serious.

“What?” He manages to croak out.

You’re still giggling, taking another small sip. “Oh, you heard me.”

You take the opportunity to let your eyes sweep him from head to toe - or at least whatever you can see from above the table. Yoongi doesn’t have that big of a physique but that didn’t mean he was scrawny, no...not in the least bit. He had wide shoulders and looked well built but you couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t the tallest. You couldn’t help it either when your mind started to wander what he looked like ‘down there’....down in the basement….down in his pants-

Okay. Maybe you should really lay off the wine.

Yoongi finally settles down and you smirk, still observing him carefully. “Wait. Let me guess….hm…” You put a finger on your chin, tapping away and thinking out loud in a hushed voice. “On a first glance basis, I would guess that you’re pretty vanilla…”

When he wasn’t frowning, he looked extremely cute with his natural pouty lips, his round cheeks and soft eyes, almost innocent. “But I know that the calmest ones outside are usually the freakiest ones in bed.”

He laughs and you smile. “Do you have a daddy kink?”

“God.” He shakes his head as if unable to believe the conversation that you were having with him. He definitely did not expect this when he walked in with plans to bail. “I mean...it’s okay. Like I’m not going to stop a girl if they call me that, it’s nice once in awhile but not my preferred one.”

Your eyes sparkle. “Then what is it?”

He leans in and you follow. Yoongi whispers in your ear, warm breath triggering goosebumps to raise all over the back of your neck. “Breath play.”

He takes another long chuckle at your stunned expression as he pulls away. Your eyes are saucers as you gape at him, really not expecting that kind of answer and you have to swallow all the spit that gathers in your mouth before you speak again. “So like….choking?”

He nods with pursed lips. “Now let me guess yours….” Yoongi crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing you again. “You’re right about the whole ‘the calmest ones outside are usually the freakiest ones in bed’ but I’m going to guess that you only know that because it applies to you.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re into wax play.”

“Nope.” You curl your mouth into a smile and for a moment his gaze flickers down to your perfectly red stained lips. “Begging.”

“Oh?” He smirks and you match it. “You like begging?”

You shake your head with a small laugh. “No. I like when the other person begs.”

“So, you’re a dominant?” He says it slowly with interest.

You shrug. “Sometimes. But I do enjoy getting tied up on the occasion.”

It’s exhilarating to share your deepest secrets with a stranger without having to worry about judgement. It’s freeing in a way and only easier when the alcohol is seeping into your veins and he’s as willing to share as you are. But the waitress stops by to check in with how you're doing and before your pupils can get any darker or he bites his lip while staring deeper into your skin, you both move onto a lighter topic...well…‘lighter’.

You end up talking about how sometimes you get so angry that you go bat shit insane and he nods in understanding, going on a tangent of sometimes forgetting his surroundings when he’s working. He talks about how people often misunderstand him for not caring enough or for disregarding their feelings but most often than not, he didn’t even realize. That conversation somehow stems into ranting about work and how you both hate but love it.

You learn he’s composing music and selling them to idols and stars - you won’t lie that you’re extremely impressed (plus ten points) but when he asks about your occupation, you speak broadly. It’s not like many people understand when you try to explain it and you don’t want to waste your breath too much. Yoongi would probably understand but you don’t want him to think you’re completely bonkers.

For some reason or another, you don’t want him to leave anymore.

“If you’re trying to eat like that to be as unattractive as you can…” Yoongi pipes up, eyes staring at your mouth and the way dressing is smothered all over your skin, the salad hanging down to your chin. “...you’re doing the complete opposite.”

You almost choke, your food nearly going down the wrong pipe as you break out into laughter. “You think salad hanging off my mouth is sexy? Oh my god.” You lean in with a look of disbelief, yet he keeps staring at your mouth. “Are you turned on right now? Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”

“Hey.” He shifts the wine away from him, wondering if that was the reason his words slipped through his lips. “Don’t blame me for my dry spell.”

“Maybe I can help you with that.” You wink mischievously and he goes completely blank. You wonder what he’s thinking until you break the overwhelming silence with a giggle.

“Kidding.”

Maybe you’re going crazy but you swear he frowns for a split second, perhaps angered that you toyed with his feelings...or maybe it’s disappointment. You don’t dwell on it. “I’ve already told you how I’ve left my partying and one night stand days behind.”

You sigh tiredly. “I’ve reached a point where I might even try to be abstinent for the rest of my life.”

He laughs. “Are you trying to go as long as you can?”

“Yup.” You beat your chest proudly. “Two years so far and in counting! What about you?”

Yoongi hums for a moment. “I think I’m at two years too.”

“Tch. Are you trying to compete with me on this?” You roll your eyes at him and he grins. With yet another sigh and a sip of your wine, you begin again. “I’d go to the mountains to try to be a nun but I don’t think they let you drink wine and I can’t live without that.”

At some point through the night, Yoongi goes on a long discussion about his mixtape, venting about all sorts of things but you surprisingly find interest in it. He ends up sliding his CD across the table and you snag it into your purse, finding amusement and promising to listen to it. After that, you realize that the entire wine bottle is empty so you order another.

“K listen...listen to me.” Your words slur together.

“I’m listening.” He laughs a bit loudly. “I’m listening.”

“What-...what kind of baby names do you like?” You nearly fall over in sleepiness, barely managing with one finger in the air. “How many? Do you like kids?”

He chuckles again, gums showing in his grin. “Why do you talk about having kids so much? Do you really want to have my babies?”

“You’re cute.” You admit without considering any repercussions, your mind hopelessly free of any thoughts. “Like….really cute.”

“Keep talking and I’ll be happy to give you my kids.” He whispers, downing the rest of the glass. “You’re-...you’re crazy attractive yourself.”

“Tch.” You scoff, rolling your eyes with a huge smile. “Stop. You’re too much….we gotta get married, you know! If we want kids and to build a family and a nice house. We gotta get married. So...so...so- let’s just do it now! HELL YEAH! Let’s get married right now! You wanna?”

He laughs hysterically and you join in, feeling all jittery despite your drooping eyelids. “I think...somehow…..that’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” You don’t feel sad with his rejection but rather still ecstatic, practically floating on cloud nine. “You….don’t wanna have...have a future with me?”

“It’s not that.” He sighs. “I just...don’t know you well enough.”

“But I know your kinks and alllll the bad things about you. How you’re crazy and how I’m crazy.” Somewhere in your hazy mind, a light goes off. “But hey...hey...listen!”

“I’m listening!” He stammers out, squeezing his eyes shut for a split second to become alert again.

“Why didn’t you leave? I mean...don’t you think I’m kinda...kinda crazy?”

“Nah.” He waves his hand. “I like you. You’re the kind of...crazy that I like.”

Suddenly you feel tears well up in your eyes and you’re on the edge of choking out a sob. “You...you’re fucking sweet.” Yoongi reaches over and begins to pat the top of your head as you bury your face in your hands, repeating the word ‘sweet’ over and over again, like a mantra. That’s when another shadow appears next to you and you peel your hands away, looking up with misty eyes.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt…” The waitress smiles. “-but we’re closing now. Would you like to take out anything?”

“What?” You frown before clearing your throat, trying to not stutter or slur. Your attempt to not act drunk is completely futile, cheeks burning up and your swaying body. “Excuse me. Madam. Miss.”

“Yes?” She smiles at you.

“What time is it?”

“It’s eleven pm.”

Her words swirl in your brain, over and over again and it takes a long five heartbeats before it registers. How did time pass so quickly? What the hell? Impossible.

You turn to Yoongi, the both of you staring at each other and he nods. “Yes. We’ll take the bill now.”

The two of you are out at the curb of the road, waiting for your taxi. The chilling night air drags you more onto the sober side of the world but still far from it. At least you’re not stumbling on your feet anymore or unable to stand straight on your legs.

Yoongi’s standing with you, hands dug in his pocket as he stares at the cars driving past. When you asked how he was going to get home, he told you that his apartment was in walking distance. You nodded in understatement, a bit excessively as he laughed. He then outstretched his hand and stopped your head before you broke your neck; all you did in response was giving him a wide sheepish smile.

“Oh. Taxi’s here!” You declare with a baby voice as it parks at the curb. You begin giggling and Yoongi gawks at you. “Isn’t the word taxi kinda funny? Taxi. Taxi. Taxiiiiiii. Say it with me! It sounds funny.”

He shakes his head with a gummy smile. “Just go.”

“Yes sir!” You salute him before opening the door but then another light sparks in the back of your mind - this time it’s not a very bright light but still a light nonetheless.

“Give me one tiny second~” You chime to the taxi driver before turning around to Yoongi.

“Wha-?”

He doesn’t even get to finish before you crush your lips against his. It’s rough and sloppy, chaste for less than two seconds until you slip your tongue past the seam of his pillow softness. It’s plush and warm, heat surging and pooling downwards into the pit of your stomach. You moan and he smirks against your lips, hands grabbing your hips to press closer to his body as you snake your own arms around his neck. The both of you are shamelessly making out, drunkenly french kissing on the curb of the road with the taxi door still open and unable to drive away.

You wonder how long you’ve been kissing for, maybe half an hour, maybe one minute but in reality, it’s closer to the latter. By the time you simultaneously pull away, both your lips are wet with saliva and swollen red. You giggle once more. “You’re good. That was really good.”

He’s staring at you shocked before it melts into desire. “...really good.” He repeats you breathlessly.

You smile one more time at him, brightly with a laugh before pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek and slipping in the taxi.

As the vehicle drives off, you catch the man through the wing mirror; still standing on the curb and watching as you disappear from each other’s sights. All you have about him is his name, a few of his deep secrets, a CD in your bag and one mesmerizing kiss still pulsating your lips.

Somewhere in your rational mind, you’re immensely thankful for never seeing him on the face of the planet again. That’s the only way you’d be able to live with yourself and your shameless acts of the night.

It’s absolutely dreadful.

The yellow glow of the lights dim down, a sweet melody playing in the air as the orchestra hits each note with precision. Every diminuendo is played softly with the gentle flute and it only makes everything worse - you’re dying of exhaustion.

It’s not like they were bad at playing, not in the least bit and it wasn’t like you were uninterested in the profound music but the problem was…. the guy next to you. He was another suitor of your client’s and you were testing out the waters, on a first date with him to know if you should recommend a second one to your client. But truth be told, you didn’t even remember his name - he was so utterly boring.

Boring. That’s what you’ll settle on as his name.

Boring here liked to chat about the driest subjects, about his garden at home and how he used to get the highest marks in physics back in high school. He’s a math enthusiast, ranting about pi and trigonometric equations. As you nodded, in the back of your mind, you wondered if he was the ghost of your math teacher that came back to curse you for failing. He was cute, sure but looks could only get you so far.

Boring made you yawn behind your hand and never gave you a chance to speak. Boring liked to sneeze without covering his face and enjoyed picking his nose when he thought you weren’t looking - he failed to realize you had peripheral vision.

So now in the marvelous concert hall with chandeliers and an echoing ceiling, you were painfully dozing off in the third row of the balcony floors. Every time that you decided to close your eyes for just one tinyyyy second, your head ended up rolling to the side, making you jolt awake once more. When Boring asked you if anything was wrong, you brushed him off and then he whispered something about ‘pine trees’ to you but you didn’t pay attention. All you wanted to do was to lay down, even on the ground for one second. You just needed one mere second to drift off to sleep.

The double bass slowly sweeps in the background, lulling you and the snare builds and builds, the drumsticks rolling against the surface like a wave building. The moment you begin to doze off once more, the cymbals crash together and the wave blasts on your skin, making you jerk into alertness and nearly lurching forward. No one seems to notice but for the rest of the symphony, you’re in a daze between the unconscious and conscious world.

“Wasn’t that so wonderful?” Boring asks while staring down at the menu.

“It was great.” You mumble with a tight smile as he glances at you.

“It really was!”

Boring and you were now at some restaurant that he had booked, open concept in a hotel lobby. It was a nice place, dim lighting with marbled floors, a fountain of water and the lobby desk still in view while the hotel bar was only a few meters away. The menu looked great too but the only problem was once again...Boring.

“Thank you.” He hands the menu back to the waiter before he nods and disappears with your orders. Boring turns to you with enormous eyes as he sips on his water. “So..how do you know Ahjoong?”

“Oh well…” Ahjoong was your client and part of your job was to not reveal so. Usually people didn’t like the fact that their date didn’t want to waste time and hired someone else to take their place. Most people took it personally. “There was a family emergency and she-”

“Speaking of family emergencies!” Boring interrupts. “There was this one time my grandma was really ill in the hospital but I was competing in the preliminary rounds of the international math competition.”

You nod with a tense smile. “Is that s-”

“But all my teachers begged me to stay to compete in the round and so I did!” He grins at you.

“Isn’t that really terrib-”

“And guess what? I won!” He boasts to you, pounding his chest. “I even appeared on television and the newspapers right next to the obituaries!”

“Oh really.” You’re not even trying to fake enthusiasm this time around. Your frustration is at an all time high with the way he keeps interrupting, even when you’re trying to be as kind as possible.

Boring was already in the negatives with his points, you were docking marks off left and right by the first five minutes you met him and now you didn’t even bother keeping score. You were just considering how lucky your client was for not having to sit on this date instead.

He stares at you as if expecting a better, more impressed reaction. You internally sigh. “What channel were you on?”

“I think it was the shopping channel?” He shrugs. “I don’t even know why but did you see me in the newspapers? I’m famous, you know.”

“Oh. Are you now?”

“Yeah. You don’t know?” He tilts his head, giving a condescending expression like you’re terribly ignorant and that you should be grateful for sitting in his presence.

You take another sip of your water, looking around for the waiter. All you want to do is eat and go home, escape this bastard and tell your client to run for the hills.

It’s not too unbearable to be around Boring despite him being as fun as watching paint dry and highly arrogant for no good reasons. You’ve been through worse, sitting around with misogynistic or down right rude people criticizing your appearance. At that time, you simply walked away from the date but most often than not, unless in dangerous circumstances, you had to stay.

“Are you going to finish all that?” Boring eyes your plate.

You drop your utensil, the fork clanking against the table. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, fabricating an innocent expression. “It just looks like a lot….that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” You answer, ripping your cold gaze away as you begin to slice your steak with a hard motion, scraping the plate in the process and making him wince. “Thanks for your concern.”

Despite your dead voice, he has the audacity to genuinely smile. “No problem. Gotta keep that body in shape, you know?”

You take it back. This was definitely one of the worst dates you’ve been on. For a long moment, you debate standing up and leaving.

But, as you turn your head towards the bar, shifting your seat to stand up...that’s when you see it - no, it’s him.

A mop of black hair, casually leaning against the marble counter with a drink in hand and a cocky smirk. He lifts his glass, lifting an eyebrow up and his gaze is completely plastered straight onto you. You rip your own gaze away, instantly lowering your head and you can already hear his chuckle ring inside your brain.

“Oh my god….”

This can’t be happening. You shut your eyes tight, repeating it over and over again internally while dread drowns you whole. You’re cringing, biting your teeth together and pretending to be invisible - hey, maybe your secret magical powers will come alive and you’ll somehow melt into the chair. And that’s all you can pray for.

You don’t remember much from your night with Yoongi, it’s more so a highlight reel that plays in the back of your brain and it was far from a pretty sight. From the memories you do have, it consists of being drunk with him, talking about your exes and your horrendous dry spell but the memory that stands out the most is that you......like an absolute maniac….you...you kis-

Ring. Ring.

You snap out of your trance and Boring stops talking. He was chatting to himself the entire time, not even realizing that you weren’t paying any attention and you didn’t even know if he cared if you paid attention or not - he seemed content with just talking out loud.

The phone continues to ring and Boring takes it out of his pocket. “Oh.” His eyes light up as he turns to you. “This is a very important call.” He emphasizes the word ‘important’ as if it’s the name of his first child. “My boss really needs me. I might even get a promotion!” He boasts and you groan inwardly, giving him another tight lipped smile.

“You should pick it up then.” You motion to the phone with gritted teeth as the screen is still lighting up, vibrating and ringing obnoxiously in the open restaurant.

Boring gives you an egotistical grin as he stands up and takes the call. “What is it mom?” He whispers out harshly while walking away and you facepalm yourself.

As he leaves, you wonder if this is the golden opportunity that you need to seize, running without looking back. But then your mind draws to him and you quickly dart your head over to the bar but the man is gone.

“Well, well, well. Just who do we have here?” A shadow creeps up from the opposite way you’re looking, making you flinch, nearly banging your knee on the underside of the table.

You put a hand on your chest as it pounds wildly, glaring straight into his mischievous dark orbs. “Are you trying to scare the living daylights out of me? What the fuck?”

Yoongi slides into Boring’s abandoned seat with a grin. You watch cautiously as he props his elbow up on the table and leans his chin in his hand, gazing at you as if you’re a puzzle he can’t solve. “Do you always go on first dates for other people?”

Your face flushes pale and you stammer for a moment before realization slaps you across the face. You gape at him with your jaw fallen to the ground. “Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”

He smiles at you. “Why don’t you answer my question first.”

You scoff, looking away from him with crossed arms as a tiny smile reaching your lips for the first time that night. “I’m just filling in for someone else.”

“Uh huh.” He smirks. “You seemed sleepy and bored out of your mind.”

“Don’t pretend you know me.” You snap at him, opening your mouth to defend the other man; the sole reason that Yoongi’s egging you on. “And for the record, Boring is-”

You force your throat to stop, the words running off your lips accidentally like butter. Yoongi immediately grins, all the way up to his cheeks and crinkling his eyes, pink gums showing after white teeth. “You don’t even know his name?!”

“I forgot, okay?!” You flush in embarrassment. “Don’t blame me. He’s been boring all night.”

He leans in closer, murmuring. “How about a second date then? Me and you.” Yoongi pouts his lips and tilts his head, looking at you in amusement. “I think our last date was really...interesting. But we never got a chance to meet up for a second round.”

It had been a few weeks since you had seen him which was a lot faster than ‘never again’. You were mortified the morning you woke up, the only reason you were able to walk out in the world again was the belief that you would never again see him on the face of the Earth for as long as you lived. You didn’t know his last name, where he worked or even had his phone number. But here he was...Yoongi is sitting in front of you with a smirk once again.

But instead of feeling humiliated or embarrassed, you feel the same wave of excitement as last time.

“I can’t just leave the poor guy.” You huff out. No matter how horrendous the date is, you still would feel a microscopic amount of guilt if you just ditched him.

“Why not?” Yoongi lifts up a brow. “He treated you like shit.”

Your long silence prompts a long sigh from him. Yoongi pushes back on his chair, hands at the edge of the table, preparing to stand up. “Suit yourself. You can sit here for the rest of the night with this jerk who obviously can’t treat you like you deserve and you can leave afterwards, feeling like you wasted your time. Or you can leave with me right now and I’ll make sure to give you the time of your life.”

“Wait.” You hold out your hand to halt his movements. He freezes, a sly smirk reaching his mouth and one that makes you frown. You’re still contemplating inside your head but the moment the word left your mouth, the both of you already knew your answer.

The devil stands, outstretching his hand with one promise- “It’ll be a lot of fun.”

The microscopic guilt is crushed by your overwhelming desires. You find yourself believing every single sweet word that falls from his honey dripping lips.

“You’re right.”

You take Yoongi’s hand, grabbing your jacket and purse while he pulls you up. The both of you match each other’s smiles, sauntering off hand-in-hand. And there’s no shame or regret in your decision.

The neon strobe lights flash in front of your eyes, jumpy music all mixing together and the children’s giggles are barely audible as they run by. “Is this your idea of a date?”

Yoongi turns to you once the words leave your mouth but he relaxes upon seeing your huge grin. Your inner child appears, having been hidden away deep in your soul and you don’t hesitate to grab Yoongi’s hand, dragging him into the arcade with enthusiasm. “What are you waiting for?! Let’s go!” You can barely hear his chuckle as you turn around to flash one excited smile.

Before you can even realize, your back is pressed against his and you’re clutching a gun to your chest, as if you were models in a spy movie poster. Your eyes narrow to the screen as the deep voice announces, flashing the numbers by. “THREE. TWO. ONE. START!”

“AHHH!” You shout, getting into stance with feet shoulder length apart and Yoongi matches you, the both of you completely serious as you begin to shoot the zombies that appear on the screen. “DIE!”

“I could use a little help here.” He says and you turn, shooting a few off his back. The two of you absolutely demolish the game through teamwork, so much so that a group of kids even gather around to watch. As you make it to the fifth round, even the teenager worker gives you an impressed expression, slowly stopping to watch.

“CONGRATULATIONS! YOU SURVIVED!” The machine answers, the screen spiraling to show the scoreboard and how you’ve topped off everyone else.

“Oh yeah!” You turn to your side.

Yoongi grins at you and you reach out your hand, the clap rebounding as you high five each other - except he doesn’t pull away afterwards and closes his hand around yours, clutching it. “To the next one!” He leads you through the parting sea of children that are already jumping at the machine to play.

Yoongi chuckles to himself, your stunned expression burning to the back of his eyelids.

Your toes are scrambling, sweat is building on your forehead as your eyes are glued to the flashing screen but you can’t help but be thankful for abandoning your heels this morning. The only thing that keeps you going, despite being horrible is that Yoongi is even worse than you are. “How are you-?”

In the midst of your breathless giggles, before you can even finish, he’s already defending himself. “I’m not the dancing type, okay?!”

Dance Dance Revolution was your next game and unlike the zombie one, the both of you are too clumsy on your feet. You’re missing every other step while Yoongi, instead of getting a winning streak is getting a failing streak. He’s like a toddler learning how to walk, stumbling and off beat in every move, slowly getting more and more frustrated as his body refuses to go where his mind wants. The only thing that keeps him going is your laughter.

“Try again next time!” The words in neon colours on the monitor flicker and spin around, nearly making you blind in the dark arcade.

“Wanna play aga- wait..Yoongi?” When you turn to your side, he’s already gone and when you finally spin around, he’s waiting for you with a disinterested expression.

“Let’s go.”

“No second round?” You tease, hopping off the metal dance pad.

“Never again.” He mutters, walking away with hands in his pockets. You laugh, catching up to him.

Your hands are pressed against the glass, face illuminated from the bright, white light inside the machine. He slips the tenth coin through the slot, hand gripping the joystick so hard that his knuckles are white. The playful music only adds fire to the burning annoyance within him and the both of you don’t speak, absolute silence with furrowed brows. Yoongi positions the claw, right above the smiling taupe bear.

“Right there.” You murmur, shifting your eyes up to the mirror at the back of the machine and you grin at his concentration, his teeth slightly nibbling on his bottom lip.

“No. A little more to the left.” He mutters back, shifting the joy stick.

“No.” You protest sternly but his stubbornness refuses to listen to you and he presses down on the button. You lightly slam your head against the glass in exasperation and right as you predicted, the claw grabs onto the nuzzle of the teddy and then it slips out as it rises back up again.

Yoongi grunts out in frustration, wanting nothing more than to get the damn plush animal out, even more when you sigh in disappointment and your eyes no longer carry the size or sparkle to fight. The prize is simply beyond thin glass, yet he cannot obtain it, despite already trying ten times.

In a moment of rage, Yoongi wraps his large hands around the machine and tries to shake it. “You’re going to get us kicked out.” You tilt your head, arms crossed. “Here move. Let me do it.” You jut him over with the nudge of your hip, taking the joystick in your hand.

Yoongi hands you a coin and you slide it through the slot, the playful music once again emitting in light, mocking notes. Your eyes narrow and he moves in closer, forehead pushed against the machine. “There.” He commands and you shake your head.

“Nope.” You shift it more towards the right and then you smack the button with vigor. The claw descends and clutches the ear of the bear. The two of you stop breathing, watching as it slowly elevates, the plush hanging on the tips of the claw. It jostles and sways as it moves towards the opening and the both of you move even closer if it were possible, like two children watching with big eyes.

The claw moves over the opening and let’s go, the bear moving into the shoot and you can’t help but grin. You smoothly take it out of the prize slot, spinning on your heels to Yoongi and pressing the soft bear to his chest.

“Not all of us can be winners.” You whisper in his ear as he grabs hold of the cute teddy and he turns with his mouth baffled as you saunter away.

You might’ve been good at claw machines, you might’ve even taken your victory as a chance to boast but it only comes around to bite you back in the butt when he challenges you to a basketball match. Yoongi does a small jump before each shot, getting it in flawlessly even when the hoop begins to shift back and forth, his points racking up. You, on the other hand, it would be kind to say that you were struggling. Somehow the basketball hits against the rim, rebounding off and out the machine, making you have to chase it across the floor. Some kid even laughs at you and tosses you the ball and your wrath only increases when Yoongi starts snickering too.

Basketball feels more like a game of catch to you.

A crowd of pre-teens end up gathering around Yoongi, asking about his technique and if he’s part of any professional team. He brushes them off as the game ends, striding towards you to murmur in your ear- “Some winners can turn out to be losers too.”

He pats your shoulder with a smirk, walking away and along with the other kids, you’re baffled.

“Hey...watch it.” He huffs out, squished between your body and the wall. With the lack of space, he throws his arm over your shoulder and when you glance at him, he’s avoiding your gaze. “There’s no room.”

You scoff lightly before sliding the coin into the slot. The two of you are cramped together in a photo booth, fluorescent lights overhead and a curtain separating the quiet space to the noisy arcade. “Ready?”

“Go for it.”

When you click the button on the monitor, it gives you a three second countdown and you lean back on the bench. You tilt your head against Yoongi’s and he pulls you closer with his arm still draped around your shoulder. The both of you smile and it snaps. “Okay, a silly one now!”

You shift a bit more, puffing your cheeks out while focusing on your nose to go cross eyed. Yoongi gives an exaggerated grin, one that shows all his gums and that you’d probably see on a kid in elementary school during picture day or at the dentist office when they’re trying to show off their dentures. It snaps and then you break out into a massive giggling fit, unable to stop before the third photo is taken; one of you and Yoongi laughing together.

When you manage to calm down, Yoongi stares at you and you notice through the monitor. Turning to him to see if there was anything wrong, he kisses you and the last photo snaps.

Your eyes flutter shut and his hand moves to gently cup your cheek. Unlike the first kiss you ever shared, it isn’t rushed or sloppy, filled with intoxication or full of lip bites. Instead, it’s slow and calculated, soft and warm with his plush lips pressing against yours to linger in your taste. He kisses you with eyes still slightly open, cherishing in the way your long lashes dust on your blushing cheeks and how you’re completely relaxed in his touch.

Yoongi pulls away soon after and you let a gentle sigh leave your faintly pulsating lips. When you open your eyes, he has a shit-eating grin as if he won a marathon race or was given the nobel winning prize. “I never said you could kiss me.” The words leave in more of a whine than you mean it to. Yoongi laughs at your pouting as he tries to repress his smile, climbing out the booth.

You snag the photo strips from the slot outside, eyes growing wide at the last photo of him kissing you while you’re still stunned. “What is it?” He grins again, trying to see but you turn around.

“I can’t believe it caught it in that second!”

“What? Show me!”

“No! It’s embarrassing!”

“Since when did you have any shame?” After spinning around and him chasing you, Yoongi finally manages to snag one of the two strips. He brings his arm up, protecting it from your grasp even when you try to jump to take it back. If possible his smile widens more as he stares and you eventually give up. “Can I keep it?” He asks, lowering his hand and looking at you with an endearing gaze.

“Fine…” You grumble. “I mean….there’s two of them anyways.”

Yoongi smiles, tucking it away before the both of you wander back into the arcade. “Sorry for kissing you.” He clears his throat, avoiding your fixed stare. “I...should have asked you.”

“It’s fine.” You mumble back. “I don’t mind.” not in the least bit. “Last time….last time…” Memories of pulling him in spontaneously for a smooch flood in as quickly as your face rises with heat. You cringe, the humiliation coming back to slap you in full force.

Yoongi laughs. “Let’s just say we’re even then.”

“Fair enough.”

As if things couldn’t get more childish, someone you’ve ended up in a game of laser tag. The arena is completely pitch black except for the neon lights lining against the walls and occasionally on the floor. The gun is held in your arms, finger on the trigger to shoot and you’re turning around constantly. Never before has children’s giggles sounded more menacing, worse than shrill screams in a haunted mansion.

“Yoongi?” You whisper out harshly. He had disappeared by your side, gone into the abyss and you wondered if he was getting mobbed by kids somewhere. The thought brought merciless shivers up your spine. “Yoongi?!”

“I’m here!” His voice shouts out and you stare at the ceiling.

“Where?!” You’re starting to run, passing walls through the endless maze.

“Here!”

As you turn the corner, you come roughly colliding into another body and before you can plunge backwards, arms snake and grab around your waist to keep you steady. “It’s me. Calm down.” His voice soothes you and you notice the neon band around his arm is the same colour as yours. “I’m here.”

You feel safer with him by your side, breath instantly settling.

The both of you had registered together as a team and now you were against twenty kids who were here for a birthday party. You didn’t even understand why the kids were here so late at night but they were and they were absolutely heartless.

With your backs pressed together and the gun held up in your hands, it felt like it was just you and him against the entire world.

But it was quiet. Too quiet.

“Y/N! WATCH OUT!” Yoongi shouts as someone jumps from the corner, their giggles evilly ricocheting in your eardrums. It takes less than one heartbeat for them to pull the trigger and time slows down even more as Yoongi dives, putting his hands on your shoulders and spinning you around. A sharp gasps leave your lips as he hugs you close to his chest and then you feel the force of him being hit.

He grows limp in your arms and you cry out. “God! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS!”

“I’ve….I’ve been shot Y/N.”

“No! NO!”

He falls to the ground and you embrace his body. “Yoongi! Please! Talk to me! Talk to me!”

“Listen…” His voice barely manages to croak out as he lifts his hand to cup your cheek. “I...I lov-”

All the lights flicker back on, the fluorescent streams blinding your eyes as the children’s laughter drowns out as they leave the arena. With his head in your lap and the gun abandoned by your side, the both of you burst out into laughter. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

The rest of the night ends as you tear it up at the karaoke place next door.

Driving one day, the radio was playing songs that you had listened to a million times over and a thought struck you. Digging in your bag, you placed his mixtape in and you were pleasantly surprised. Yoongi wasn’t lying when he said he had a passion for music but he was much too humble about it - he was amazing. You found yourself jamming out, the entire car shaking to his beats and voice and then when you got to the skit part, you almost died. Literally.

His husky voice is soothing to the point where it was practically asmr. Driving home from work, you almost fell asleep at the wheel. It was dangerous. Yoongi is a very dangerous man.

Unfortunately, his singing skills don’t seem to be on par with his rapping skills but you don’t mind. It’s not like you’re that great either and you wondered what it sounded like to outsiders as the both of you were screaming melodies into the microphone. The karaoke machine wasn’t giving you points on the quality of your voice but rather the volume.

As you both screamed together, singing with passion that made your voice raw, you both kept scoring 100’s.

By the time the night ended, you couldn’t speak anymore and neither could he.

At the entrance, you both paid equally and you pointed your thumb to the door, signally that you were going to call it a night and go home. He quickly grabbed onto your wrist and mouthed ‘wait’. He then mouthed something that you couldn’t understand so you turned to the lady behind the desk.

You pretended to hold up a pencil and used your hand as a notepad and she understood, eyes lighting up as she handed you a sticky note and a pen from her desk. You handed it to Yoongi and he wrote with haste- ‘Can I have your number?’.

A smile reached your lips but then it died just as quickly. ‘No.’.

He frowned and took the pen immediately. It stilled as you saw the gears in his head turning. He finally wrote back one word- ‘Why?’.

It was true that you enjoyed your time with Yoongi, loved it in fact and it was so much better than how you were expecting your night to turn out. A few weeks ago, you would’ve been mortified to see him again and never would you have guessed that there would be a second time.

And it scared you.

After you’ve had your heart broken numerous times and sitting through a hundred first dates for other people, you had decided that you were done with romance. There were so many times that people dated for fun, in the heat of the moment and it never turned into anything serious. You were done with wasting your time and you didn’t want to head down the same path to get hurt again.

You liked Yoongi and it scared you. You just didn’t have the confidence to do everything all over again, to love all over again.

‘I don’t date’.

With that, you set the pen down. You slid the paper over the counter to him and walked away without looking back once.

The feelings that made your heart stutter needed to disappear.

There are two knocks at your door. “Come in!”

There’s a held silence after the door opens and you peel your eyes away from the computer screen. “There’s a meeting in the conference room with your new client…?” Your timid intern mutters and you nod, saving the documents that you’re working on.

With every new client that comes, an interview is an absolute necessity to know what they’re looking for in order to filter through their potential suitors. “You’re going to ask some questions today, okay?” Your intern is trailing behind you, quickly matching your strides. She nods. “Don’t be shy. You’ll do fine.”

It’s when you reach the conference room, do you falter yourself. There’s a familiar mop of black hair sitting at the front chair, back turned to you and you do a quick prayer that it isn’t who you think it is.

“A-are you okay?” Your intern pipes up and you snap out of your trance, clearing your throat and finally pulling the door open.

“Good morning…” Your intern flips the page on her clipboard. “....Mr. Min.”

He turns around and as you walk past to sit on the other side of the table, both of your eyes glue together. You nearly end up tripping on the carpet and over your heels and he smirks at your surprise. He opens his mouth, a husky voice emitting- “Good morning.”

You curse at yourself for not looking at the file beforehand, being too swamped up with other paperwork. Had you known, you would’ve gotten someone else to conduct the interview.

Your intern hands him a contract and she introduces him to the entire company, running through the procedures. She glances at you a few times for confirmation but upon hearing nothing, she continues. The entire time, Yoongi’s gaze is fixed onto you with eyes that you can’t decipher and you’re stuck in a daze, frozen and unable to think.

“We’re just going to ask you a few questions to be able to match your future suitors with more accuracy.” Your intern flips another page. “Are you looking for anything in particular in regards to appearance?”

Yoongi smiles at you. “Someone really beautiful….especially when they smile.”

“Okay.” Your intern jots something down and with the intensity of his gaze, you can’t look away. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular in regards to personality?”

“Someone critical of others, blunt and straightforward.” He smiles. “Someone shameless enough to outright stare at me on the first date but also someone who can get easily flustered.”

Your intern jots things down at the speed of light, too focused and nervous to notice the sparks exchanged between you and Yoongi’s stares. ‘What are you doing here?’ You try to convey a message through telepathy and he smirks at you. You curse at why the conference room had to be made of glass, all the employees walking past and glancing in. He’s a potential client and there are strict rules in place. You can’t outright stand up to leave and even if you came up with an excuse, with the way he scrutinizes you, you don’t have any strength left in your legs.

“Anything else?”

“Someone who wants to start a family with me.” A tiny chuckle leaves his lips as he finally turns to your intern.

“Are there any interests that you would like this person to have?” She asks, moving on to the next question on the form.

“A wine enthusiast.”

Your intern gives you a quick glance, aware that you really enjoy wine since she had been witness to your drunk self once at a work party. She brushes it off and jots it down. “Someone who abandoned their old partying days but still likes to play games and lose their voice at karaoke.”

There’s a pause and your intern can’t hide her frown at how oddly specific it is. “Al...right then.”

“Someone who thinks I’m cute.” Yoongi turns back to you with an all too knowing smile. You can’t help but let the side of your lip tug upwards as you roll your eyes at him.

“We’re just about done here.” Your intern nods her head. “Is there anything special? Any other details that we haven’t mentioned yet?”

He purses his lips in thought, staring at the ceiling. “Someone with a kink in begging. Oh. But they like the other person to beg, not themselves.” Your intern’s pen freezes on the paper and your jaw drops. “And they like to be occasionally tied up.”

She clears her throat, looking at you for help but your eyes are stuck on Yoongi’s. She swallows and looks down at the form. “And….and...um….uh..are you looking for a serious relationship or a fli-”

“Marriage.” He cuts her off with a smirk, enunciating each word carefully and slowly while boring eyes deep into your skin. “I don’t date. I’m looking for marriage.”

There’s a long silence, terribly long for an entire minute.

Your intern is hit with realization with the way you’re both gazing at each other and she slowly slides next to you. “Um...boss….should I go?”

“That...would be nice.” You nod your head. “Just for a moment.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice and bolts up from her seat without pushing her chair in, running out the room and closing the door behind her.

You immediately frown at him, crossing your arms and scoffing. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing here?” He smirks at you and you roll your eyes.

“Playing games with me.”

“No.” His lips turn into a straight line and he sits straighter. The serious tension builds up and you swallow hard. “I’m not playing games.”

“Then what?” You ask him in a softer voice.

“I’m not looking to just date or play around. Isn’t it obvious?”

There’s another pause until he grunts in frustration and declares- “I fucking like you so much, okay?!”

Your heart flips in your chest and your cheeks heat up. Suddenly you're angry with his tone. “Well how am I supposed to know? I’m just tired of all this okay?! I’m tired with love.” “And I’m tired of you!” He retorts. “Stop making me feel this way!”

“That’s not my fault!” You shout back at him. “I can’t control how you feel!”

“Well you did this to me!” He points at you, his usually calm demeanor being casted over with a red tide that somehow you can only cause. “How was I supposed to know that I would meet you on that first date? I was expecting to just leave after two minutes!”

“Well it’s my job.” You nag at him. “I go on first dates for other people.” Then it hits you- “How did you even find out that I worked here?!”

“How was I not suppose to find you?” He scoffs out, settling back in his chair. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Well-! You-! Ugh!” You’re defeated, mouth filling with cotton at his endless confessions and you can’t find any more words when your face is beet red. He smiles at you, crossing his arms.

You’re defeated. It’s his victory.

“Really..the things you make me say.” Never would Yoongi have admitted those things out loud for the life of him but you made him do it, easily too. “I really like you...okay?” His voice softens up and you’ve learnt how to read people enough to know how each of his words carry absolute sincerity.

“I like you, Y/N.”

You sigh, mumbling without looking at him. “If there’s a third date….there has to be a twentieth or a thirtieth…..don’t leave me hanging. I don’t want to fall in love by myself...”

“Girl.” He smiles, gums showing in his grin. “There won’t even be a hundredth. It’ll be forever.”

#bts scenario #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi #bts yoongi fanfic #bts yoongi fluff #service series #Hands down one of my favourites lol

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