#and now I’ll make Sesame miserable too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dovechim · 4 years

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the happiest place on earth (m)

➾ 24k

➾ summary: in this life, you have two goals. 1. get park jimin to notice you. 2. get into Broadway. (not necessarily in that order). you and jimin have been crew members at Disneyland for over a year, but he’s no closer to being your boyfriend than you are to getting into Broadway. when you get promoted from a fur character to a face character, your hopes and dreams of playing Princess Ariel opposite his Prince Eric are this close to coming true. But what happens when you’re tasked to play the Evil Queen instead?

slice of life au, incredibly cheesy towards the end. basically a lot of fluff with some smut :)

➾ warnings: protected sex, oral (f receiving) this one is pretty mild tbh

➾ a/n: for the purpose of this fic, let’s ignore that Sesame Street and Disney are own by two different companies 🙃 happy 25/26th birthday to one mr park jimin, the only Prince Charming I'll ever fall for 💓 this is just a warning of the cheesiness to come 🧀

The sounds of joyful music are slightly muffled, not just by the constant excited chatter around you, but also by the heavy costume that drags your entire body down. The incredible buildup of body heat is seemingly exacerbated by the sheer amount of bodies around you, little kids who are scampering to get a hold of your soft yellow fur.

“Mommy! I want a picture with Big Bird too!” A toddler’s voice wails from a distance, and you struggle to see out of the tiny little eye holes in the yellow neck of the costume.

Well, the good thing about having to wear this is that you don’t have to fake a smile for the cameras. The permanent grin on Big Bird’s face- er, beak, convinces everyone around you that you fit right in at this place.

The kids are all in giggles as they take turns hugging you with joyful screams and giggles, being towed away by their parents once they’ve got their shot. You can see your handler, Joy, keeping a watchful eye from a distance away to make sure things don’t get too out of hand. Your movements are heavy and cumbersome, but luckily you don’t have to move much because all the kids just crowd around you anyway.

Your time is nearly up. For the safety and well-being of all cast members who are required to wear full costumes, often referred to as fur characters, shifts are restricted to 15 minutes at a time, with a 45 minutes rest time before you go again. And with this weather, you feel as if the 15 minutes can’t go by fast enough.

You glance over enviously at Oscar the Grouch, your usual character, having a much calmer time with the noticeably thinner crowd around him. He’s never been a very popular character, especially not with the kids, since they tend to prefer the bright and cheerful personalities of Big Bird, Elmo and of course Cookie Monster. The blue furry character is dancing energetically on the street, rousing delighted cheers and screams from the kids as he pretends to queue at prop truck selling cookies.

You curse at the management’s decision to have you take over Big Bird’s character today. Better yet, you curse the guy who originally plays Big Bird. Why’d Kim Namjoon have to call in sick today of all days? And why, for heaven’s sake, did middle management think it’d be a good idea to get someone your size, to take his place?

Miserable and sweating bullets, you try your best to wave and move your arms around in some semblance of a dance to entertain the kids.

“Last photo, folks,” Joy waves her hands to get the crowd’s attention with a grin on her face. “Be sure to give Big Bird a big hug, alright?”

Your head jerks sharply in her direction with a steely glare, but it loses all effect because of the stupid goofy Big Bird head. As if the grubby kids around you needed any encouragement to squeeze and grope you in this costume. You swear, one more little kid mashing his face into you, stepping on your feet in the huge orange shoes, and you’ll just scream-

“Alright alright, Big Bird’s gotta go help Cookie Monster bake some cookies now,” Joy gently pries a little boy wearing glasses off you. She loops her arm around your fluffy wing to give you some support as the two of you start shuffling away slowly. “We’ll be back at 3pm! See you all then!”

Even if you hate every second being in this sweat soaked costume, you can’t deny that you’ve definitely noticed a change playing a slightly more popular character. Kids don’t pull faces at you the way they did when you were playing Oscar the Grouch, instead they tell you they love you, their faces light up when they see you, and they fight to be the first in line at for a photo opportunity with you.

There is a small warmth in your chest as you walk painfully slowly and turn down a discreet corner into the staff rest area. Once out of sight from the public, you strip off the bright yellow head as Joy opens the doors of the air-conditioned break room for you.

“Oh my god. That was the longest 15 minutes of my life,” you groan, collapsing down onto the floor dramatically. Joy winces in sympathy as she quickly gets a bottle of water for you, rummaging in the pantry for the good snacks.

“It was extra hot today, wasn’t it? Ugh, I’m dreading my shift next,” Joy tosses you a packet of biscuits.

The door bursts open, and Cookie Monster comes in singing and dancing, his energy seemingly limitless. When he strips off the character’s head, Jeon Jeongguk’s voice comes out even more clearly, the grin on his face still at full power as when he started his shift.

His hair is messy as he runs a hand through it, casting a puzzled glance at you laying down on the floor.

“Wasn’t that a great shift?” Jeongguk enthuses, a happy puppy grin on his face as his handler Kim Taehyung unzips the back of his costume. “The kids were all so cute. This really is the happiest place on earth!”

As if on comedic timing, Oscar the Grouch bursts into the room, and you can hear Min Yoongi cursing and swearing as he can’t get the character’s head off fast enough. From your position on the floor, sipping your water and nibbling at your crackers, you cast a jealous, spiteful glance at him.

What does he have to complain about? Oscar is practically the easiest character to play on Sesame Street!!

The buddy system consists of one character and one handler, and they switch shifts throughout the day. Kim Namjoon calling in sick means that the buddy system is one short today, and Yoongi doesn’t have anyone to switch shifts with. Which means he’s due to go again in less than thirty minutes.

Feeling your strength returning, you sit up again and start to unzip your costume so that Joy can start getting ready. There isn’t any changing room here, but all of you aren’t exactly naked under the costume, so no one has any objections changing in each other’s presence. Your light workout shorts and tanktop are soaked with sweat and sticking to your skin when you climb out of the yellow costume, kicking off the orange shoes before you turn to help Joy into it.

“Goooood afternoon!” A cheerful, happy voice sings out as the door opens, and your entire being perks up in recognition.

His presence brightens the room immediately- even Yoongi looks relieved to see him.

“Jimin? What are you doing here? It’s your day off,” Taehyung is half-way into his transformation into Cookie Monster.

“Heard Namjoon was sick today, so I volunteered to come in to cover,” he says with a happy grin, his eyes creased into a smile. His fluffy dark blue hair looks so soft, and he casts a brief glance across the room, eyes landing on you and Joy, Jeongguk and Taehyung, and then Yoongi, obviously doing the math. “I guess I’m up next in Oscar the Grouch?”

Dammit. One more reason why you’re cursing Min Yoongi, or more accurately, your rotten luck. You could have had a chance to partner with Park Jimin today if you’d stayed as Oscar the Grouch, something you’d been waiting for ever since you joined the park as a character actor.

Unfortunately, your schedule never seems to coincide with his, until today.

“Oh thank fucking God,” Yoongi mutters as he strips himself out of the costume in a hurry. “I’m so happy I could kiss you.”

Park Jimin giggles, a sound that sets off butterflies in your stomach. But nothing prepares you for the way he casually strips off his grey sweatpants to reveal the tight booty shorts underneath, preparing to step into the costume.

You belatedly realise that you are staring at Park Jimin’s very supple ass, and Joy is left to struggle into the Big Bird costume all by herself, with time running out. Turning away with a reddened blush on your cheeks that you hope the others attribute to the heat, you zip her up and hand her Big Bird’s head, leaving her to finish dressing herself as you quickly slip on some jeans and the standard issue polo shirt that handlers wear.

Your throat is dry as you glance at him shyly, wishing more than ever that you could be the one helping him into his costume. Min Yoongi catches the longing glance that you give him, but he can’t be arsed enough to tease you about it.

“C’mon guys, time to go!” Jimin’s smile is blinding as he gets ready to put on Oscar’s head, shuffling towards the door with the garbage bin around his waist. He makes eye contact with you, and your heart skips a beat. “Let’s make this a great shift!”

You’ve never been one for optimism. But somehow, it’s almost bearable when its coming from Jimin.

As you hold Joy’s hand and walk her slowly out to the main street, your attention remains on Jimin in the Oscar costume. Somehow, even in his grimy garbage can, nothing seems to dim his bright personality. He is like the sun as he dances on the street, crouches down in his garbage can, teases the kids and makes them scream with laughter. His movements are large and exaggerated, the way you were all trained to do, and you can’t help but admire his natural talent that can’t be hidden by a costume.

He is an incredible hit with the kids, an unusual occurrence. Someone like Park Jimin really does fit in here. Every bit of his personality suits the happiest place on earth.

Unlike yours.

It’s been almost a year since you joined as a character actor, and by now, practically the whole crew knows about your crush on Park Jimin. Everyone but the man himself, unfortunately. Luck just hasn’t been on your side so far, and most of the time you’re left admiring him from afar.

“So… that was an unexpected surprise,” Joy says as she wipes her face with a tissue, glancing at you in the mirror.

You pretend not to know what she’s talking about as you tie your sweaty hair up into a bun, getting ready to clock out. You and Joy are familiar with this routine, sharing the same schedule ever since the both of you decided that working as an amusement park character would be the best way to boost your resumes and eventually earn you the chance to audition for Broadway someday.

They were big and lofty dreams alright, but as long as you take a tiny step every day, you know you’ll make it eventually.

“You won’t get anything done hoeing around like that you know,” Joy giggles as she spies the nonchalant look on your face. “You need to go out there and get your man. Honestly. Or someone else will.”

You whip your head around to stare at her in panic. “Someone else has their eye on him? Who?”

Joy shrugs carelessly, but you can see the caution on her face as her movements slow. “Well… there are some rumours going around about him and Dahyun…”

“Dahyun? The girl who plays Ariel?” You frown, picturing them together in your mind. “I didn’t know they knew each other.”

“_______... they’re in the same rotation schedule,” Joy says with a hint of pity in her voice. Being the more outgoing of the two of you, she seems to be in on the latest news and gossip.

Or maybe that’s because you always leave the crew group chat on mute.

Sighing in frustration, you toss a used baby wipe into the trash. “How am I supposed to make a move if I can’t even talk to him? We barely even know each other, we’re just co-workers!”

“You and Jeongguk are co-workers, that doesn’t stop him from stealing your Pringles every time you leave them in the pantry, or you from play fighting with him when he does,” Joy points out.

“That’s different!” Your brows furrow in consternation, but you leave it at that. “Anyway, we don’t even have the same shift lined up.”

“Girl, you’re working in the happiest place on earth, where magic and fairytales and your Prince Charming is infinitely possible,” Joy sighs dreamily, waving the wand of her lip gloss around as if it were a real magic wand. “Make it happen.”

It seems like the whole wow factor of working at Disney hasn’t worn off on your best friend. As for your naturally cynical self, you can’t exactly say that you’ve never been amazed by the fact that you work at such a magical place, but it’s not really like you to get sucked in by all the illusion that this place offers.

“Ooh!! Can you imagine if he played Prince Charming, and you played Sleeping Beauty?” Joy almost falls over in her excitement as she grips your arm. “That’s like a magical love story waiting to happen!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you grumble at her, but even you can’t help but let a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “It’s only been a year since we started, and all new joiners have to start at the bottom for god knows how long. Promotion is practically unheard of. Maybe we’ll be stuck playing Sesame Street characters still we’re old ladies.”

“Don’t say that!” Joy swipes your arm with a pout. “It’s got to do with vacancies as well. As soon as they need someone playing a face character, they’ll bump one of us up. That’s how Dahyun got Ariel within 6 months of joining.”

“Well, let’s hope one of them gets chickenpox or something, that’s the only way I’ll get a lucky break,” you say with a deadpan voice as Joy bursts into giggles, chiding you as you turn to exit the bathroom.

“What’s a princess character like her even want with Park Jimin anyway? Shouldn’t she be romancing, I don’t know, one of the Princes instead?” You can’t get your mind off that rumour of the both of them together.

You find it hard to believe, seeing as there is a very obvious social hierarchy amongst all the crew. The Disney princesses are the queen bees, the very top of the pyramid, along with the Princes. Somewhere around second tier are the less popular princesses such as Mulan, Pochahontas, or Tinkerbell, still very well sought after by guests, but a lot less well known as compared to, say Ariel or Sleeping Beauty. All the furry characters rank at the very bottom, with the only exception perhaps being the classic Mickey Mouse himself.

The hierarchy is so ingrained into the system that you don’t even talk to or hang out with anyone outside of your level. Even in the staff cafeteria, buried in the underbelly of Disney World itself, seating is segregated according to which character you play. It’s like high school all over again.

That’s exactly why Joy’s dream of playing a Disney princess is far-fetched, to say the least. It would be like jumping straight to the top of the hierarchy in the blink of an eye. The best you can hope for is a promotion to a face character. Any face character. Just so you don’t have to wear the unbearably stuffy, disgusting costume anymore.

“What should we eat? I’m in the mood for pizza- oh!” Joy stops in her tracks, and you smack into her back.

“Give me a heads up, would you,” you groan, massaging your forehead, moving to walk around her as you scan your card at the train gantry.

“Oh my god. It’s Park Jimin.” She sounds breathless, and you look up at the mention of his name.

And there he is, seated on one of the benches with his thighs spread in his grey sweatpants, white shirt almost hanging off his shoulder sinfully, and blue backpack slung casually over the other shoulder. He is scrolling through something on his phone, completely absorbed in what he sees on his screen.

“Here’s your chance!” You hear Joy hiss at you, shoving you forward. “Talk to him!”

You are reduced to a blubbering mess, somehow losing control over your limbs as Joy continues to push you forward until you are in his line of sight.

“-don’t want to- agh!”

Jimin glances up at the sound of your voice, a smile of recognition immediately lighting up his face as he puts his phone away.

“Hey! ______, right?”

Even the way he says your name reduces you to a pathetic pile of goo. The mere fact that he knows who you are…!

“U-uh, hi, yeah!” You smile awkwardly at him.

Jimin scoots over and pats the seat beside him invitingly, looking over your shoulder. “And Joy, right?”

“Mhmm, going home?” Joy responds so naturally; you wish you had her ease when it comes to talking to guys. Or anyone, in general.

“Yeah,” Jimin grins his heart melting smile again, this time directing it at you. “Hey, you did great with Big Bird today. It’s tough playing such a tall character- his head is the heaviest, I swear.”

“It-it is,” you stumble a reply back to him. “I don’t usually play Big Bird…”

“I know, your usual is Oscar right?” Jimin beams back. “I don’t know how you do it; it’s so hard to get his character just right! Especially wearing that costume- I feel like I’m behind a mask.”

Now you know he’s also painfully kind on top of everything else; complimenting you even though he easily plays Oscar better than you on your good days. Even the way he takes notice of your usual character makes you feel… dare you say… special.

“Hey, I forgot something back at the park, I’m gonna go back,” Joy says with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she bids the both of you goodbye. “You two go ahead! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

That sly little minx! You stand up involuntarily, panicking over being left alone with Jimin. At the same time, he grabs your arm to get your attention.

“Hey! The train’s here,” Jimin seems unperturbed by Joy’s sudden departure, getting up and starts walking towards the doors.

You hastily follow him into an empty cabin, struggling to keep your composure and cool your heated cheeks. There aren’t many people going in the opposite direction at this time of the evening, and the both of you find a seat easily.

“Which stop are you getting off at?” You ask, glancing at the map above the train doors.

“The second to last,” he grins with a slight wince. It’s absolutely adorable, the way he scrunches his nose. “I know, long ride right?”

“That’s my stop too!” Your eyes widen as you realise that you’ll be sharing the entire ride with him.

“Guess it’s my lucky day to have company then,” Jimin grins. “I think we joined at around the same time, but we haven’t really talked much.”

“Yeah, about a year ago, I think our schedules just haven’t really matched up,” you smile at him, having to avert your eyes as he ruffles his dark blue hair casually.

He flirts so effortlessly; his smiles are charming, and he draws you in with every word of his. It’s more than you could ever hope for, sharing a nearly empty train ride back with Park Jimin.

“So, is working at Disney everything you ever dreamt of and more?” Jimin asks, his eyes shining bright.

“You mean, did I dream of being stuck in a stuffy, sweaty and smelly costume for four hours a day? Totally,” you say unironically, but it makes Jimin giggle.

“Yeah, that part isn’t the best,” Jimin admits with a hand covering his mouth, still giggling. “I always make sure to air our whatever costume I’m wearing, so that the next person doesn’t have such a bad time.”

And he has a heart of gold too.

“It’ll get better once we get to play the face characters,” Jimin reassures with a few pats on your hand. The physical contact makes your heart skip a beat. “I think it’ll be soon, if we keep doing a good job!”

“Who are you hoping to get?” You desperately hope that he doesn’t see the blush on your cheeks.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. I guess I’ve always been a fan of Aladdin. You know, how cheeky he is and everything. Of course, I don’t think I’ll get a monkey as my sidekick, but still…”

“You’d make a perfect Aladdin,” you can already picture him charming all the little girls, sweeping them off their feet even without a magic carpet.

“What about you?” Jimin asks, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Uhm… well…” you almost say Jasmine out of pure instinct, but you stop yourself just in time. To be honest, you never really thought about which face character you wanted to play. Getting a foot in the door to work at a Disney Park alone was a dream come true, and you’ve been so absorbed with the toiling labour of playing a fur character that you simply didn’t have the time to dream of something better.

But Jimin’s words have set you thinking. Of course, anyone’s answer might be to play a Disney Princess. It would be an incredible add to your resume. But could you really muster up enough of your acting skills to be in character around people all day? Not only would it be physically tiring like it is now, but it would also be mentally exhausting.

Unless you can find a character that suits you to a T, the way Aladdin suits Jimin. Or rather, the way Jimin can mold himself to suit any character he’s playing. It’s a talent you know you don’t have, and you know it’s an area of improvement for you as an aspiring actress. But somehow, you still can’t bring yourself to give up on your dream of standing upon the Broadway stage one day.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” you admit finally. “I guess… anyone would be fine. As long as it’s not Pluto,” you add in as an afterthought, and Jimin bursts into his musical laughter that travels throughout his entire body.

“You could be Elsa,” he says after a moment, after he’s calmed down. “Cold, a little aloof, but beautiful. I think you’d suit her well.”

The sincerity with which he says this makes your heart flutter. Moments ago, the thought of playing the ice princess and having to sing ‘Let It Go’ to dozens of grubby children would have put you off. You’d never liked that movie, but with Jimin’s suggestion, you ironically find yourself warming up to the idea.

Life has a way of smiling down at certain people. Park Jimin is one of them. And with just one encounter with him, you can feel his good luck rubbing off on you already.

When you check your schedule for the next quarter, your eyes catch on his name along with yours, side by side as handler and character. This time, as your usual: Oscar the Grouch.

You are in a good mood that morning as you clock into the park, heading to the utilities room to retrieve your costume and sign for it. When you reach the desk, you realise that Jimin somehow got here earlier than you did, and already signed out on your behalf.

He’s waiting in the common dressing room, drinking a protein shake and dressed in a muscle tee that shows off a dangerous amount of skin. You catch a glimpse of nipple as he raises his shake to his lips, and your throat goes dry. No one ever comes in for the morning shift this early, so the two of you are alone.

“H-hey, you’re early,” you clear your throat as you slide your backpack off your shoulder.

Jimin turns to face you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey! Yeah, thought I’d get in a workout and start my shift little earlier today. Did you eat yet? I got you a bagel!”

He tosses a warm, buttery package across at you, and you just barely catch it. It’s only when you bite into it and a moan escapes your lips that you realise how essential breakfast is.

“Do you want to go first? Or me?” Jimin abandons his chair to come sit next to you on the couch. “I’m fine with whatever, but I’m a little sweaty right now, so…”

He grins bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck as he does so. It’s incredibly cute, and you have to distract yourself, tearing your eyes away from his almost transparent muscle tee.

“Sure, I’ll take first shift,” you push yourself up from your seat, feeling an intense need to put some distance between you and the dangerously charming man.

You usually dress the same way for work every time- jeans and the standard polo tee, with exercise shorts and a thin tank top underneath. It makes things easier when you have to rotate between being character and handler. With Park Jimin in the same room, you feel a little self-conscious at stripping down in front of him, so you attempt to hide behind the locker as you quickly get rid of your jeans and shirt.

You feel painfully naked as you start to wrangle yourself into the Oscar costume. Jimin sets aside his drink and helps you by holding the bottom half of the costume open for you to step into, his face dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. You can feel his hot breath on your flesh as you gingerly step into Oscar’s trashcan.

Putting on a costume has never felt this intimate before.

“It’s like you were made to play him, you fit perfectly!” Jimin giggles, patting the top of your head. “How cute!”

“You’re one to talk,” you grumble back at him, if only to hide the growing smile on your own face. “You fit into it pretty well last time too.”

The moment is shattered as the door flings open, and Jeongguk and Taehyung come chattering in. They give Jimin a fist bump each, in the natural camaraderie that boys have with each other.

“See ya at break, ______!” Jeongguk calls out playfully, waving a tube full of your Pringles with one hand just to taunt you. Even though you can’t see him with Oscar’s head on, you hear the telltale sound of the chips rattling inside the tube, and you actually growl in annoyance.

“Jeon Jeongguk! I swear if you eat even a single one-“

“I’ll save you the empty can! Hey, does Oscar do recycling or is he just in a normal trash can?”

The difference between your Oscar and Jimin’s Oscar is painfully stark. When it’s his turn, he gets no less than 20 children crowding him at one time. His natural charisma just oozes through the suit.

But rather than discourage you, it actually makes you work even harder. You actually learn a couple of things from observing how he plays Oscar, and by the end of the day, you’re proud to say that you’re on par to compete with even Cookie Monster sometimes.

“Good one today, ______!” Jimin grins as he strips off the green, furry head, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“You weren’t too bad yourself,” you say with a tiny smile, offering him a pack of wet wipes.

“Hey, I was thinking we should grab a bite to eat,” Jimin turns to look at himself in the mirror, styling his dark blue hair as he rakes through it carelessly with his fingers. “You down?”

You have to stop yourself from grinning from ear to ear, instead answering coolly. “Sure. Where did you have in mind?”

“Cafeteria? I’m craving a Dole Whip myself,” he’s back in his muscle tee again, pulling on a pair of his favourite grey sweatpants.

You’ve never actually eaten anywhere other than the staff cafeteria, and even then, you avoid doing so after shifts because you don’t want to deal with seeing the rest of the crew. But Jimin has such a sweet smile that you don’t have it in you to refuse.

The two of you exit the dressing room, making your way down to the staff cafeteria, buried out of sight from the guests. To be honest, park food isn’t that bad, and the cafeteria serves a selection of it weekly, at a heavily discounted rate for staff.

Jimin’s just pondering over what he should have before Dole Whip, when a small tap on his shoulder makes him turn around.

“Oh- Dahyun! Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Jimin greets her with a grin, and you can’t help but peer around him to get a glimpse of her as well.

She is exquisitely beautiful in a way you know you could never be, her features are dainty and delicate, and you can see why she’s such a good fit for Ariel. She moves with a grace and elegance that comes only with years of dance and stage training, and even in her loose-fitting pants, you can see that she has a figure to die for.

It’s people like her who make it to Broadway.

“It’s my shift starting soon,” she says in a soft, tinkling voice, casting a curious glance at you. “Anyway, I was just coming from the manager’s office. They want to see you.”

“Oh really?” Jimin frowns as he checks his phone. “I haven’t checked my email yet-“

“Yeah, something about a character change,” she smiles in excitement. “Seo Joon’s quitting, so they asked me if I had anyone to recommend to take his place, and I said you! Isn’t that great?”

Jimin seems genuinely enthused as he widens his eyes in realization. “Oh… oh wow! Prince Eric! I… I didn’t think it’d be this soon!”

“You should hurry down so they can give you the official new schedule,” Dahyun claps her hands as she giggles. “There’ll be character training sessions, outfit fittings, oh, and we also have to train together for a bit!”

The two of them almost forget that you are there, and you awkwardly take a step back, which makes Jimin look at you. His elation disappears a little.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I’ll just go attend the meeting real quick. I’m sorry about lunch, we should reschedule and it’ll be my treat!”

“No,” you shake your head and swallow hard, struggling to express that you are really happy for him amidst the all the envy and jealousy swirling in your chest. Because you truly are, he deserves this and so much more. “Go for your meeting. Don’t worry. I’ll just… I’ll uh… just head home.”

“You should get a Dole Whip! It’s the perfect treat after a shift,” he calls over his shoulder as Dahyun shoots you an awkward little smile, turning to follow him.

You watch as the two of them exit the staff cafeteria, already excitedly chattering to each other about god knows what. Yeah, somehow, you don’t think a Dole Whip is about to make things better.

“Prince Eric?” Joy frowns. “Well, I can’t say he doesn’t suit that character, because he would suit any prince, but…”

Now that Jimin had to be swapped out, the only good thing about it is that Joy is back on the same rotation as you again. So it means you can whine to your best friend about how unfair all of this is, how you wish Dahyun would actually get her voice sucked out of her by Ursula.

“They’re gonna look perfect together,” you say glumly. “This is why I don’t hope for anything. The moment I do, it just gets taken away.”

Joy winces as she watches you avert your gaze, untying and tying your shoelace. Your sandwich remains untouched as the two of you hide away in the dressing room during lunch break.

“Sweetie… I’m sorry,” she sighs as she pulls you in so that you can rest your head on her chest. “I’m sure our big break is coming soon. It’s all about that stroke of luck, you know?”

“Only if that lucky break comes in the form of Dahyun’s broken leg,” you grumble. Honestly, you should have seen this coming. Someone as bright and talented and golden as Park Jimin deserves to be with someone who can match him. Someone who can look as good beside him.

In other words, definitely not you. Children run away from you when they see you. They cry when they see your face. Even when you’re hidden and concealed behind a costume, they still can’t bring themselves to come any closer to you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Jeongguk throwing open the door, still stuffing his face with a Mickey ice cream sandwich. His eyes land on the both of you, take in your disgruntled expression, then he continues to scarf down the rest of his sweet treat. Taehyung follows close behind, holding a bunch of snacks in his arms and dumping them all on the table.

“Whats wrong with her?” Jeongguk gestures with his sticky hands, stomping around in his heavy Timberland boots.

This dressing room is somewhat of a cosy reprieve, not only from the sweltering heat out there, but also away from all the other crew members. It’s long been established that it belongs to the select few of you who have the misfortune to be playing the fur characters, while the face characters are assigned the bigger, more luxurious dressing rooms for them to do their makeup and hair in. However, since the fur characters don’t need much prep other than climbing into a large furry suit, this dressing room only has the bare minimum.

You don’t mind though, because over the past year, it has come to feel like home. Ending a shift and collapsing on the couch, bickering with Jeongguk about the snack stash, coming in early to find Yoongi pulling an all nighter on the couch from the day before, getting annoyed with all of Taehyung’s junk everywhere. Getting secretly drunk after park hours with Joy and sneaking out to avoid getting into trouble.

As much as you hate to admit it, the few of you have become family.

“Not in the mood, Jeon, run along,” you shoot him a warning glare, but he is all too used to your caustic words, and sometimes you think he even enjoys riling you up.

“Might this have something to do with a certain Park Jimin getting to play Prince Eric?” Jeongguk is more astute than he lets on, but then again, it could be just because he actually bothered to read the crew schedule today.

“Who’s playing who?” Yoongi enters with a cup of cold brew in hand, sucking it down like it’s his lifeblood. All this while, you’ve never actually seen him eat something solid.

“Jimin is Prince Eric, opposite Dahyun’s Ariel,” Jeongguk repeats in delight, all too happy to take part in your misery.

Joy shoots him a glare and moves to cover your ears. “Gee, I don’t think you could rub that in any harder, Jeon.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he snickers, moving toward the lockers in the corner for his bag to start getting ready for the afternoon’s shift. At the last minute, however, he turns back to glance at you, still lying motionless on the couch, with a look of mild concern on his face. He looks like he’s about to say something, but lets it go at the last minute.

“I hope when we get promoted, we all get it at the same time,” Taehyung says earnestly, looking around at the rest of your faces. “I just wanna stay with you guys forever. Park can go play Prince Eric for all I care, honestly.”

Yoongi finishes his coffee, discarding the cup into one of the trash bins. “Can’t say he doesn’t deserve it though.”

With a resigned sigh, because the older man is right, you go about getting ready for your shift. Something tells you that today is going to be harder than it usually is.

You go through the motions of your job like you do every single day, stooping inside your little garbage can, twirling little children around, taking pictures and trying your best to be in character. It’s just the start of your third shift for the day, when something out of the ordinary happens.

You first catch wind of it through the children’s excited chatters.

“Pwincess Ariel is coming!” A little girl with a lisp says, pulling at the arm of her sister next you. “Huwwy up, we gotta go see her! Leave Mister Oscar alone!’

Her sister all but shoves you away in her excitement, causing you to nearly topple over in the heavy character suit, but luckily Joy is there to support you. All the children around you suddenly scatter, screaming and crying as they tumble toward the other end of the street.

“It’s Ariel! And Pwince Eric!” The same girl yells, and your breathing slows to a stop.

What? Why would they come down to the Main Street? Princesses and Princes usually stay in their own zone, in their castles if they have one, unless it’s parade time, which it most definitely isn’t. In a matter of minutes, your side of Main Street is left deserted, you and Joy standing pathetically alone in the middle of the road as you watch all the kids surround the perfect royal couple.

Jimin is absolutely radiant in his white blazer and dark blue pants that fit him perfectly. He looks every bit like royalty with gold embellishments on his shoulders, gold buttons down the front, and a sash to accompany his top half, while his long legs are accentuated by his boots. His newly dyed black hair is parted down the middle, swept back off his forehead to expose his sweetly smiling eyes as he greets everyone around him.

He walks as if he is on a runway. The audience is captivated by him; he steals the show even from the beautiful Ariel herself. Girls are falling at his feet to take pictures with him, children are asking if he has a white horse with him, and parents are sighing with adoration over how perfect he and Ariel look as a couple. It’s like a Disney movie come to life.

Everyone coos in admiration as the handsome Prince Eric gets down on one knee to a tiny girl dressed in an Ariel costume, takes her hand and kisses the back of it. Then the real Princess Ariel sweeps in with her green dress and flowing, shiny red hair, on the other side of the little girl, and the three of them pose for a picture together.

You are awestruck at how realistic they look together. They look as if they’ve just stepped out of a live action Disney movie.

“God damn,” Joy says under her breath as Jimin offers his hand to Dahyun, and the two of them continue their mini parade down the street. “He really does look perfect.”

It’s as if Jimin was born to play Prince Eric.

The two of them are fast approaching you and the other Sesame Street characters. Cookie Monster spreads his arms wide in welcome, doing a little jig that has the children screaming with laughter. He pretends to ask Prince Eric if he has any cookies, and their mini impromptu skit delights the audience. Worse still, Jeongguk in the Cookie Monster costume fawns over Princess Ariel too, gesturing for them to hold hands as he pretends to act as their royal butler, doing a deep bow that nearly has him toppling over.

Your legs feel weak and you opt to crouch down in your trashcan, making Oscar the Grouch look even smaller and more pathetic, all alone on the Street.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need to have a rest?” Joy crouches down beside you in concern.

“…fine…” you mumble, but you can’t really be heard inside Oscar’s head. But then, it actually might be a good idea to escape back to the dressing room before Jimin and Dahyun make it down here. You turn to tell Joy that you want to go back, but then a little child approaches you out of nowhere.

“Mister Oscar?” A tiny, petulant voice calls, and you turn around to face it.

It’s a little boy with glasses, dressed in an Oscar T-shirt and with an Oscar headband. He looks shyly up at you, but even from inside Oscar’s head, you can see his eyes are filled with wonder and amazement.

“Can I have a picture please?” He asks politely, and Joy jumps to her feet.

“Of course! And would you like an autograph too? Where’s your book?” She helps the little boy with his book and pen, and glad for something else to focus on, you take the pen and open the book to the right page.

“Whats your name?” Joy asks, so that you can write it along with your autograph.

“Seokjin,” he pronounces clearly. “You’re my favourite Sesame Street character,” the boy says with a proud smile, pointing to his Oscar T-shirt. No matter how foul your mood is, that’s bound to melt your heart a little, and you express it through your actions, holding your hands to your heart for a second before spreading your arms for a giant hug.

As you feel the squirmy little body in your arms, you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Ah, how sweet!” It’s Prince Eric, and he looks on at the scene with his sweet smile. “Mister Oscar, thank you for keeping our streets so clean always!”

You release the child from your hug and look up at Jimin. His smile seems a little bigger than it was just now, and his eyes are trained on the exact spot where yours would be if you weren’t wearing the suit. For a moment, you wonder if he knows that it’s you inside the suit.

“Mister Oscar is smelly!” A child yells out from somewhere, and a dozen giggles follow. “He loves trash!”

Ouch. As much as it’s true, children can be rather thoughtless with their comments sometimes. You struggle to stay in character even as your character head droops a little, retreating into your trash can.

There is an awkward silence from the crowd, and even Dayhun’s smile is frozen, at a loss for words, and there’s even a look of pity in her eyes. You can feel Seokjin beside you grasp your hand a little tighter in defensiveness as he puffs his chest out.

But before he can say anything, Prince Eric frowns, turning to face the general direction of the child who had insulted you. “That isn’t very nice, is it?” He reprimands the child gently, and the crowd quiets down. “Mister Oscar has feelings too, and how do you think he might feel if you say that?”

The girl who had called you smelly looks guilty as Jimin admonishes her. “Sowwy, Prince Eric and sowwy, Mister Oscar.”

Prince Eric’s radiant smile is back on his face as he pets her head once. “That’s better. Now, you have a great day and enjoy yourselves in the Magical Kingdom. Have a great day, Mister Oscar!”

You pretend to bow as the royal couple take their leave.

“I don’t get it,” you say in a fit of anger as you sponge the sweat off your neck. “Why would he- they- come all the way down to Main Street?”

“Forget about it,” Joy soothes as she digs out a tube of original flavoured Pringles from her bag and offers it to you. “Shall we have soju or beer today? And chicken? It’s my treat.”

You take the tube from her and open it, shoving a stack of chips into your mouth, feeling better once you taste the salt. You’re no stranger to getting insulted by children, but somehow today stings more than usual. “I bet Ariel doesn’t get any children telling her she’s trash.”

Joy sighs, but doesn’t say anything.

You gather up your things to leave, pulling your hair back in a drooping ponytail. “Rain check? I’m not really feeling it today.”

“Sure,” Joy agrees, watching you pack your things, not even bothering to hide the tube of Pringles somewhere Jeongguk can’t find it. “Call me when you get back!”

The trek to the train station is longer than usual, lonelier without Joy to accompany you, but it’s better for you to be alone with your thoughts anyway.

You’re no stranger to fielding slightly abusive and insulting comments from children. Usually, you’re able to just brush it off because you tell yourself that children don’t really mean what they say. But the past incident has taken a toll on your psyche, and you can feel yourself dragging your feet to work.

On top of the next month’s schedule, you get another email from management asking you to drop by their office before your next shift.

Jeongguk catches you on the way to the management’s office, in the midst of finishing a Dole Whip from the cafeteria. The sight of it reminds you of Jimin and his promise to make up that missed lunch date.

“Here to see management?” Jeongguk asks, following you inside and offering you a spoon of the sweet yellow dessert. You open your mouth grudgingly, and the taste is not bad as it melts on your tongue. It does calm your nerves a little, though.

“Let’s hope it’s nothing bad,” you mumble under your breath.

Knocking on the door, you enter the corporate office, which looks very ordinary. No such trace of the Disney magic here. The receptionist directs you to the head of Character Management.

The head of Character Management is a stern looking lady with her hair pulled back into a bun. Kim Sejeong bids you and Jeongguk to sit down, lacing her fingers together.

“I’ve called the both of you in for some very good news today,” she begins, a hint of a smile on her otherwise serious face. “A career advancement. The two of you are being promoted to face characters.”

Your heart leaps in your chest, and Jeongguk can’t help but grin.

A lucky break. This is what you’ve been waiting for all this time. You can barely contain your excitement as your mind starts to race. Who could it be? Dare you even hope that you might be playing a Disney Princess? You’d be thankful even if it was one of the lesser known princesses. Mulan? Alice in Wonderland?

“First of all, Jeongguk.” She turns her gaze towards the boy with the bunny grin beside you. “You’ll be playing Gaston from now onwards.”

You nearly snort in laughter. Vain, idiotic, attention seeking Gaston who can’t read nor spell his name? It’s a perfect fit for Jeongguk. You can already see him in your mind’s eye, flaunting his muscles and bickering non-stop with the Beast.

Just as long as you don’t have to play Belle.

“And you, Ms _______,” she turns her gaze to you next. Your heart completely stops in your chest, trying to anticipate what’s coming next.

Maybe you’ll finally get a likeable character. Someone like Cinderella, and then kids won’t say mean things to you anymore.

“You’re going to play The Evil Queen, Snow White’s stepmother.”

“Oh my god!” Joy can barely contain herself when she hears the news. “I’m so happy for you! Finally, you got a face character!!”

Somehow, you don’t really share her excitement. It’s one of your last few times playing a fur character, and you can’t say you’ll miss it. Jeongguk was the first to break the news to everyone the moment he got back to the dressing room. As one of the first few to be promoted to a face character, it is definitely liberating, but a part of you is unsure of the uncertainty that lies ahead.

“At least you can attend the character crash course together,” Taehyung says gloomily at the prospect of losing his best friend.

“She’s lucky to be accompanied by my dashingly handsome self,” Jeongguk pretends to flex a bicep, already getting into the role of Gaston. It doesn’t seem like he’ll need much training to assimilate.

“It’s the Evil Queen,” you say quietly to Joy. “Who likes her? It’s even worse than Oscar the Grouch.”

Everyone knows that the fur characters occupy the bottom of the hierarchy. But what they don’t acknowledge is that the villains are barely a rung higher than them. It’s even worse now that you won’t have the character costume to hide behind. You’re going to have to step up your acting skills, and actually talk to and interact with guests who might be snarky and even meaner to you now.

“C’mon, it’ll be great for your resume. I can already see it. You’re gonna ace it, then you’ll snag the audition for Maleficient,” Joy is already thinking ahead. “And the role is practically perfect for you! Honestly, I was a little worried because I didn’t see you as the type to go around cooing at little children and hugging them and everything. This suits you way better.”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment,” you shoot back at her.

Joy only sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“We have a bigger problem,” Taehyung interrupts as Jeongguk continues to flex at himself in the mirror. “Who’s gonna take your places? It’ll be like breaking up the Fabulous Five. We won’t even see each other anymore. You’ll be using the huuuge dressing rooms. We’ll become like strangers!”

You sigh at Taehyung’s overreaction. “That won’t happen, Tae. Even if Jeongguk and I graduate from fur characters, it doesn’t mean we won’t hang out anymore. We’ll still come back here after shifts and all. I mean, this is the only dressing room that has a TV!”

“I guess…” Taehyung doesn’t seem convinced. “You’ll still come and visit though right?” He pokes Jeongguk in the ribs, causing the younger boy to flinch in the midst of practicing one of his Gaston poses.

“Of course he will, the bigger dressing rooms don’t have nearly as good a snack selection as we do,” Yoongi says off-handedly from his position stretched out across the couch. “And Jeongguk’s got all his weights stacked in the corner there. It’ll take him ages to move it over.”

As much as Yoongi seems to be aloof most of the time, the eldest crew member actually does seem to have a heart at times. His words do the job of reassuring Taehyung well enough, and the subject is left alone as everyone starts to get ready for their shifts.

“Hey, you on for the all-nighter today?” Jeongguk nudges you with his arm as you slip past him to put away your bag. “We gotta watch Beauty and the Beast and Snow White at least three times each before we start character training.”

“Who said I wanted to watch it with you?” You turn your nose up at him.

“Together? Ew,” Jeongguk expresses his dissatisfaction in a similar manner, scrunching up his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that, you idiot! It’s just, I know for a fact you’re too poor to afford a TV at home, and we happen to have both films on hand here…”

Jeongguk pauses for a moment as he looks at Taehyung, Yoongi and Joy, all of whom are currently absorbed in a discussion of whether the turkey leg tastes better with or without mustard.

“… unless you guys wanted to watch it too?” He has to raise his voice to be heard over Taehyung’s valiant defense of ketchup.

“No thanks, I hate fairytales,” Yoongi grumbles, waving the offer away. You all know Yoongi only came on board because he’d been offered the chance to play Darth Vader, but at the last minute got scammed into Sesame Street.

“Why would we wanna be holed up in here watching the same movie over and over when we could be getting fried chicken?” Joy grins unapologetically, and Taehyung chimes in.

“With extra ketchup!”

“Alright, fine!” You toss one of Jeongguk’s white shirts at him. “I guess it’s just us.”

“… I brought snacks,” he holds up a bag of Pringles with a mischievous smile.

And you’re sold.

“Did you actually shower?” Your eyes widen in disbelief as Jeongguk returns to the dressing room after both your shifts have ended, hair wet and dressed in fresh clothes.

“I’m not a slob, you know,” he grumbles as he makes a futile attempt to dry his hair one last time. “I got us some food from the cafeteria on the way back. They had orange chicken from Nine Dragons.”

“Really? That’s different,” you sit up in interest. “Oh my god. Are those pork belly buns too?”

“How’d you know? You never go down to the cafeteria anyway,” Jeongguk opens up another box containing shrimp fried rice, and the whole room smells so good.

“I don’t like navigating that political jungle,” you say with a mouth full of delicious, savoury pork. “You ready? I’m gonna start Snow White first.”

Jeongguk begins to devour the food as the two of you settle in to watch the movie. You have a pen and pad by your side to take down some notes on the Evil Queen’s character, how she interacts with the other characters, and some of her more iconic lines.

She’s overall a very snarky and witty character, and the more you watch, the more you think you might enjoy playing her after all. Her personality is not unlike your own, and some of the things she says are straight up savage.

“Oh! You should definitely call people peasants,” Jeongguk chimes in, a fistful of chips in the air.

“You think? Wouldn’t that be too much?” You are doubtful, but you write it down anyway, figuring you could always run it past the trainer during the sessions.

“Please. You’re a Queen. Everyone else simply must bow,” Jeongguk does a horrible impression of a British accent, which sends you giggling so hard that you nearly drop your plate.

“Maybe I’ll even come by as Gaston and steal all the attention from you. How’s that?” Jeongguk grins cheekily, and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, as if your ugly face could ever.”

The two of you are laughing so hard that you don’t hear the knock at the door until it creaks open.

“Um… hi?” A familiar, honeyed voice makes you turn around.

It’s Park Jimin, the last person you expected to see. You’re suddenly aware of how this must look, of how you must look, dressed down in your sweats and junk food all over the place.

“Jimin! What are you doing here?” You attempt to straighten your shirt and sit up straight, pausing the movie.

“I know it’s late, but I hoped you’d still be here, so I decided to come and check,” he says shyly, averting his gaze to the floor. “I thought you’d be leaving soon… and maybe we could leave together.”

“We’re in the middle of a movie,” Jeongguk states the obvious, and you slap his wrist to get him to shut up, but he ignores you. “It’s for our character training.”

Realisation dawns across Jimin’s face. “Oh- oh! That’s right! I heard the good news. You’re being promoted to a face character! Congrats, that’s so great. I know you’ll do so well.”

Is he saying that to compliment your acting skills, or is he maybe insinuating that someone like you has the personality akin to an Evil Queen? Knowing pure, sweet Jimin, it’s probably the former, but your traitorous mind can’t help but doubt it.

“Um… thanks,” you smile hesitantly back at him. “I… I saw you as Prince Eric. You were… you were great.”

He blushes cutely, and you can feel Jeongguk rolling his eyes beside you.

“Well, um… glad to have you as a face character too. Maybe we’ll see each other more often. I think our zones are pretty close to each other,” Jimin ruffles his jet-black hair once, bringing your attention to the metal rings on his fingers. “So… see you around!”

“Wait!” You spring up from the couch, making it to the door before he can disappear fully. “I’ll um… I’ll walk you out.”

After not seeing him for more than a month, you can’t let him slip away that easily. Especially not when he looks this good, dressed down in a black shirt and black ripped jeans.

“If you need help with getting used to face characters, I could give you some pointers,” Jimin grins as you start to walk alongside him. “Or if you need help coming up with ‘outs’.”

“’Outs’? What are those?” You’re unfamiliar with the term.

“It’s when someone asks you to do something you’re not allowed to, like accepting food, or even hugs, if you don’t want to,” Jimin explains. “Or if they ask weird questions you don’t know how to answer. Usually it involves weaving in your character’s backstory to make it more believable.”

“Oh wow. I had no idea being a face character would be so difficult,” you can’t help but start to worry about how different it is from what you’re used to.

“It’s not that hard. This girl asked if she could marry me, right in front of Princess Ariel!” Jimin giggles. “Dahyun wasn’t very pleased.”

You go quiet at the mention of her, and the easy, joking atmosphere between the both of you fades. The park is dark and quiet, all the shops are shuttered, and in general, it is a much gloomier and more eerie place than you’re used to.

“Anyway, I think you’ll do a good job.” Jimin has a way with words that always seems to reassure you.

You come to the entrance of the train station, and you stand awkwardly as Jimin looks for his train pass.

“I’ll see you around?” You offer hopefully.

“Of course!” Jimin grins, turning to tap his pass. But then he hesitates. “Hey, um… maybe we should exchange numbers. In case… in case you need help with the training or something.”

“Y-yeah, that’s a great idea,” you fumble for your phone and present it to him, noting how cute his fingers look as he types in his number, giving himself a missed call so he’ll have your number too before he gives it back to you. You notice that he’s named himself in your contacts with a cute little chick emoji.

“I should be getting back now,” you have to stop yourself from fawning over how cute he is.

“Oh yeah! Shouldn’t keep… uh… Jeongguk from waiting too long,” Jimin scratches the back of his neck. “It’s kinda dark, will you be okay walking back alone?”

“I’ll be fine, I do it all the time,” you wave his concern away.

“You should text me when you get back,” Jimin says over his shoulder as he taps his train pass, then crosses the gantry. It’s only then that you realise that he might think you and Jeongguk are something more than friends, judging from the way he said his name.

“Jeongguk! He’s just…” You blurt out, causing Jimin to turn around, a few steps into the train station with a slightly confused look on his face.

Your cheeks are burning as your voice trails off. “He’s um… just a friend.” You finish lamely.

“Oh.”

Maybe it’s a little hard to tell in the dark, but you could have sworn you saw the smile on his face get a little brighter.

You can do this. This is only a tiny step of a multitude of challenges to come.

Knocking timidly on the door, you let yourself into the unfamiliar dressing room, Jeongguk close behind you.

“What if they eat us alive?” Jeongguk stage whispers into your ear.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you elbow him in the ribs in irritation as you attempt to swallow back your intimidation, walking to the dressing room with what you hope is a confident stride. “The worst they can do is stare us down.”

It must be at least three times the size of your old dressing room. There are two rows of dressing tables and chairs on their side, with brightly lit mirrors and bottles of makeup gathered neatly on the tables. At the back are two private changing rooms, one male and one female.

A few of the dressing tables are already occupied, and you don’t recognize most of the crew members currently here. But by the looks of their costumes, you gather that they play Princess Jasmine, Cinderella, and Aladdin respectively.

Walking cautiously to one of the dressing tables in the back, you set your bag down, realizing that there are private lockers stowed beneath the dressing tables themselves. You’ve never had this much space for your stuff before, even a dedicated hanger beside the mirror for you to hang your costume.

Jeongguk sets up shop beside you. “This is weird. It’s like there’s too much space.”

“Where’s Taehyung’s junk when you need it?” You attempt to make a joke to ease your own nervousness, even as you pull up a picture of the Evil Queen herself and start working on your makeup the way the character trainers had taught you to.

Being your first time playing her, you want to get everything right, so you make sure to come more than an hour before your shift is due to start. As the next half an hour passes, more and more crew members start to fill up the dressing room, but they keep mostly to themselves, and leave you and Jeongguk alone at the back.

Dark purple eyeshadow, dramatic brows, and red lipstick. You had been practicing this by yourself at home all weekend, so it goes pretty smoothly. To finish, you layer on the blush to complete the look. Now all you have to do is get into your costume in the private changing room.

A purple ankle length dress with sleeves, and a dramatic black cape with a high white collar to match. You have to tie back your hair so that you can secure the headpiece of the costume and affix the golden crown on the top of your head. When you look in the mirror, you don’t even recognize yourself.

You look tall. Intimidating. The thick layer of makeup has completely transformed all your features. You look like the witch from the nightmares you had as a five-year old. You try an experimental swish of your cape, and the resulting action makes you feel powerful.

There is a knock on the changing room door.

“Hello? Are you done in there? We still have to get changed.”

You open the door to see Dahyun’s slightly annoyed face morph into a semblance of a smile as she takes in your appearance. “Wow… um, ________. You look… um… great.”

The girls behind her giggle, and you know it is far from a compliment she’s paying you.

And maybe it’s because going through the ritual of transformation into someone else has truly changed you, because you can almost feel the Evil Queen’s aura that prevents you from doing something you usually would, like lowering your head or scurrying away in shame.

“I know,” you say, and you walk away in a swish of velvet fabric and shocked stares trailing after you.

It’s a hot afternoon as usual, but nothing you can’t handle. After being stuck in a stuffy little costume, getting to feel the slight breeze on your cheeks as a face character feels like heaven.

You hang out by the Wishing Well, practicing your cape swirls and finding that you enjoy it a lot more than you’d thought. It’s a quiet start to your first time playing the Evil Queen, and you try not to let the nerves get to you. Most of the visitors just walk by you and smile awkwardly without doing anything.

Your first customer is a child wearing the trademark Mickey Mouse ears. She approaches you timidly, holding out a red apple to you. The Evil Queen never smiles, so you glance down at the child, clasping a hand to your chest as your eyes widen in approval.

“Why hello there child, is that apple for me?”

The child nods so hard that their Mickey Ears nearly fall off, and you have to admit, they are kind of cute.

“Are you absolutely sure? Well then, thank you very much, I must say you have great taste. Even if you do like to wear rat ears on your head…” You take the apple gently from the child and raise it high in the air. “Behold! The most gorgeous apple in the kingdom, only suitable for the fairest queen in the land of course!”

You glance down at the child again, who seems to be more than excited that you accepted their gift. “Would you like a picture child? Alright then, where is your caretaker?”

The child grasps a fistful of your cloak in their hands as she points to her parents, waving a camera, and you pose for the picture, arms folded regally and eyebrows raised. When you see that the child kind of just freezes up for the camera, you take it upon yourself to bend down so that you are eye level with her, gently helping her to fold her arms and copy your facial expression.

You can feel her parent’s laughs of delight when they finally take your picture again, the child a carbon copy of your regal and intimidating self. When they come to collect their child, they flash you a grateful smile, and that tiny bit of affirmation is all you need.

After the ice has been broken, you feel much more at ease with the crowd. A few more people approach you for pictures, and you manage to maintain a friendly bicker with them while still staying in character. You ask for compliments, admiring yourself in their front view cameras, dissing Snow White when they bring her up, and when they leave, they bring a new crowd in along with them, all of whom are entertained by how self-absorbed and vain you are.

“Queen, queen! Oh, my queen,” a teenage girl raises her hand. “Who do you think is better looking, you or Gaston?”

“Gaston!?” You gasp in horror dramatically. “That terrible excuse for a man? You must be joking.”

“But I asked him, and he said he thinks he’s the most handsome!”

You wave them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh please. Have you seen that pathetic little stallion tail he has for hair?”

“I heard someone was talking about me?” A loud, blasting voice sounds from behind you, and you turn to see Jeon Jeongguk dressed up as Gaston approaching, hands on his hips.

His costume consists of a large amount of shoulder and chest padding, and his red tunic is stretched tight across his naturally huge thighs. You have to say, he does have the body to play Gaston, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look ridiculous. You almost want to burst out in laughter, but somehow you manage to keep it in.

“Only about how ugly you are,” you say with a wave of your cape.

“Ugly?” Jeongguk is affronted. “That is a word I’ve never heard in my life.”

“With how small your vocabulary is, I’m not surprised,” you examine your flawless nails, and smirk in satisfaction when a few people around you clap in delight at your comeback.

“Look at all these people here to see me!” Jeongguk goes on as if he never heard you, spreading his arms to flex his biceps to welcome the cheers of the crowd. More and more people are now gathering around the two of you. “They must be amazed by how handsome I am.”

“They are here to see me,” you clarify. “That is, before you barged in so uncouthly. Don’t you have better things to do? Like groom that monstrosity of a dog in your backyard?”

“Did she just refer to the Beast as a dog?” Hushed whispers and giggles come from around you, and you don’t have to do much to hide your smirk.

“They’re admiring the size of my muscles, of course!” He strikes a pose down on one knee, flexing one bicep, and some of the girls actually swoon at his good looks. A part of you secretly thinks that he ignored the second part of your insult because he doesn’t know how to respond to it in an appropriate PG manner. Instead, he focuses on making sure everyone around him can see him flexing his biceps.

You can tell that he is enjoying every bit of the attention he gets, as some of the crowd ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s at his show, and the competitive spirit inside you gets ignited.

“A true Queen does not need to compliment herself, for she has her servants to do it for her,” you gesture at the crowd impatiently. “Well? Compliment me!”

“The fairest in all the land!”

“Snow White is ugly!”

“My Queen, you are so beautiful!”

With every compliment, you nod in approval, and it’s clear the crowd is having a great time. Some of them are even recording your impromptu little skit with Gaston.

It’s the most fun you’ve had playing a character since you started working here. For once, you can kind of let go and be yourself without worrying if you’ll be good enough.

Jeongguk gathers his little fanclub that has formed around him. “Come on, let’s go tell Belle how handsome I am.” He struts off, one arm around a girl each as they follow him back to his zone giddily.

“Ugh, good riddance,” you sigh and continue to admire yourself in a mirror someone gives you. “I dislike him almost as much as Snow White.”

Some of the crowd actually looks a bit upset when Gaston leaves, and you observe with slight surprise that they really enjoyed this impromptu skit between you. You make a mental note to yourself to talk about this with Jeongguk after your shift, to see how the both of you can arrange more regular visits for him in the future. The fact that both of your characters aren’t even in the same story means you have even more freedom to come up with their interactions.

The afternoon passes quickly, and you feel more settled into your role, even starting to have fun once you realise that you can pretty much just make up your lines on the spot. It’s even more enjoyable once you realise that playing a villain is essentially getting paid to insult visitors.

You’re just about to get ready to end your shift when you spot a large crowd approaching your area. At the very front, you spot Dahyun as Ariel, striking with her red wig and flowing green dress, and slightly behind her is-

Your throat closes up as you see Jimin in his prince costume again, the navy blue of his blazer making his white ruffled dress shirt stand out even more. His black hair is side parted, his eyes are smiling as he trails after his partner. It’s been a while since you last saw him in character, but he never fails to take your breath away.

When Dahyun spots you at the Wishing Well, you can almost swear that she slows down, turning behind her to reach out a hand to Jimin. At first the prince doesn’t notice her outstretched hand, as he leans to take a selfie with a visitor, but once he catches sight of it, he takes her hand without a second thought, tucking it into the crook of his arm in one smooth, natural motion.

You school your features into a look of disdain, but you don’t even have to pretend to begin with.

Making sure that they are within ear shot, you swish your cape in disinterest. “Does anyone smell anything fishy? Oh. It’s that fish-girl.”

You swear you can actually see the look of shock cross her pretty features, and she opens her mouth, but no words come out.

“Gaping like a fish too,” you say with a wave of your hand, and the visitors around you gasp at your savage comment. “Begone, trespasser, shouldn’t you be in an aquarium somewhere?”

Some of the visitors near you are laughing and even taking videos of you, and they are just loving the savagery that you dish out. Their impressed murmurs only serve to boost your confidence, especially when you see Dahyun’s reaction.

She only attempts to smile prettily at the crowd, unable to come up with a witty comeback, but you can see her grin is forced and doesn’t reach her eyes.

You haven’t dared to look straight at Jimin yet, but your eyes land on their joined hands instead. Clasping a hand to your chest in disgust, you roll your eyes. “Ugh, they’re holding hands. Someone please remove them from my presence.”

And then, even as you’re trying your very best not to look at the one person who has undoubtedly captured all your attention, your eyes can’t help but be drawn to the way his eyes widen when he sees you.

Suddenly a bead of insecurity creeps up in your chest. Surely he must think you look revolting like this. That’s what everyone thinks when they see a Disney villain. You are, quite literally, playing the villain in the love story between him and Dahyun. You might not be from the same fairytale, but the idea is there.

She’s the princess, he’s the prince.

And you’re the villain.

The two of them approach your Wishing Well at a steady pace, Jimin’s pretty eyes have now thankfully returned to their normal size as he runs his hand through his silky black hair, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. He doesn’t even spare you a single glance, and it stings.

You can imagine your face is a really bright shade of purple, if your emotions are anything to judge by.

“Ma-madam,” a whimpering child approaches hesitantly at your feet, and you nearly startle. You didn’t see them approach, all your attention being focused on the prince and his princess.

“Yes, child, what is it,” your voice coming out a little more huffy than you wanted it to. But still, no one around you sees this as out of character, and you suddenly remember who you’re supposed to be playing.

You’re allowed to be a little mean.

“Are you… are you a witch?” The child’s large, inquisitive eyes gaze up at you, and you stare back at her with your chin lifted high.

Jimin and Dahyun are within earshot now. You can feel as if the crowd is holding its breath expectantly, waiting for your answer.

“A witch?” Your voice rises, scandalized. You do a graceful swish of your cape as you spin around, arms spread dramatically. “How can a witch be this beautiful, child?”

It’s a lie. All of it is a lie, because you don’t feel the least bit beautiful. Especially not in this getup, especially not in front of Dahyun with her porcelain skin and fiery red hair that compliments it so well.

But the crowd eats it up with cheers and laughter, clapping and chanting your character’s name. All the attention is now on you, and the prince and his princess are left to pass by quietly.

Maybe your acting skills have improved, but you’re pretty sure that you’re the only one in the whole crowd who didn’t buy that act one bit.

“You’re viral!!! Oh my god. Have you SEEN this?” You’re attacked by some kind of rabid animal the moment you step into the fur character’s changing room.

It turns out to be only Joy, who seems beside herself with excitement. She’s currently still in her Oscar costume with the head off, that’s why you mistook her for a rabid animal in the first place. The fur of her costume nearly suffocates you as she’s all up in your face.

It’s late, you’ve just finished your last shift and all you want to do is collapse on the couch for a few minutes before you have to muster up the energy for the train ride home. Today took more out of you than you realized.

“You’re viral,” Taehyung grunts from a corner, attempting a few sets with Jeongguk’s weights that are clearly too heavy for him. “She’s been saying that over and over for the past few hours.”

“What are you talking about?” You say wearily, trying to focus on the phone that Joy is waving around in your face before you just grab it from her in your impatience.

It’s a Youtube video titled “EVIL QUEEN PUTS GASTON IN HIS PLACE” and it was just uploaded only a few hours ago. But it already has a million views and counting.

Slightly more awake now, you start to focus on the short three-minute video. It was just taken today, and you hear yourself insulting Gaston for a bit, before actually bickering with him when he shows up. The camera work is shaky, clearly taken by someone in the audience.

“Did you read the comments yet?” Joy says breathlessly as she peeks over your shoulder. “Read them. They’re gold.”

You start to scroll down to the comment section, your heart racing as you read them.

disneylover012: Oh my god. The Evil Queen is the best. She’s so savage!!

walkingonsunshine: Imagine getting paid to be mean to visitors. I LOVE HER

starwarsfan48: We need more of this. MORE

chipndale29: I’m gonna go to Disney tomorrow just to see her!!!!

sunnyreds: she and Gaston are actually kinda cute together… arguing like a married couple. They should totally date!! (4 replies)

potatocakes: imagine if they ACTUALLY WERE DATING IRL

luckycat7: THAT’S SOOOO CUTE OMG I TOTALLY SHIP THEM

chimchim013: why’s everyone saying they should date??? They’re probably just friends in real life…

nochu019: @chimchim013 lol don’t hate him just cuz u ain’t him… I ship them too

“Oh my God, they ship you and Gaston,” Joy is falling over herself with laughter, and you put aside the phone for a moment to help her get out of her costume, seeing the threat that she poses to anyone in her near vicinity.

“Who ships us?” Jeongguk arrives with his hair wet and shirt clinging to his body. He dumps his bag at the door and plops himself onto the couch.

You feel a little weird after reading that comment. Joy is safely out of her costume by now, and you hand her back the phone. “Nothing. Just some random people on Youtube.”

“They aren’t just some random people,” Joy admonishes. That’s the top liked comment, and that video has a million views now. And counting. _______, you’re famous!!!!!! The star of our little park!!!!!”

“Not forgetting who else starred in that video, are we,” Jeongguk raises an eyebrow, popping open the lid of a Pringles can. “I was, after all, your co-star.”

“Oh shut up, you were totally getting owned- hey wait. We didn’t even show you the video yet. Why do you seem like you already know which video that is?” You narrow your eyes in suspicion, turning to look at Jeongguk.

Jeongguk turns red immediately, stuffing his face with more of your chips. “Mmf- happened to see it…”

There’s a loud clank in the corner as Taehyung gives up on working out. He massages his biceps as he paces around the room, eyes bright with excitement. “This is huge. Bigger than we could have ever imagined!!!” He grabs you by the shoulders. “________, you might even win Employee of the Month if you keep this up! The crowd loves you!”

“Oh please,” you wave away their optimism with a hand. “It was only one video.”

“It’s not just one video,” Joy corrects you as she scrolls furiously on her phone. “This account also uploaded another one. This time it’s called…”

Joy gets cut off with a snort of laughter. “Oh my god, you bad bitch.”

The door opens, and Yoongi walks in, hair in a mess and eyes half-open. “Who’s a bad bitch?”

“_________!” Joy squeals. “You fucking called Ariel a fish.”

“No way,” Taehyung grabs the phone to see for himself.

EVIL QUEEN DISSES PRINCESS ARIEL, CALLS HER A FISH

“…Oh. It’s that fish girl.” You hear your voice blasted loudly, and then the rest of the video is drowned out by boisterous laughter, cheers and screaming.

It’s chaos. Taehyung is running around the room. Joy is jumping up and down, replaying the video over and over. Jeongguk is rolling with laughter on the couch and falls off, knocking his knee on the table. Yoongi, true to his quiet self, only smirks at you with a look that resembles admiration, a tall order for the man of few words.

“Not bad. Guess you are serious about getting your man.”

“Wh-what?” Oh my god, guys shut up for a fucking second,” you say to your friends, but they aren’t having it. They are completely beside themselves with mirth, and a part of you can’t help but smile either. The animosity between fur and face characters has been an ongoing war ever since you joined. A video like this going viral just feels like a score for you and zilch for them.

“I thought we’d lost you and Jeongguk over to the Dark Side when you got promoted to face characters,” Taehyung says, still half doubled over from the exertion, face red. “But now it’s totally us against them. You’re a double agent!”

“She’s a fucking champ is what she is,” Jeongguk says with a look of pride on his face. “Insulting them while keeping character. I don’t know how she does that.”

You don’t really have much to say as you watch your friends replay the video over and over, but there is a warmth in your chest as they celebrate and dance. A warmth that completely erases the feelings of insecurity still lingering after seeing how beautiful Dahyun was today. The validation from your friends is just what you needed to chase those doubts away, and you plop yourself down on the couch, snuggling closer to Jeongguk as you settle in to watch the rest of the videos uploaded by that account.

Yoongi only partially grumbles about all of you squeezing onto one couch, but even you can see the tiny, proud gummy smile on his face as he watches from his standing position behind you all.

There may be shitty moments in this job. But moments like this make it all worth it, and you tell yourself to hold on to it no matter what.

Jimin collapses into a chair in the dressing room. To be honest, he prefers the fur character’s dressing room to this one. Always cosy, with that soft couch perfect for taking a nap in between shifts. And the main plus point: the people. Ever since he got promoted to a face character he felt weird going back there, but it seems like you and Jeongguk still treat it as your dressing room. He hardly ever sees you in here, even when your shifts match.

A bigger dressing room also means more people, and more strangers. It’s noisy, impossible to relax for a moment in between shifts. So he pulls out his earphones and plugs it into his phone, opening Youtube and idly browsing his homefeed.

He comes across an interesting video that catches his eye immediately.

EVIL QUEEN PUTS GASTON IN HIS PLACE

That’s you in the thumbnail. He’d know your face anywhere. Jimin clicks on it, and the video begins to play. You and Gaston are bickering away, back and forth with an undeniable chemistry, and Jimin feels a lump growing in his throat.

It’s partially overshadowed by the pride when he notices that it’s gone viral, over two million views now, and he grins happily. Watches the way you throw yourself into your acting, how confident you look making up your lines impromptu.

His mistake is when he decided to scroll through the comments.

sunnyreds: she and Gaston are actually kinda cute together… arguing like a married couple. They should totally date!! (2 replies)

potatocakes: imagine if they ACTUALLY WERE DATING IRL

luckycat7: THAT’S SOOOO CUTE OMG I TOTALLY SHIP THEM

He frowns. You and Jeongguk? Hm. Not if he has anything to say about it.

He types furiously on his phone and presses submit before he has a chance to think twice about it. Satisfied with his reply, he continues watching to the end of the video, but not before another ping interrupts him.

It’s a notification that someone has replied to his comment. He opens it and scrunches his brow in disapproval.

sunnyreds: she and Gaston are actually kinda cute together… arguing like a married couple. They should totally date!! (4 replies)

potatocakes: imagine if they ACTUALLY WERE DATING IRL

luckycat7: THAT’S SOOOO CUTE OMG I TOTALLY SHIP THEM

chimchim013: why’s everyone saying they should date??? They’re probably just friends in real life…

nochu019: @chimchim013 lol don’t hate him just cuz u ain’t him… I ship them too

He starts typing furiously again but can’t come up with anything intelligent to say. Finally, he deletes everything and clicks on the offending user’s screenname to check out his channel.

It’s primarily focused on gaming and streaming, although their latest video does look like it was taken in Disneyland itself. Jimin sees a familiar silhouette in the corner of the video’s thumbnail and clicks on the video to get a better view, though the figure is never clearly outlined.

Frustrated he scrolls through the rest of the channel’s videos, but it’s all lame gaming streams.

It’s probably just a loser gaming nerd, Jimin tells himself as he returns to the viral video of the Evil Queen. Nothing to get worked up over.

He’s interrupted by the timer on his phone signalling his next shift, and he sighs, tossing it away and starting to get ready.

The view count only goes up and up. Throughout the weeks that follow, more of your fan accounts pop up, uploading numerous videos of you sparring with Gaston, entertaining the crowd solo, insulting and bickering with guests. The list goes on, and your fanbase grows bigger.

Now you have a sizeable crowd at the Wishing Well every time your shift comes on. It energizes you, gives you the motivation to act better, think of wittier lines. The recognition that you’re getting every day makes you shine even brighter, giving you the hope to aspire towards your eventual big-picture dream of Broadway.

“It’s totally possible,” Joy gushes as she takes off her makeup at the end of the day.

You’re sitting on the couch in the small living area, face already scrubbed clean of all your makeup. You tear into a face mask and carefully align it on your face. With the extra makeup that comes with playing a face character, you also run the risk of breaking out more, and blemishes are even harder to cover. So you put more effort into your skincare routine to make sure that your skin is as flawless as can be.

“With all this fame you have, you could totally have an edge at auditioning for Broadway,” Joy continues on.

“Maybe…” you say, closing your eyes and tipping your head back for a moment of relaxation. “No one knows it’s me playing the Evil Queen. They can’t find out my name, or Disney will fire me. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, you could send it in as a highlight reel or an audition tape,” Joy answers. “Those are kept private anyway, so the public won’t find out. Win-win.”

You roll over to face her. “You think that’ll work?”

Her response is interrupted by a polite knock at the door of the small dressing room. You both know that none of you ever knock before entering, so whoever is outside must be a visitor.

“I’ll get it,” you say, walking toward the door and opening it.

“Um, hi.” It’s Park Jimin again, hands awkwardly in his pockets and looking freshly showered in a black shirt and ripped jeans. His favourite combo. “I thought I might find you here.”

You hastily rip off your face mask, cheeks turning red at your disheveled appearance compare to his flawless one. “Hey! Um, yeah haha guess I’m pretty predictable!”

You almost cringe at your awkwardness. Jimin only smiles gently, eyes looking past you into the room.

“Are you busy?”

“Um… no! Not really. Just relaxing after my shift, Joy’s here too, you know her, right?”

Jimin acknowledges her with a nod. “Actually, I kind of ran into senior management just now, and they asked me if you were still in the park. I think they want to see you and it seemed kind of urgent, so I came over to see if you were here.”

A slight tinge of disappointment makes itself known in your chest. So Jimin didn’t come here to look for you, he only came because senior management asked him to.

“They- they want to see me? I didn’t get any email from them though…” you pull out your phone and check it, only to realise it’s out of battery. “Oh. No wonder. Um… sure. I’ll go see them right now. Thanks for letting me know.”

You start to slip past him, but he catches your arm halfway.

“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind,” he says with a shy little smile, flipping his hair off his forehead with one hand.

“You sure? I don’t want to hold you up… you must be tired.” Both of you start to stroll toward the head offices.

Jimin smiles companionably, taking a deep breath of the crisp, cold air. “I’m okay. Not that tired. It’s a really fun job, and seeing the crowd gives me energy. So I always end the day with more energy than I started it with.”

You can kind of relate to what he’s referring to, and for the first time you realise how important it is to receive so much love and attention from your audience. “Yeah, totally. It’s like a two-way dialogue. You give the audience your all, and they give it back to you tenfold.”

“Exactly!” He grins at you with a little skip in his step. “You’ve been killing it lately. I heard you’re going super viral on Youtube. The first video of you and Gaston has, what- five million views?”

“Oh, yeah… it’s crazy. I have no idea how that happened,” you blush a little under his intense gaze, focusing on the path in front of you instead.

“I know how it happened, your acting skills are amazing,” Jimin says with a shrug, saying it as if it’s obvious. “Watching you makes me feel like you were born to act. When you’re acting, you just steal the spotlight even if there isn’t a stage. I think you should give yourself more credit.”

He turns to you with a sweet smile, eyes warm. It almost makes you stumble over a non-existent rock.

“Thankfully neither you nor the crowd are mind readers, because I was doubting myself like crazy that day,” you attempt to laugh it off, but your confession only makes Jimin even more curious, his hand brushing against yours. You ignore the hitch in your voice. “It was more like tiny little questions. ‘Like is this okay? Am I doing a good job? Was that too mean? Do they hate me?’ ”

“Wow- that’s… I couldn’t tell at all,” Jimin admits. “From the outside you just looked like you were born to be there. You looked so confident and comfortable in your own skin, and… it was attractive.”

Your heart skips multiple beats as you shakily bring yourself to make eye contact with him. Jimin is still looking at you, and the words are left unsaid between the two of you, but his gaze makes it loud and clear.

I was attracted to you.

You’re saved from a response as you approach the head office. Thinking he’d probably do the normal thing and leave now, you turn to say goodbye to him, but Jimin follows you into the office.

“I can stay a little. Don’t have anything after this anyway,” he says with an easy smile, and part of you is glad, because you’re nervous at the thought of meeting with senior management.

Though you’ll have to go in alone, the thought of Jimin waiting outside for you makes you a little less anxious.

“Good evening, _________,” the head of Character Management, Kim Sejeong greets you.

It’s strange to be meeting with management so often, the last time being when you got promoted. But this time, the rest of the management is also in the room, sitting on either side of a long table, looking important and intimidating.

“Hi- Good evening, I believe you wanted to see me?” Your voice comes out small, and you hate it.

“Yes, we have some very great news for you,” Kim Sejeong smiles tightly as she ushers you to a seat at the end of the table. “I’ll let our director of HR deliver it himself.”

His nameplate reads Jung Hoseok. He clears his throat, adjusting his tie as he smiles at you. “Congratulations, ________. You’ve been made employee of the month.”

There’s a stunned silence for a moment as you digest the news. Finally, you bring yourself to utter a response. “Um… I… wow, this is amazing, I had no idea… Thank you so much, Mr Jung.”

Jung Hoseok laces his fingers together, smiling again as he looks at the other members of the senior management. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we’ve definitely noticed how you are shining in your new assignment. We’ve taken note that you’ve gone viral, and we estimate that park visitation numbers have gone up by 5% ever since you were promoted. You’ve brought very good publicity for our park, and we think you deserve this title.”

“In fact, we decided to modify the title slightly, you’re now employee of the month for the next three months. Of course, we’ll be announcing your title in the official staff newsletter later this month, but we just thought you’d like to know in advance,” Sejeong interjects smoothly.

This has to be a dream. Some cruel nightmare where everything is ripped away from you at the very last second. There’s no way something this good can happen to you… is there?

“It’s not just a title,” Jung Hoseok corrects himself. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the Employee of the Month is also rewarded with a small voucher. But since this is Employee of the Month for the next three months, we thought the prize should be similarly inflated.”

You glance at Sejeong expectantly, not daring to get your hopes up. What could it be? Cash? A month off work? A bonus?

“Two pairs of VIP tickets to Disneyland, redeemable at any time with no expiry,” Jung Hoseok grins as if he thinks he’s awarding you the Nobel Peace Prize. “And, a free night’s stay at the Disneyland hotel, two rooms inclusive.”

You’ve never really been a fan of Disneyland and its hotels, but this is slightly ridiculous. The reward for doing well at work is… getting to spend more time at work? You supposed you can always sell the tickets or something… you just have to find a way to be discreet about it.

You realise that a longer than socially acceptable amount of time has passed in which you’ve just been staring at senior management, and you clear your throat, mentally slapping yourself out of your stupor.

“Thank you, Mr Jung. I truly… truly appreciate this, it’s such an honour,” you force the words out alone with a stiff smile on your face.

Jung Hoseok seems satisfied with your gratitude. “Thank you, Ms______. Please keep up the good work. Well, that’s all we have for you today, unless there’s anything on your side, Sejeong?”

“Nope, nothing from me,” Sejeong shakes her head. “You may go now.”

You thank them one more time before letting yourself out of the room, still trying to process everything. Jimin sees the slightly overwhelmed look on your face, and he immediately meets you at your side, arm around your shoulder to guide you to the door.

“You okay? It wasn’t bad news, right?” He asks, worried.

“No… no it wasn’t. Quite the opposite, actually,” you say still in a daze. “I was awarded Employee of the Month. For the next three months.”

“Oh my god. That’s amazing! You totally deserve it!” Jimin expresses his joy with his entire body, skipping ahead of you a few paces and even doing a spin, giggling in that cute way of his.

“It is,” you smile, genuinely happy now. “But get this, guess what was the reward.”

“A 13th month bonus?” Jimin guesses excitedly, his eyes bright.

“Two pairs of VIP tickets to Disneyland. And two hotel rooms, one night stay,” you say in a deadpan manner. “I know, right? How stingy. Employees already get a 20% discounted rate off everything, and yet…”

“You could always sell them. Or, I mean… take the chance to just be a normal person at Disney. I guess that’s easier said than done, with all the things that we’ve seen as cast members…” Jimin bites his lip in a way that highlights how plush they are.

“A normal person at Disney?” You’re intrigued by the idea as the two of you start to walk back towards the cast member’s dressing rooms. “I’ve never really thought of that before. I mean, this is our workplace, so I don’t think I could ever think of it as a place to have fun.”

“I could show you, i-if you wanted,” Jimin stumbles over his words, and you can see a slight blush on his cheeks as his smile rounds them out gently. “I think it’d be fun. To just forget what we’re really here for and enjoy the park as Walt Disney himself intended it.”

From anyone else, those words would have rubbed you the wrong way. But coming from Park Jimin, it’s genuine because you can tell he really believes that this park was meant to bring joy to people.

And after all, spending a day with Park Jimin in Disney doesn’t sound all that bad. Especially when you think of the hotel room waiting for you after.

“I think it’s a deal,” you grin at him, a fluttering in your stomach when you see his face light up.

“Oh my god. Please,” Jeongguk begs, practically on his knees in front of you. “I’d kill to stay in a Disney hotel just once. And besides, this would be great for my channel!”

“You have a channel?” You frown at him. This is news.

“I recently just started one! It’s mainly gaming for now, but I thought of branching out into vlogging too! And what better place to vlog than Disney itself?” Jeongguk grins and stretches his arms, spinning in the small dressing room and nearly knocking Yoongi off his feet.

The older man glares as he shields his Americano with his body. “Count me out. Spending more time in this place is the last thing I want.”

You sigh under your breath. “Me too, bud.”

“C’mon, you have three tickets! Just give one to me, and Tae and Joy can take the other two! It’s perfect!” Jeongguk folds his arms petulantly, as if he can’t believe you haven’t done the math. “We can do the ‘Eat Everything at Disney Challenge’ and then crash in the hotel room at night. It’ll be like old times again, just way fancier!”

“We can just sneak Yoongi hyung in for the ‘crash at hotel’ part,” Taehyung chimes in. “We’ll get snacks and alcohol and shit. It’ll be great!”

“Um… well, about that…” you shift your weight from foot to foot. “I… kind of only have two tickets left.”

“What? Where’d the last one go?” Jeongguk immediately questions this unexpected wrench in his well laid plans.

This catches Yoongi’s attention too, and he stops scrolling on his phone to fix his eyes on you. Eyebrow raised, as if he can tell what you’re going to say next.

“I don’t think you have any other friends than us,” Jeongguk is thinking hard, and you punch him in the shoulder just for that comment.

“It’s Park Jimin, that’s who,” Joy pipes up from the corner as she’s examining her skin for any breakouts.

Jeongguk frowns. “Wait. Prince Eric? He’s your friend? You guys are close?”

Yoongi snorts at that naïve response. “Dude, she has the biggest boner for him. Everyone in the crew knows that. Well, except for you and him, I guess.”

“Shut up, everyone does not know that!” You throw a cushion at Yoongi, but he raises an arm to deflect it, unbothered as always. “I’m gonna put salt in your Americano tomorrow.”

“Two slots and three people, that’s gonna be interesting,” Yoongi says, going back to his phone.

“Well, I volunteer Tae as tribute. He’s the only one whose shift doesn’t match ours for the next month,” Joy shoots you a quick glance as she says this, and you understand what she’s getting at immediately.

If it’s just you, Jimin and the two brats, you’ll be spending the whole day taking care of them like they’re your overgrown children. But with Joy along, hopefully she can distract Jeongguk long enough for you and Jimin to have some time together, and hopefully even hit the end goal of-

“Oh, right…” Taehyung says with slumped shoulders. “Who plans the shifts anyway? Why’d I have to be left out this time?”

Feeling a little guilty for all the unspoken planning going on between you and Joy, you ruffle Taehyung’s hair fondly. “Hey. You can still join us at night. We’ll just sneak you guys all in.”

You almost regret the words coming out of your mouth the moment you say it, because Joy shoots you an ‘are you sure about this’ look. You return her look with a shrug. As much as you want Jimin, it doesn’t feel right to exclude your friends like this, friends who have been like a family to you.

You’ll just have to find a way to get Jimin alone, because this is your best chance.

“Hey everyone! What’s up guys, today we’re doing a ‘Eat Everything at Disney Challenge’!! Woohoo!” Jeongguk’s boisterous voice attracts the attention of a few other people around him.

He holds out his vlogging camera further to capture the rest of the party. Joy is walking beside him, doing a great job of being the physical buffer between Jeongguk, you and Jimin. She waves half-heartedly, more concerned with shielding herself from the merciless sun with her sunhat and making sure Jeongguk doesn’t crash into anything while mindlessly vlogging.

You’re a few paces away with Jimin, matching your pace to his and already feeling the exhilaration of the day ahead. Even just walking beside him is enough to get your heart racing. Today he’s dressed up slightly more, in a white button-down shirt with cut-off khaki shorts that show off his muscled thighs. To complete the look, his black hair is parted in the middle, showing off his forehead, black sunglasses hung on the vee of his white button down shirt.

“Did I miss the memo or something?” Jimin turns to you with an amused smile on his lips. They look soft, pink and even a little glossy, as if he’d taken the time to apply some tinted lip balm. “Eat everything at Disney Challenge?”

“Don’t worry, I missed it too. If I’d known, I would have worn something a lot looser than this,” you gesture down at yourself. If only Jimin knew that you had spent hours agonizing over your outfit last night, panic calling Joy for help and realizing that you have absolutely zero date worthy clothes in your closet.

It figures because the last time you went out for something other than work and auditions and grocery shopping was never.

Finally, you’d settled on a yellow plaid dress with thin straps to fight off the summer heat, and sneakers to make walking a little easier.

“You look great though,” Jimin says boldly, biting his lower lip. “How about this: he’s here for the all you can eat challenge. We’re here on a date.”

The words make your stomach flutter dangerously, as if you’re on Space Mountain just before the big drop. There’s something slightly different about Jimin today, he’s a sassier, more flirty version of himself, and it only makes you wish you could have come alone with him even more.

No more shy smiles or cute grins today, Park Jimin is going all out in his flirting. He’s going to get the girl today, Jeon Jeongguk be damned.

The four of you stop at a churro stand, and Jeongguk announces to the camera that it’s the first stop of the day.

Jimin’s never been one for the sugary treat, but he spies an opportunity as Jeongguk begins to scarf down his churro on camera, getting sugar all over his shirt.

“Hi, can I have one pineapple churro please?” He asks before turning to you. “Share one with me?”

“Sure,” you shrug as Jeongguk approaches the two of you, his original flavour churro already gone.

“What’d you guys get?” Jeongguk squeezes himself in between you and Jimin. “Oh. Pineapple? I didn’t know they had that flavour.”

Jimin hands over some cash to the vendor and takes the still warm, yellow churro dusted in bright yellow sugar. “They have all different kinds of flavours, look.” He points to the menu board on top of the booth. “Hey, you know what’d be cool Jeongguk?”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk turns to him with a questioning look in his eyes.

“You should try all the different flavoured churros, it’d be a really cool addition to the vlog!”

Jeongguk lights up at the suggestion. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He turns to the vendor and points at the menu. “Can I have one in every flavour? Oh, and employee discount please.”

“Sure, but we’re fresh out of churros and it’ll take about fifteen minutes to make the next batch, would you be okay with waiting, sir?”

Jimin discreetly tugs at your hand and pulls you away with him while Jeongguk haggles with the vendor about the waiting time, too preoccupied to even notice the two of you.

A safe distance away, Jimin grins as he glances you up and down as if he suddenly realized something. “Here. Take this.”

He shoves the churro at you, and you take it from him, brows knitted in confusion.

“It matches your outfit, and you look really cute. I wanna take a picture of you,” Jimin explains with a giggle as he takes his phone out of his pocket, positioning you so that the Magic Castle is directly behind you. “One, two three…”

You make him laugh in his signature way, with his entire body, when you pretend to play the churro like a flute. He snaps a few more pictures with a satisfied smile on his face, and you drop the pose, walking over to him to check the picture and half hoping you don’t look horrible.

“So pretty, see,” Jimin shows you a candid of you laughing at him laughing, and you realise it’s the happiest you’ve seen yourself lately. His proximity as he shows you the other pictures makes your heart race, and you almost don’t want to move away.

To cover up your fluttering nerves, you take a bite of the churro, feeling the sugar melt on your tongue, and the tangy taste of pineapple spread across your tastebuds.

“Good?” Jimin asks, putting his phone away, casually letting his arm skim past your waist as he tucks it into his pocket. “Lemme try?”

Before you can offer your end of the churro to him, he closes one hand around your wrist and lifts the other end of the churro to his lips, taking a bite of it. The sugar dusts his plush lips, and he maintains direct eye contact with you as he chews, his smoldering eyes such a contrast with the cute bulge of his cheek full of churro.

The slight height difference means the churro is tilted in between the two of you, and your end of the churro remains slightly out of your reach. Feeling as if his eyes are daring you to, you lean forward slightly and take a bite from your side while he takes another bite from his end.

God damn if this isn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever done. You’d thought these things only happen in movies. Feeling your cheeks heat up from his stare, you break away first and brush some sugar off your chin.

“It’s really good,” Jimin comments, licking his lips to get every bit of sugar. “Tastes just like the Dole Whip. Pineapple’s really good for you too.”

“It is?” You ask before you can fully comprehend what he’s said, mind already addled by his close proximity and how outrageously cheesy he’s being. You see a stray granule of sugar on his bottom lip, and without thinking, brush it away with your thumb.

Jimin pairs his answer with another bite of the pineapple churro, a slight smirk on his lips as he chews. “Yeah, it tastes good, and it makes you taste good too.”

You understand his double entendre immediately and wonder where the hell this side of Park Jimin was all along. A moment ago, everything was straight out of a rom-com movie, and a second later he’s looking at you like you’re the lead actors of Fifty Shades.

“Hey guys, I got it!” Jeongguk bounds over with his two fists full of churros, his camera balanced dangerously in the crook of his elbow. Joy trails behind with a slightly apologetic look on her face at not being able to successfully keep him busy. “Guys, can you film me? I’m gonna try to break the world record for eating churros the fastest.”

You oblige, stepping away from Jimin to rescue the camera from Jeongguk. “There’s such a record? What’s the time to beat?”

“Dunno,” Jeongguk shrugs, his eyes already focused on the multi-coloured churros in his hands. There’s pineapple, plum, green apple, strawberry and blue raspberry. “I’ll make one if there isn’t.”

“Don’t choke, Kook,” you caution him, taking out a bottle of water from your bag just in case, and position him in the camera frame. “Three… two… one… action!”

Jimin looks over your shoulder at the camera’s viewfinder as Jeongguk begins to scoff down the churros at record speed. In the blink of an eye, he’s already downed three, and he shoves the last two in his mouth at the same time, chewing furiously as if he’s eating two Pocky sticks at the same time.

“And… time!” You call out, figuring he can just add in the timer below later in post editing. You keep recording though, and hand him the bottle of water with your free hand.

Jeongguk looks satisfied with himself, though his eyes land on how close Jimin is standing behind you as he chugs the water. With a petulant pout, he lowers the bottle from his lips.

“Do I have sugar on my mouth?” He asks you, looking at your face rather than at the camera.

“Yes, yes you do,” you say with a laugh. “It’s all over your face and chin.”

“Wipe it for me?” Jeongguk asks with a shameless grin, glancing at the way Jimin’s expression tightens. “I can’t see where it is.”

There’s a brief pause as you hesitate, and then you pull a pack of tissues out of your pocket, tossing them at him. “Here. Use these.”

Jimin’s laughter sounds angelic to you, but it grates on Jeongguk’s ears.

“Hey, can you walk ahead of me?” Jeongguk turns to you with his camera still focused in front of him. “I wanna do a ‘follow me’ shot. And I need a model.”

“I’ll do it!” Joy chimes in enthusiastically, although you can obviously tell how forced it is judging from the smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The heat is definitely taking a toll on her. You owe her a huge debt after this.

But Jeongguk frowns a little. “Hmmm, can ______ do it instead?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Joy crosses her arms defensively.

“Have you seen the way you walk?” Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “You’re like a drunk elephant.”

Joy’s eyes widen in outrage and you can tell this is about to turn into an argument between your two best friends. Before she can say anything, however, Jimin cuts in.

“I’ll do it,” he says, pushing back his black hair from his forehead.

Relieved, you chime in. “Y-yes! Jimin walks really well. You should see the way he walks down Main Street when he’s Prince Eric. He turns the whole place into his private runway!”

Jimin shoots you a fond little smile, glowing from your compliment and you feel Jeongguk’s eyes tracking this tiny moment between you.

“What do I have to do?” Jimin asks, already walking in front of Jeongguk.

“But… ‘follow me’ shots are usually done by a girl because they get more viewers,” Jeongguk protests weakly, especially when Jimin appears in the viewfinder of his camera. “And… and we have to hold hands.”

“You have no idea how handsome I am from the back,” Jimin smirks, running a hand through his hair again. “I’ll get you way more views than Joy and ______ ever could.”

“God damn. That confidence is so hot,” Joy whispers beside you, watching the two men squabble over having to hold hands, and then finally settle for no hand holding.

You don’t doubt he could get way more views than you or Joy, especially with the little smirk he shoots the camera over his shoulder as he starts to walk toward the Magic Castle. Jeongguk follows while filming, leaving the two of you behind for a moment.

“You know what’s hotter?” Your eyes don’t leave him for a second. “That ass.”

Joy giggles in tandem with you for a second before she stops with sudden realization. “Oh my god. I just realised something. I hope the walls between the hotel rooms are soundproof.”

“And… here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen today…” Jeongguk suddenly turns the camera on you as you pick at your candy floss. “We’re waiting to go on the carousel!”

Suddenly camera shy, you hide behind the giant pink cloud. “What’s with you? Why are you complimenting me?”

“Because it’s true,” Jeongguk shrugs, one hand reaching out to move your cotton candy away from your face so that he can see you.

But his view is suddenly rudely interrupted by Jimin who sticks his face right in front of the camera. Jeongguk jumps back in slightly shock, a scowl etched across his features as Jimin blocks you entirely.

“How about me? Aren’t I the cutest guy you’ve ever seen?” Jimin checks himself out in the camera lens, and you have to stop yourself from agreeing. He fluffs up his silky black hair, taking the sunglasses that hang in the vee of his shirt and putting them on.

Jimin continues to check himself out in the camera’s viewfinder, and you laugh at him, watching him smooth his hair and lick his lips, and suddenly you find yourself envying the viewers of Jeongguk’s channel. That is, if Jeongguk decides to even let this make it into the vlog in the first place.

Jeongguk is making noises of disgust, trying to get Jimin out of frame, and the two of them are squabbling like little kids.

Jeongguk passes the camera to you. “Hey, film me.”

He grabs a piece of popcorn and tosses it into the air, trying to catch it with his mouth. Joy giggles when he fails, and Jimin snorts with laughter at his reattempts.

“C’mon, that’s easy,” Jimin says as he grabs popcorn from Jeongguk, and you turn to focus the camera on him instead. Jimin tosses it into the air and catches it easily, shooting the camera a little smirk.

“I’ll do it again,” Jimin says, grabbing another piece of popcorn and tossing it in the air. It lands in his mouth effortlessly, and the way he looks at you while chewing makes your mouth go dry.

“One more, and if I succeed…” his voice trails off so that you have to strain to hear him over all the background noise of the park. “You have to ride me tonight.”

Then he throws it into the air and catches it with his mouth, and your heart skips a beat when he catches your eye after.

“Um, what?? I’ll have to ride… what?” You feel like that piece of popcorn has gone down your throat instead, from the way you’re stuttering.

“You’ll have to ride with me,” Jimin says with a wink, nodding at the carousel. “What did you think I said?”

You’re saved from replying when the gates in front of you open, signalling the next batch of carousel riders.

Joy tugs you along, unaffected by what just went down whatsoever. Her only aim is to choose the prettiest unicorn so she can take millions of selfies, and you follow her, not realizing that Jeongguk isn’t behind you. By the time you do realise, you’re already standing beside a white pony with a pink mane and tail just behind Joy.

“You go ahead, I wanna film the carousel from here,” Jeongguk focuses on getting the perfect frame on his camera. Jimin glances over his shoulder and realizes that it’s focused on you, following you as you go from pony to pony, laughing and giggling with your cotton candy still in hand.

He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a ‘Eat Everything at Disney Challenge’? Why are you filming ______ like, exclusively?”

“Because I wanna eat her, that’s why,” Jeongguk mumbles under his breath, and Jimin nearly explodes.

“What did you just say man?” He’s ready to grab Jeongguk by the collar for referring to you in such a crude manner.

“Calm down dude, it was just a joke,” Jeongguk’s eyes widen in fear. “I say stupid things sometimes without thinking! You know I’d never treat _____ like that. She’s like one of my best friends! I can’t help if I’m attracted to her like that!”

“Kook? What are you doing? Get over here!” You gesture at him and Jimin, who are still in the queue even though there are more than enough spaces on the carousel.

You notice the two of them having a seemingly intense conversation, at the end of which Jimin backs down and shoves his way through the gate, with a hard set to his jaw as he approaches the horse you’re about to ride. But by the time he’s on the carousel itself, the annoyance has vanished off his face.

“You should ride on this one instead,” Jimin gestures to a horse on the inside of the carousel. “Switch with me.”

You were just about to get on the horse, but at his insistence, switch to riding the one on the inside instead. Jimin stands just behind you, making sure you’re securely on the horse before he climbs up on the one next to you.

He glances at Jeongguk still in the queue trying to get a shot of you on the carousel, but he purposely angles his body so that he’s blocking you entirely. Especially when he sees your exposed thigh when your dress rides up from your position on the horse. Jimin doesn’t want anyone but him to be privy to this view, that’s for sure.

The ride slowly creaks to a start, and the whimsical music starts up. Now that the sun has gone down, the glow of the carousel lights casts a magical tinge over everything, and when Jimin looks over at you, he isn’t ready for the surge of butterflies.

The four of you make it to the hotel to check-in, half exhausted and just wanting to collapse onto cool sheets for a while before coming up with a plan to sneak in Yoongi and Tae, who insisted on bringing the snacks and alcohol so that they wouldn’t be left out.

“Here you go, two rooms, across the hallway from each other. 503 and 504,” the hotel clerk smiles at you, and you thank her, grabbing the keys and joining the other three in front of the elevators.

“Fifth floor,” you mumble to no one in particular as the four of you enter the lift. Joy reaches out to punch in the correct number, while Jimin boldly wraps an arm around your waist and you press your cheek into his chest.

“Why’s Kook sulking?” You refer to Jeongguk who’s been silent ever since you got off the carousel ride, looking through shots on his camera with a sullen look on his face.

“His blood sugar is low, he needs some snacks probably,” Joy says, stifling a yawn herself. “God, I can’t believe it’s only 9pm and we’re dying to go to bed. When did we become boring ass adults?”

“Ever since we got jobs and started paying bills,” your voice is muffled by Jimin’s shirt.

The elevator dings and you stumble out, navigating the lush hallways lined with red carpeting to find the correct unit number. You stop in front of 503 and tap the key card to the sensor, tossing the other one to Joy who opens the opposite room.

The sight of the neat, luxurious hotel rooms perks even Jeongguk up, as you dump your stuff and throw yourselves onto the soft beds.

“Oh god. Who was the one who suggested The Spinning Teacups? I hate you so much right now,” you mumble into a pillow, all your energy sapped up.

“Jeongguk did,” Jimin helpfully supplements your memory even as you feel the bed dip slightly beside you.

All of a sudden, you are painfully aware that the two of you are alone in the room together… the door is locked securely and there’s no one, not even Mr Walt Disney himself, who could interrupt your moment now. You turn to see Jimin flat on his back beside you, eyes closed and hair brushed away from his face. The outline of his sharp jawline leads you down to his Adam’s apple, then further down into the v of his shirt that exposes his chest…

He catches you looking with a playful smirk on his plush lips, turning onto his side so that he can regard you better.

“I waited all day for this…” Jimin whispers in a low sultry tone as his eyes undress you, and he sits up, running his fingers through his hair. “Remember what I said about riding me?”

You can only gape at him for a moment, before you reach out to smack his chest. “Oh my god, I knew I heard that! You made me feel like such a pervert!”

Jimin laughs, reaching across the bed to pull you into his lap so that you are indeed straddling him. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You forget about how sweaty you feel when Jimin pulls you down for a kiss, and you finally taste those plush lips of his that you’d been dreaming of forever. You feel as if all of this is a dream, only it can’t be because the sensation of his warm body beneath yours is all too real, his tongue begging for entrance is making all of your fantasies come true and-

Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding dong!!!

The doorbell rings persistently and doesn’t stop. Such an obnoxious act can only be the work of one person. Sighing, you extricate yourself from Jimin’s grasp with one last kiss to his bottom lip and go to check who’s outside in the doorhole.

But all you see is darkness.

“What are you guys doing in there! Come out! Yoongi and Tae are here!” Jeongguk’s voice sounds from outside, and you can only surmise that he’s covered the door hole with his hand. Real mature.

Sighing, you turn back to Jimin still on the bed. Inside here is Jimin with his cute smile and sinful promises of the night to come, and out there is… Jeon Jeongguk with a penchant of cock blocking you at every turn he gets.

“We should join them for a bit. Then sneak away if we can.” Jimin sighs when the doorbell continues ringing, twitching an eyebrow in annoyance. “Or else he’ll never leave us alone. We need a game plan.”

Jimin turns to rummage through his bag for some comfy clothes to change into, and you do the same, only retreating into the bathroom to try and freshen up a little first. Five minutes later you emerge, dressed in comfy sweats as you open the door, only to stop the incessant ringing of the doorbell.

“Kook, you’re disturbing the neighbours,” you chide him gently, pushing him towards the other hotel room as Jimin emerges behind you in an oversized black hoodie and shorts.

It seems like the party already started without you, chip bags open and strewn everywhere, beer cans crushed and strewn around. You plop yourself down on a pillow and reach for some Doritos, moaning as the salty, cheesy goodness hits your tongue and you feel renergised.

Yoongi comes in bearing pizza, and for a moment no one speaks as you all hungrily devour the food.

“So Kook, did you manage to finish your ‘Eat Everything at Disney Challenge’?” Taehyung asks with a hopeful grin, for he’d contributed to the idea himself.

“Obviously not, or else he wouldn’t be stuffing himself right now,” Joy says through a mouthful of pizza, chasing it down with a gulp of soda. “He started off strong with the churros, but I think he kinda got sidetracked along the way…”

“Oh,” Taehyung says, not really looking all that disappointed. “Bro, there’s always next time! I told you, you need me!”

Yoongi settles back with a can of beer, looking as though the day has thoroughly worn him out. “So, how’d you losers like Disney? As visitors, not as cast members.”

“Eh, was okay I guess,” Jeongguk picks at a piece of pineapple on his slice. “Vlog turned out slightly different than I wanted it to.”

“Too hot,” Joy complains, before realizing her mistake. Her eyes widen as Taehyung tosses an empty crushed beer can at her.

“Try an entire afternoon in costume!” Taehyung says indignantly, before bursting into laughter.

While they bicker back and forth, Jimin nudges your knee with his, and mouths the words ‘game plan’. Your eyes dart around the mess in front of you, then at each of your friends.

Jeongguk is stuffing himself with the rest of the pizza, and if you know anything about him is that he goes out like a light after meals. Yoongi is already more than half asleep, Tae and Joy are distracting each other. Now’s the perfect time.

You start to stand up slowly, making your way to the door to let yourself out quietly. You don’t dare to turn and see if Jimin is following behind you, all you can do is keep going straight without making any more noise…

“_______? Where are you going?”

Shit.

Jeongguk’s sleepy voice interrupts you, and you turn around, a hesitant smile on your face. You see that Jimin is still seated in the circle, and you root around in your head for an excuse.

“Just- just gonna get more beer, we’re already out!” You say, and Jeongguk seems to accept this as he shifts his position to lie his head on Jimin’s lap instead. “Hyung- can I call you that? Hyung, lend me your lap for a while. You’re comfy.”

Ignoring Jimin’s silent protests for help, you let yourself out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief once the door closes behind you. You let yourself into the other room with the spare keycard in your pocket, thanking the heavens that you decided to ask for an extra card at reception just now. The original one is with Jimin, if and when he manages to extricate himself from Jeongguk’s grasp…

You sigh and slide under the soft, warm sheets, deciding that you might as well take a nap while waiting for Jimin.

Beep-beep….

The sound of a key-card being scanned stirs you from sleep, and you crack open an eye, but all you’re met with is the darkness of your hotel room. Then there’s a weight on the bed beside you, and Jimin’s soft voice.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“No, no I-“ the sleep in your voice betrays you, though, and you sit up hastily, taking in Jimin’s ruffled appearance; hair messy and cheeks slightly red. “What time is it?”

“Just past 2am,” Jimin rubs a hand down his face, reaching for a bottle of water on the bedside. “We were deep into some drinking game before I managed to escape. They’re all passed out in the other room.”

Jimin tilts the bottle and drinks deeply as if to chase away the sleepiness. He replaces the bottle on the bedside and moves to take off his hoodie, revealing the thin black shirt underneath. Unable to stop yourself, you push yourself into a sitting position, grabbing his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss, continuing from where you left off earlier.

You can taste the remnants of beer on his tongue, his hands slide around your waist to feel your soft curves, pull you closer to him so that you feel the hardness of his abs and the heat of his body.

“Finally,” he groans, trailing his kisses down your neck. “Fucking finally. This was all I could think about when we were playing 7 Up.”

His hands slide down to lift your shirt over your head, his lips marking the top of one breast as he works at the clasp of your bra. Jimin’s roughness is welcome as he sucks purple and blue into your skin, tossing away your bra like it’s nothing.

“You had the nerve to fall asleep while I was stuck entertaining your friends?” Jimin emphasizes this with a particularly harsh suck on your nipple, his fingers twisting the other one and your thighs clench together, trying to seek some sort of friction. His palm gropes your breasts, squeezing it roughly as he marks the other with his teeth and tongue.

“Shi-t I’m sorry!” You squeak out, but this side of Jimin you’ve never seen before is so fucking hot, and you can feel yourself already craving his touch on your body, inside you, and just everywhere.

His anger translates itself into his actions as he pulls down your sweatpants with a yank, but his fingers are always gentle on your skin as he travels up your inner thighs, traces across your sensitive lower lips. He witnesses how soaked your underwear is, pulling it away from you as he settles himself in between your thighs.

One flick of his tongue sends your thighs trembling, and he concentrates all his efforts on your clit, his fingers digging into your soft flesh in an attempt to keep your legs spread for him. Two fingers spread you for his viewing pleasure, he eats you like a man starved, not caring if your juice smear on his chin or cheeks.

When his fingers start to tease at your entrance, you buck your hips in a silent plea for more, and Jimin obliges you by sliding in one finger. Even though you’ve pleasured yourself in the past, it doesn’t compare to the feeling of him filling you up with his fingers, stretching you out and watching how well you take him.

One thumb is still rubbing circles around your clit, fingers stroking that special spot inside you as he coaxes you to cum all over him. Finally, Jimin goes in for the kill, replacing his thumb with his lips wrapped around your clit, and sucking until you see stars and your thighs are wrapped tight around his head.

You are panting and out of breath when your muscles loosen up, and Jimin is licking his lips, staring at your cunt. Without giving yourself time to get shy, you move to straddle him, ripping his shirt off in a hunger to feel his chest and abs, grinding against him.

“Fuck, are you really going to ride me like this?” Jimin has his hands around your waist as your tongue swirls in the shell of his ear, feeling your wet cunt grind against his abs. He lets you get a fill of his rock hard muscles for a few more seconds before aligning you where he really wants it, just over the bulge in his sweatpants.

“A bet’s a bet, right?” You reach down to pull the waistband of his sweatpants lower, bringing his underwear with it. You can already see the red tip of his cock, hard and angry and weeping with precum.

You grasp him with your mouth watering at the thought of swallowing his thick cock down your throat, but that will have to wait because you think you might die if you don’t feel him inside you this very instant.

“You know, I always look at your ass in your Prince Eric costume when you walk past the Wishing Well,” you admit to him, stroking his cock a few times and relishing the deep groans from Jimin.

“Sounds like you have a kink for Princes. Maybe I should fuck you while wearing my Prince outfit?”

“Bonus points if we can roleplay. You can save me from this big, towering castle, and when you climb all the way up I’ll thank you by sucking your huge-“ You’re unable to finish the sentence, bursting out into giggles only to be met with a puzzled look from Jimin.

“Wait, you weren’t being serious? I was getting into that!”

“Only if you call me Queen. And I get to call you a peasant.”

Jimin mock pouts, but then when his cock brushes against your clit, he suddenly remembers that he’s supposed to be punishing you for falling asleep while waiting for him.

He delivers one spank to your ass, causing you to moan as he reaches for the condoms thoughtfully provided by the hotel.

“Ugh, they’re Disney themed,” Jimin groans in distaste as he tosses aside the Mickey Mouse wrapper, unrolling the red and white polka dot condom over himself and swearing even more. “Who the hell would be turned on by this!”

You giggle at his obvious distress over how the condom makes his cock look.

“You’re laughing?” Jimin frowns in disapproval. “I’m here in danger of going soft before I can even fuck you and you’re-“

“Then I’d better help out,” you stifle your laughter as you grip him by the base and sink down onto him, and immediately all thoughts of Mickey Mouse, Disneyland and his cock going soft flee from Jimin’s mind.

All he can think of is the feeling of your warm cunt surrounding him, how tight you are as you take him all the way. You alternate between bouncing on top of him and grinding your hips in circles when you want more depth. Your thighs are burning, but you promised you’d ride Jimin till he cums.

When your pace slows down just a smidge, Jimin bends his thighs under you and meets you halfway for a while, before finally wrapping his arms around your waist so that your upper body is pressed tightly to his. Then you feel him pound into you, using his lower body strength to keep up the pace.

Although you’re on top, he seems to be doing most of the work, and the most you can do is to tighten around him. You can feel his grasp tight around your waist as his breaths quicken against your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Jimin is clearly trying to hold himself back, but you gather the last of your strength and start bouncing on him, trying to push him over the edge. A few more squeezes of your core around him and Jimin is groaning, gripping your waist as he thrusts up into you and spills into the condom.

A few brushes of his thumb around your clit is all it takes for you to follow him over the edge, collapsing against his chest in exhaustion as you both come down from your high.

Jimin goes soft and slips out of you, and he rolls you to the side so that he can take off the used condom. He grimaces as he ties the end and tosses it into the trash. “Never a-fucking-gain.”

“Does that mean we aren’t having round two here?” You tease him as he comes back to bed, snuggling deep into the covers with his cold feet pressed against your thigh.

“I think I could maybe deal with that… are there any Donald Duck ones?”

“My queen! I brought you a new servant!” A teenage girl excitedly drags her friends towards you, holding a camera up to film your reaction.

More and more of your visitors have been filming you, but you take it all in stride rather than feel pressurized by the thought that this will end up on Youtube. You pretend to check yourself out in the camera’s front view for a moment before noticing her and her friends.

“My new servant? Well everyone’s a servant, what are you talking about?” You glance dismissively at the crowd around you, holding up your mirror to catch the sun’s rays. “Well, if you’re my servant, you may bow.”

The girls giggle as they attempt to curtsy.

“That was terrible,” you swirl your cape in response. “It needs work. Now off with you!”

You turn and begin to stroll in the direction of the Magic Castle, aware that your little entourage is following you. Children are running after you and a few of them ask to hold your hand, which you allow graciously.

“Come, come, walk with me. The Wishing Well is filthy, Snow White hasn’t been doing her job lately. Out of my way! Out of our way, peasants!” You proclaim loudly, making everyone aware that you’re currently conducting your own parade.

Your shift is due to end soon, but you can’t resist passing by the Magic Castle just once. If you get the timing right, Jimin should be doing his rounds there while Ariel is stuck inside at in a photo session…

From far away you spot the bright blue jacket of his blazer, his dark black hair glowing in the sun and his pretty smiles as he twirls a child around in his arms. The sight of Park Jimin as Prince Eric nearly makes you want to smile, and you barely manage to keep your smirk of disdain on.

“My Queen, what do you think of Prince Eric? Isn’t he just the dreamiest?” One of your followers sighs from behind you as they catch a glimpse of the Prince. “He would make a great servant!”

“That’s precisely the reason why I came here, to recruit a new servant,” you concede, waving your mirror in the air as you approach Jimin. “I think a poison apple or two should be enough to take care of Princess Ariel, and then he’ll be all mine!”

Your laughter makes Jimin glance up at your approaching entourage, and well-mannered as his character is, he gives you a slight bow.

“Well, to what pleasure do we owe your presence to? Not here to give out any poisoned apples, are we?” Jimin holds a child’s hand as they attempt to hide behind him.

“Not at all… not yet at least,” you smile deviously, gesturing to all the people following you. “Someone here suggested you’d make a good servant… and I came here to see for myself.”

“Ah, I’m afraid I have to politely decline,” Jimin says with a small bow, but you can see the slight smile on his face. “As much as it would be an honour to serve you, my Queen, I’m afraid my allegiance lies elsewhere.”

“Hmmm,” you consider his rejection with a finger on your chin, checking your reflection in your mirror before you answer. “Well, at least he has manners. Which is more than I can say for his other half, that fish girl. I guess he needs to make up for the both of them.”

You can see it takes everything Jimin has not to giggle with his entire body like he usually does. Swirling your cape, you turn around and stride to the nearest exit, waving goodbye to your followers.

A few minutes later, Jimin follows you into one of the dressing rooms already laughing.

“You did it on purpose! I nearly broke character because of you,” Jimin points an accusing finger at you, but his giggles take all the sting out of it. He takes your hand and the two of you start to walk back to your fur character’s dressing room, taking the shortcut through the tunnels so that god forbid, no one in the park sees Prince Eric and The Evil Queen holding hands and giggling together.

In all the fairytales you read as a child, it’s always the Princess who gets her Prince and her happy ending. Never in your wildest dreams would you imagine that something like this would be possible, and yet here you are, walking hand in hand with the Prince of your dreams.

Maybe you don’t have to be a princess to get a happy ending after all.

“I should come by more often, you’re cute when flustered,” you tease him as he opens the door to the dressing room, and you’re thankful that no one can see the silly smile on your face that definitely doesn’t fit the Evil Queen.

“Ugh, get a room,” Yoongi peeks an eye open and closes it immediately at the sight of the two of you.

“This is a room,” you say, and Jimin only reluctantly lets go of your hand to let you take off your makeup.

Yoongi only grumbles and goes back to napping, and the two of you quieten down in the unspoken agreement that a sleepy Yoongi is like a bear that should best be left in hibernation.

You retrieve your phone to check your messages that you missed while being away for the past few hours, only to see that you have five missed calls and three messages all from the same number.

Opening the latest message, your heart skips a few excited beats.

Dear ______,

This is Mr Kim, Casting Manager for Broadway’s Maleficient. I refer to your audition tape sent in a few weeks back, apologies for the delay in getting back to you. I’d like to formally invite you down for an audition at your earliest possible convenience. The directors are all very excited to meet you, especially after watching your audition tape of your current role as The Evil Queen at Disneyland. You’ve become somewhat of an internet sensation, and we would love to have a chance to meet you in person. Please let me know what date works for you, or give me a call any time.

Your hands are shaking. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

“What? What is it?” Jimin asks in concern, peeking over your shoulder to read the text.

Then he lets out a loud whoop that makes Yoongi grunt in annoyance.

“You better not be giving him blowjob right in front of my salad or I’m kicking the two of you out on your naked asses…”

“______ got a fucking Broadway audition! She’s going to BROADWAY!!!!”

Jimin is beside himself with excitement, and you turn to kiss him, not because you want to shut him up (though it does accomplish that too).

You kiss him because you feel like every happy ending deserves to end with a kiss like this, only then does it count as a happily ever after.

#bts #bts smut #btssmutclub #bts jimin #bts park jimin #ksmutclub #bts jimin smut #happy birthday jimin #jimin's bday fic is here!!!!!!!#a whole day early for all you PST folks #ps excuse the low quality header #it was the only thing keeping me going throughout this monster length of a fic

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join-the-joywrite · 3 years

Text

If we got each other, and that's all we have

@jatp-week Day 3: favourite ship

Three times Luke cheered Julie up and the one time she cheered him up.

1. I am going to sit here and talk until you smile.

Julie missed her mom a lot. Even now, with music back in her life, it still sometimes got too much to handle and she would want to curl up in bed and stay there for the whole day. She tried not to. There were people that wanted to see her, school that needed her attention and above all, her family deserved to be around her. Maybe she didn't have to always be all smiles, but she couldn't hide from everyone.

But some days she so desperately wanted to.

And on those days, she stayed curled up in her bed until someone came to get her.

If it happened during the week, Ray would try to get Julie up for school. Most days, she relented at the thought of having to deal with missing her mom and extra homework. But he never forced her to go if he thought she wasn't going to be able to handle it. If it was the weekend, Ray would let Julie stay up in her room well into the day without interruptions for anything other than breakfast and a suggestion to perhaps hit the shower and see how she felt after that.

So, on this bright and early Saturday morning, Julie refused to get out of bed for the first time since meeting the boys and it was beginning to worry them.

Luke was absolutely terrible at dealing with feelings. It wasn't a secret among them. But Luke also had a special bond with Julie and that wasn't a secret either. With that in mind, Alex and Reggie shared just one glance before leaving Luke alone with Julie.

At first, he'd been quiet and calm, talking to the bundle of bedsheets in the middle. He told Julie every story he could thing of, some about the band, some about himself, some about baby Luke that he had heard from his parents. Then, for a while, he talked about his parents.

Slowly, the duvet inched back until Julie's face could be seen, then her head, then up to her shoulders.

The baby stories seemed to interest Julie most, so Luke did his best to recall everything he knew. He fully planned on sitting at the edge of Julie's bed and talking forever, but as she began to smile, he had to stop and take a moment. Julie's smile was everything. It almost seemed to brighten the whole room.

"Don't stop."

And even though she wasn't an upset little mess of tears and bedsheets anymore, Luke dutifully continued, if only to keep that radiant smile on her face. They spent the rest of the weekend writing music together.

2. When words don't cut it, music will do

The next time Julie was inconsolable, it was in the studio. It had something to do with a mix of missing Carrie and missing her mom and worrying about even being good enough for her spotlight.

They were pulling together a song when Julie stumbled into the studio. She'd looked at them with wide eyes before informing them that she would be hiding from her brother and father in the loft.

Reggie suddenly decided he wanted to take a walk on the beach and Alex said Reggie needed a babysitter.

For a moment, there was silence in the studio. Then a horrible smash of keys on the piano and loud, terrible, off-key singing.

Julie forgot to be sad almost immediately and stormed down the steps to glare at the boy behind the piano. Luke only grinned and pointed out that Julie had left the loft. When her rage receded, Julie was left with her earlier sadness. She didn't even know what made her so miserable, but she just wanted to be alone. So she went back up to the loft.

Luke wasn't having any of it. He tapped all the wrong keys and screamed, "HEY, JULIE! DON'T MAKE IT BAAAAAAAAD. JUST TAKE A SAAAAD SONG . . . AND MAKE IT BETTERRRR. HEY, JULIE!"

To which Julie had quickly yelled from the loft, "Its hey, JUDE!"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you from all the way up there. You'll have to come down here and teach the song to me."

When Julie didn't, Luke started up his antics with a different song. "HEY THERE JULIE WHAT'S IT LIKE IN SADNESS CITY--"

He didn't get to finish that one because Julie stormed down and glared at him. He shifted to one side of the bench and patted it, waiting for Julie to join him.

They didn't sit too close, lest they remind each other that Luke was a ghost, but they sat together and as Julie tapped different keys lightly, Luke talked about how much he loved music. None of the stories seemed to catch Julie's attention enough to lift her spirits, so Luke brought his notebook and suggested they adapt whichever song Julie wanted.

They sat for hours with the notebook and the piano and by the end of it all, Julie was smiling again and honestly, Luke couldn't ask for anything else.

3. I am a gift.

Julie was sketching away her foul mood when her phone buzzed. The text was from Carlos, but Julie could hear the shower still running. It wasn't Ray because she could hear the sounds of Ray cooking something in the kitchen. So, which one of her phantoms were playing with her brother's phone?

I heard you were sad so I left you a gift in the studio.

Julie looked around, hoping to see one or all of them watching for her reaction. You don't have any money to buy gifts.

I paid for this with my pride and dignity.

Julie almost laughed aloud at that. Instead, an amused snort escaped her. I'm on my way.

When Julie got to the studio, it looked empty. It was also very silent. Then she flipped the lights on and was met with a fairly large box just sitting on the floor, unattended. Confused and amused, Julie inched towards it and gingerly folded the flaps over.

"I am a gift," Luke said as he looked up at Julie from inside the box. "Please don't tell Carlos I stole his phone. He already thinks you're being haunted."

Julie couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled out of her. Luke was absolutely ridiculous, but he never failed to brighten Julie's day. When the laughter subsided, Julie couldn't remember what she was upset about.

Bonus: and I'll hold your hand (you should know I'll be there for you)

Julie found him at his parent's house. When he noticed her through the glass doors, he poofed from the countertop to beside her.

She said she was worried about him, that's why she was looking for him. He said he just needed a moment. They almost ceased to exist two nights ago. He just wanted to see his parents again.

Julie didn't talk about her mom often. She talked about her mom's music and about how much she loved and missed her mom, but she didn't talk about her mom often.

Luke needed distracting, Julie could tell. So she swallowed her pain and started talking. She told Luke about the way her mom would sing off-key when she thought she was alone in the studio. She told Luke about the way her mom would scream lyrics at the top of her lungs when she couldn't get the melody down.

And she told Luke about the way her mom was a disaster in the kitchen for everything but box cakes. She told Luke about the way her mom screamed at the TV if things weren't going her way. She told Luke about her mother only discovering an allergy at thirty-eight because she'd somehow never eaten any anything with sesame seeds before them.

And when they realised they were walking away from the Patterson house, Julie held her hand out for Luke. "Come on, let's go home."

And Luke, forgetting entirely what anything other than pure bliss felt like, gripped Julie's hand and squeezed once. "Yeah. Home."

Mara's masterlist

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie and the himbos #jatp #juke #julie molina #luke patterson #jatpweek #day 3

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alovevigilante · 3 years

Text

You ever go back to something in hopes that situation will have changed overtime even though it may not have changed inside you, and the shit hasn’t changed one iota, cause you haven’t? No? If not, you’re lucky. I just went searching illustrations on the internet, and it was great for awhile… but yes, inevitably I ran into some triggers that sent me years back into another miserable thought dimension. Rats… to feed the cat in me.

It’s time I made peace with this energy. It’s not a person, or people, or even past events or experiences that are affecting me. It’s how I felt and now currently feel, about myself, reliving those things. I end up choosing to review and revisit it all over again within myself. I’ll be sitting, half watching a movie like I always do, and the movie in my mind starts up, all the crap, and it’s much scarier than this bear trying to maul this red headed girl in this Disney animation, or not, I don’t know wth to be honest with you, cause once again, I’m only half watching… oh… the bear is her mom… never mind. (Say it like Gilda Radner’s Emily litella character on the old Saturday night live)

I think they may be from Scotland and to be completely honest, I don’t know exactly what they’re saying… in their defense, I am only half listening, and I can’t hear so well after years of ear neglect from blasting my music with my Walkman, and boom box, and blowing my speakers in my family’s cars and sound system in their houses, and in my car, and my sound system, and singing with bands didn’t help the little hairs in my ears meant to protect the ear drum, which my pal in my head John Bonham used to beat on regularly, and loudly too. OR my hearing loss could also be due to a basic, general disinterest in conversations or situations or occurrences depending on the topic, so, it’s probably not their fault.

There. I feel better now. Talking it out, helps. Man, I love music. I’m too old to go to a general admission concert, because this mama’s culo needs an assigned seat of its very own, and I’m not about to fight for a spot up front anymore, but I’m not beyond sneaking stealthy up front if there’s no one around who gives a hoot, cause I’m height challenged, and inevitably some very, very tall people like to stand in front of me, because I’m the size of an ant compared to them, and then I can’t see, cause they make a better opaque form than a transparent one, but also if I can break through the barrier of the wall of bodies and if I can befriend one of the bodyguard/bouncers that know damn well I didn’t pay no $4,700 for front row anything, I just like to look up the band’s schnozzes for awhile til I get bored of standing. Then I create ruckus in the stands with the people who may or may not be inebriated, or just balls out crazy.

One time a guy and I did high kicks together at a Poison concert. Well, I did them towards him, and he was facing the stage. I decided to make it a contest. Truth be told, I’m not sure he knew I was there in front of him challenging him, like that old man kept saying when he wanted mr. Huxtable to have a dance off with him in the Cosby show. That old guy threw down some sand in a box, and he was like, “challlll-onge!!!” He wanted to challenge him, but that’s how he said it, and incidentally, that’s how I always say it now too, so credit to that old guy, cause he was cool. But Heathcliff didn’t know how to tap like that old guy, but man, did he try.

Anyhoo, I was like that to the high kicker at the Poison concert, but he was way too interested in starring at Bret, and all his Michaels, they are the lead singer of the heavy metal band Poison, and high kicking to celebrate them all, Bret, and his Michaels and his vocals, and his Michael’s vocals, and to celebrate the band in general, to give a crap about me, let alone my dance challenge. I was really sore for awhile after that, not because the man high kicking basically ignored me, cause I was more than cool with that, but because I was high kicking for upwards of 20 minutes straight, and that sure can put a damper on your muscles the next day. But I recovered. (I’m pretty sure I already told myself this story online….) Ahhhhhh regardless, good times…

(Bret with all his Michaels)

Well, laughing always helps me smile, and writing does too. When I write, I can go anywhere and do anything, and I’m in control. I’m so glad I did. There are some things about my past I do miss… like having pals, and socializing. Much like a cat, which I started off like, I’ve become anti social, and pretty self sufficient due to past memories of hurt, and cryogenically freezing others in the times of those past hurts. I basically went into Willy wonka lock down and seclusion in my home over the past few years because of it all, and COVID didn’t help. I’m not exactly privy to how others feel about me, cause I’m not them, but I’ve felt like I’m viewed and judged, by some, but not all family, former peers, and the community at large in not always the best light. But I’m slowly choosing to put all of my judgement of myself, and others, and what I don’t know about cause who gives a rip in the long run cause it’s all just thoughts, down now, and become more of myself, as that’s a lot more…. well, like the me, that I want to be. ☺️💌

(the above pic isn’t me. He calls himself Dee snider, but it’s not. It’s D. Schneider, like the Schneider on the 70s show “one day at a time” with the adorable Valerie bertinelli, which means, “Bert intelligent” according to my autocorrect, so Frank Oz and Bert from Sesame Street will be happy to note the support, and the very cool and equally adorable mackenzie phillips…. Head… Screwdriver. I kid, Mackenzie. I finish people’s last names if they leave us hanging. So no offense meant. 💕🥸🙈🤷‍♀️☺️✌️🙌💕💕💕😉)

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firewoodfigs · 3 years

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Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)

here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :)

[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]

Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai)

~x~

Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.

But today was different.

The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.

Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.

Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.

And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.

Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.

Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.

Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.

Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.

The empty hallway.

Ten-hundred hours.

Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.

In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.

“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)

Silence.

Roy knocked again.

The tray wobbled precariously.

“Miss Riza?”

A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.

To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.

“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”

A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“

“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”

“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.

Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”

“But...”

“No buts, Miss Riza.”

Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”

Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.

“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.

~x~

Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.

Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.

When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.

How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?

Probably not, he thought wryly.

“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”

Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.

“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”

What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.

“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”

“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”

After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”

This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”

Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.

Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.

To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.

But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.

Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.

Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)

Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.

And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.

… Like he said, they really hated him.

“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.

Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.

Well.

Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?

Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.

But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.

Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.

~x~

By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.

“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”

“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.

Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.

“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.

One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.

“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.

Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.

Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.

“How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”

Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”

Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.

And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.

“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.

“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.

Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”

It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.

“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.

Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”

Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.

~x~

For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?

Roy’s heart shattered.

How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.

Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Get well soon,” he murmured.

Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.

Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep?

God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.

(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)

Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.

Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.

Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #young royai #yesss I'm back with my young royai corniness... sorry not sorry...#what about it!!! uwu #also Roy Mustang vs carrots L O L

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mammon-sama · 4 years

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The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)

I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road. Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here.

Title:

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips

Summary:

On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).

Genre:

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

Word Count:

6870

Hour 0

Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle.

The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.

The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.

The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short). The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.

(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)

Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.

The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.

As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.

However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.

He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?” He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.

Solomon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were bringing them.”

Luke dropped the handle of his wagon. “No! I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me. Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.” He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.

“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair. “Don’t you know what this means?”

“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.

Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry. “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.” He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”

“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.

Luke frowned. “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip! L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!” He gestured toward himself. “Look at me, Solomon! I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes! No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”

“You’re serious? He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?” Solomon’s eyes widened. “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks. ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”

Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking. “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!” He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall. “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”

“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.

The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.

A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions. “Is everyone ready?” Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature. “And has everyone gone to the bathroom? We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way. I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”

He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.

“S—Simeon! Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom? I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!” He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle. “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed. “You know, most of these directions are online.”

“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel. “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”

Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then. We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”

“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.

“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat. He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.

As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car. He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.

His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car. He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.

Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food. He turned to Simeon. “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”

“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed. He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving. Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”

Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively. He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile. “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”

“Excellent. Now, where is Luke?” Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared. “Ah, there he is.” He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before. “Mind starting the car?”

Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door. “I’ll take the first shift. It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”

As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat. He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.

“M—Mammon? What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.

Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Hoping to hitch a ride?”

Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face. “Did your brothers leave you behind?”

“N— no! They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!” Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura. “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long! I had to say goodbye!”

“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon. “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”

Mammon’s face paled. “Wh—what? They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would! Those bastards!” He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.

“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.

“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, everyone, pile in. It’s time to get this show on the road.”

Hour 1

After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”

Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt. “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”

“Oh. An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.

Simeon’s eyes widened in concern. “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

Solomon nodded gravely. “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one. And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”

Again, Luke raised his hand. “I have a suggestion! I have a suggestion!” From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “This album is my personal favorite.”

Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him. “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”

The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist. Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”

It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.

Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon. What do they want ‘that way?’”

Solomon shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

Hour 2

It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.

“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat. “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”

Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle. “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”

“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel. “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually. The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant. However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside. Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”

“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?” Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.

Simeon looked at him curiously. “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke? To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”

The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me. I think that’s enough.”

Simeon laughed. “So it is.” He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair. “But let’s go see it, anyway.”

Hour 3

“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.

If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise. “Ah, you startled me, Luke. Did you need something?”

Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.

“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless. “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”

Simeon put up his hand. “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ‘fed’ premium gas only.”

Solomon grinned cheekily. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store. “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”

However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.

“Psst! Solomon! Over here! Behind the candy stand!”

He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.

“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively. “Considering you’re an angel and all.”

Luke stared at him with blank eyes. “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!” He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand. “This is my last pouch—eat them fast. They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”

Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste. He gestured toward Luke. “Do you always keep those on you?”

The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store. “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon! Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”

Hour 4

It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver. It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.

Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions. Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow!

Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.

“Simeon! Listen to this! In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.

“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.

Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”

“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.” Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light. “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”

Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”

Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry. “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”

“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.

“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon. His eyes widened. “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”

“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon. “We don’t need police.”

Hour 6

Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs. Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.

“Amazing Grace” in particular.

Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.

And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.

He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand. He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.

But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.

He had to do something.

“Hey! I have an idea!” Solomon chirped. “Let’s make up our own song!”

He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head. Why did he say that? He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!

“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought. “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”

Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”

Solomon sighed.

He did not know if this was any better.

Hour 8

“Luke, wake up. We’re here.” Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.

Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder. He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What? Did we beat all the other demons here? Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”

Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car. He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.” He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom.

Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder. “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”

Luke stared at the dark stone formations. “I don’t see any waterfalls.”

“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained. “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”

“‘The Abyss? ’ Why didn’t you say so?” Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly. “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”

Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm. “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”

“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not! How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.

“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs. As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it. He pointed into the canyon. “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls. Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”

Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’ Because most humans and all demons are sinners!” Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.

Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.

Hour 9

Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat. He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out. He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat.

“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?” Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.

Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head. “N—no, no! I’m okay!”

Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving. “Do you want some? I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”

“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“I guess that’s more for me, then.” Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.

It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.

It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?

He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion. “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”

When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow. He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls. “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”

“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured. He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison. “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you? Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?”

“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.

Simeon raised his other eyebrow. Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food. What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them? Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival? His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around. That’s a promise.”

Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying. He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke. “Now, eat your snacks.”

He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”

Hour 11

“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?” He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”

Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down. He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.

“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.

“Found it in my backpack. I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.” Solomon shrugged. “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”

Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”

“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly.

Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon. “May I try?”

Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head. “You know how to play?”

He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.

The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.

“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’” he suggested.

Luke furrowed his brows. “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”

Hour 12

“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes. “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”

He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of. It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.

Solomon nodded. “I’m with the Chihuahua. I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”

“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully. “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.” He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town. “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”

Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white. “Then why do you want to visit this place?”

“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat. “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “Sc—scary ghosts?” He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded. “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”

Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously. “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts. How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”

“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders. “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”

“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said. He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces. “Get it? ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”

Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead. He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone! We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord! We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”

It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.

“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.

The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”

There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.” He gagged. “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”

Hour 15

“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.

The other angel sighed. “Almost, Luke. Just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him. “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”

Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap. “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.” His eyes opened wide in realization. “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”

“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon. He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs. “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”

“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke. “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”

Solomon pursed his lips. “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right. We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured. He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already. It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”

“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly. He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats. He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”

“Oh. What does ‘R’ mean, then?”

Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.

At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”

Luke turned toward the dashboard. “What’s ‘E?’”

“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.

“Empty what?”

“Gas.”

“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”

“Yep.”

Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”

The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge. “We’re running on fumes.”

“We need to refuel, stat. Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon. “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.”

“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.

The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious. “Sit there and be cute.”

Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D. “There should be a station three miles ahead.”

Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge. “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”

“We have to!” cried Luke. “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”

“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.” Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.

And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”

After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station.

As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.

“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. He pat Mammon’s car. “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”

Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon. “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simeon. “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent. I’ve got no problem paying.”

“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.

Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store. By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.

The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?” He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer.

Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”

After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank.

“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.

The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon. “It matches your wand.”

“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon. “These are great—thank you.” As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God, sometimes the angel was so nice.

The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”

Simeon sniffed the air. “I think that’s the sea. After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”

Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.

Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly. “Yay! We��re here!”

Their road trip had finally come to an end.

Destination

After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites. Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor. Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”

In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.

As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first? Are we first?”

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh. “Welcome you three! And first for what, Luke?”

Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”

“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.

“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo. His eyes lit up. “That’s an excellent idea, though! Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest! First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”

Luke wrinkled his nose. “Teatime with you? That sounds—”

“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly. He turned to Diavolo. “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”

Diavolo grimaced. “It seems that they’ll be late. Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer. It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.” He sighed. “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”

Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.” His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions. “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”

“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye. “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”

Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera. He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.

The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation. Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.

The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon. Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.

The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”

Diavolo examined the images wistfully. He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon. “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”

The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #omswd #obey me swd #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me shall we date simeon #obey me shall we date solomon #obey me shall we date luke #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic #road trip

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thefinalcinderella · 4 years

Text

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 2 - The Mountains of Hakone are the Steepest in the World (Part 2)

Kiyose declaring that they’re aiming for Ekiden has the same energy as Kayoko (or rather, Keisuke) telling the MDC they’re aiming for the Olympics in DIVE!!

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Shiraae is a salad dressed with tofu, white sesame and white miso

2. Osechi is traditional New Year’s food stored in special boxes, you can read more about it here. Zouni is Japanese soup containing mochi and is strongly associated with New Year’s in Japan

Previous | Next

Entering April, the residents of Chikusei-sou suddenly became busy.

They had to frequently go to the university for orientation and course registration. Like bees riding on the spring breeze, they moved around without being able to stay still for even a moment. Every night from King’s room, there came the sound of him restlessly saying “Find a job, find a job” in his sleep, which could be heard all over Chikusei-sou. Yuki, who passed the bar exam last year, did not join any seminar and spent each night going around to clubs and immersing himself in a flood of music. Musa and Shindou, who were serious and went at their own pace, ignored their surroundings and immediately finished their course registrations, and it seemed that they were looking for new part-time jobs.

Jouji and Jouta were in high spirits right after the entrance ceremony, devoting themselves to hunting for clubs with cute girls. Nico-chan, who disappeared afterwards, was seriously consulting the “Easy Credit Acquisition Manual” that had been circulating secretly among the students and worrying over which lectures to take.

Kakeru managed to finish his course registration and immediately made a few acquaintances. Because he had no money, he snuck into freshmen welcoming parties and drank free alcohol every day. There was no scrutiny of what he was doing up to that point, and there was no hounding of what he was going to do from now on. Kakeru quickly fit into the do-as-you-please school atmosphere where people who didn’t interfere much with others gathered.

The course registration for all the students finally finished, and lectures would begin starting tomorrow. After Kakeru finished his evening jog and went through Chikusei-sou’s front door, he saw a sign hanging from the hole in the twins’ room. On the sign was written “Today’s Kakeru’s welcoming party. Everyone gather in the twins’ room at seven.”

My welcoming party. Kakeru felt ticklish. It was close to two weeks since he came here, and every night they made up a reason and held a drinking party or played mahjong in someone’s room, so he didn’t think there would be a welcoming party or anything at this point, but nevertheless, he was happy.

“I’m back,” he called down the hallway. In the kitchen, Kiyose and the twins were cooking for the party. Kiyose was stir-frying chopped onions and chunks of garlic in a big wok. Even though it was a wok, why did it smell like olive oil? Kakeru thought, puzzled. Kiyose, who was watching the fire with a serious expression, said, “Now!” Jouta quickly opened a can of tomatoes and dumped the contents into the wok. It seemed that they were making pasta sauce.

Jouta was tilting the can in one hand and handling a frying pan in his other. A huge amount of mustard greens and small fry danced in the air, and now it was the fragrant scent of sesame oil that drifted in the kitchen.

“We decided to make mixed rice,” Noticing Kakeru, Jouta said brightly. “Do you like mustard greens?”

Pasta and rice. While thinking what a high carb menu that was, Kakeru nodded.

Jouji was sitting at the dining table and making a bowlful of something that looked like spinach shiraae. (1) He was stirring so forcefully that there were beads of sweat on his forehead. A light green paste-like substance was being formed. Kakeru, feeling uneasy, tried to lend a hand, but was chased away with “The guest of honor doesn’t need to do anything.” Apparently, the welcoming party for the twins was completed before Kakeru arrived at Chikusei-sou. With the dignity of the former inhabitants of a land, Jouta and Jouji were assigned to cook.

Because there was nothing to do, Kakeru went to Tsuru no yu to take a bath by himself. After he was clean, he waited for seven o’clock in his room.

It seemed that he became drowsy while he waited, and when he woke up in a panic, it was already five minutes before seven. He thought that he should go to the twins’ room immediately, but arriving earlier than the arranged time would also be embarrassing, because it would seem like he was too impatient to wait. Kakeru stealthily opened his door to check out the situation. The kitchen was empty, and the first floor was completely silent. The signs of people and the sounds of standing and walking were concentrated in the twins’ room on the second floor.

Kakeru waited three more minutes, and then went up to the second floor.

When he opened the door, he saw Nico-chan threatening Musa with “Listen, just take attendance for me in this lecture!” while putting him in a headlock.

“Oh, Kakeru!” Jouta called out in a miserable voice. “Look, Kakeru came.”

Was I not supposed to come? Kakeru was confused, but apparently they were trying to sound the crackers in time for Kakeru’s arrival. We missed the timing because of Nico-chan-senpai making a huge fuss, Jouji said with a disgruntled face. While Shindou mediated, he rescued Musa from Nico-chan.

The residents crowded the twins’ room. Placed on the tea table in the center of the room and around it were the food Kiyose and the twins made, as well as the many sweets and alcohol brought by each person. King, who was hurriedly sneaking food, turned to Kakeru and told him to “Oh, sit” while chewing food.

Without obeying Kiyose’s calls to stop, the crackers headed towards the main house from the window and sounded all at once. A surprised Nira crawled out from beneath the veranda and barked incessantly at the moon.

“Now, shall we toast?”

Nico-chan took a canned bear. Kiyose surveyed the room.

“Feels like something’s missing.”

“Prince-san isn’t here!” The twins said in unison.

“Who’s that?”

Yuki answered Kakeru’s question.

“He’s Kashiwazaki Akane, who lives in Room 204. He’s a second year literature student.”

There was still a resident he hadn’t met yet? At any rate, why was he called “Prince”?

“I’ll go call him,” Kiyose said, standing up. “Kakeru, come with me.”

Exiting the twins’ room, Kiyose knocked on the door of Room 204, which was the closest to the stairs.

“I’m coming in, Prince.”

Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door. When Kakeru saw what was inside, he felt dizzy and staggered.

Inside the cramped room that had the exact same layout as Kakeru’s room, there were volumes and volumes of manga densely stacked from the floor all the way to near the ceiling. The surface of the tatami mats was only visible for a narrow passage. At the far end of this passage, there was a folded blanket placed next to the window. It seemed that since there was no space to lay out a futon, the resident of this room wrapped himself up in the blanket and slept. The lights were on in the room, it didn’t seem like the resident was here.

At any rate, it was a huge amount of manga. Room 204 was right above Kakeru’s room. Was this the reason for the creaking in his ceiling every night? Kakeru gently touched the stacks of manga that had become walls.

“Hey, don’t touch it. I sorted them all properly.”

A voice came from bon top of the mountain of manga next to him. Surprised, Kakeru stepped back to try to find the identity of the voice and hit his back into the mountain of manga. The books rustled down over his head.

“Oh, come on!”

From the space between the ceiling and the manga mountain, a man with a gorgeous face crawled out. He fluttered his heavy-looking eyelashes, which were worthy of his nickname of “Prince.”

“What’s going on, Haiji-san? Is this a new guy?”

“From about two weeks ago.”

Kiyose gathered the manga scattered on the tatami and handed them to Prince. “Tonight’s Kakeru’s welcome party. There should have been a sign hanging at the entryway.”

“Didn’t notice. I haven’t left Aotake for the past few days.”

“I want you to join us too.”

Despite saying “What a pain,” Prince went out into the hallway under the pressuring glint in Kiyose’s eyes. Kakeru hurriedly called out, “Um, the creaking in my room is really loud.”

“It’s loud everywhere.”

Perhaps lured by the scent of the food, Prince walked unsteadily towards the twins’ room, while still holding the manga.

“No, I think the creaking in my room is definitely worse than anywhere else.”

Kakeru was desperate. Living below a room carrying so much weight was extremely dangerous.

“Prince-san, let’s switch rooms.”

“I’m not going to put my precious manga on the humid first floor.” Prince bluntly shot down Kakeru’s proposal. "Your name’s Kakeru, right? You should think, ‘I’m living right below Niagara Falls.’”

“What do you mean?”

“Every day is full of thrills and things worth doing,” Prince opened the door to the twins’ room. “Furthermore, there are envious people who wish ‘I can live under something wonderful.’ My manga collection is unmistakably worth that much.”

Kakeru looked to Kiyose for help.

“I know what you want to say,” Kiyose sighed. “But, just give up.”

Now every resident of Chikusei-sou was in the twins’ room. Right after they did their toast, the atmosphere in the room accelerated, increasing the alcohol concentration, and there was laughter here and there.

Prince took the responsibility for accumulating manga and was made to sit between the boards where the risk of collapse was high. Kakeru was next to Kiyose with his back against the window that faced the yard. When he watched from here, he could understand the relationships between the residents of Chikusei-sou. They lived a semi-communal life in this cramped apartment. They had get along with each other from the start, but it seemed that some of them were particularly good friends.

The twins and Prince were having a heated discussion about manga while devouring sweets. Musa and Shindou were lending an ear to King’s anxieties about job hunting.

“I don’t even have the money to buy a suit.”

“How about a part-time job?”

“King-san, did your uniform from high school have a blazer? You can wear that if you did.”

Nico-chan and Yuki were immersed in talking about computers, which Kakeru couldn’t follow. Kakeru had already learned that though they were always snapping at each other, that was their normal, so he let them be. Even at times like these, Nico-chan approached the window Kakeru was sitting near and blew smoke towards the yard.

Kakeru and Kiyose didn’t particularly talk to each other, instead drinking beer and eating. Even though they were quiet, it was not awkward.

They knew that their common denominator with each other was track and field, but they somehow or other avoided talking about that. Kiyose seemed to be bearing that injury on his knee, and Kakeru wasn’t able to sort out the events of his high school days in his mind enough to be willing to talk about them. If they talked about track, it would seem like they would just be licking each other’s wounds, so he didn’t want to do that.

When the cans of beer were gone, Shindou opened the seal on the local sake sent from his hometown. The sake, whose name was unknown to all of them, was strangely sugary, but nobody cared about the taste. They devotedly consumed alcohol along with the snacks of cucumber, salt, and miso brought from the kitchen.

It was at that moment that Kiyose abruptly opened his mouth.

“Hey guys, listen up. I’ve got something important to say.”

Everyone, who was being noisy as they pleased, turned their attentions to Kiyose. They spontaneously formed a circle with the sake bottles in the center. What is he going to say? Kakeru thought as he looked at Kiyose’s face sitting next to him.

“I hope for all of your cooperation a little less than a year from now.”

“Are you taking a law exam or something?” Nico-chan asked leisurely.

“I can give you advice if you are,” Yuki said. Everyone was expecting that it would be something like wanting stop cooking meals for them because he was looking for a job, or something like that. However, Kiyose shook

“Everyone, let’s all for the top together.”

“…Of what?” Yuki cautiously prompted him on. The twins huddled together as though frightened. King muttered, “I’ve been suspecting Haiji’s up to something for a long time now.” Shindou and Musa exchanged glances.

“Combining the strengths of all ten of us, we take the top in sports.” Kiyose declared loudly. “If we are successful, it will make you popular with girls, as well as be advantageous for job hunting.”

“Is that true?”

The twins reacted, alert. They slowly constricted the circle and sidled up to Kiyose.

“Of course it’s true. It’s obvious that girls go crazy for guys who are good at sports, and on top of that, they are welcomed by big companies.”

The twins began to discuss immediately.

“If it’ll make me popular with girls, I’ll do it. Nii-chan?”

“Same here. But to the top of which sport exactly are we aiming for? You need nine people for baseball.”

“Soccer needs eleven people.”

“It’s kabaddi, right?” Nico-chan cut in.

“No,” Kiyose said. Yuki gave Nico-chan a cold look.

“Do you seriously think that doing kabaddi in the current Japan will make you famous enough to make your job search lucrative?”

“Plus, you need seven people for kabaddi,” King showed off his miscellaneous knowledge trained from quizzes.

Nico-chan and Prince instantly raised their hands and said, “Then, I pass.” For all of his sarcastic comments to Nico-chan, Yuki also raised his hand with them.

“Good luck with the rest, you guys.”

Musa looked over everyone present and reported brightly, “Now there’s exactly seven people.”

“I said, we’re not doing kabaddi, Musa,” Kiyose cleared his throat. “Furthermore, Yuki, you have no right to pass. Every year, I make special osechi and zouni for you, who whines about not wanting to go back home for New Year’s.” (2)

“Are you seriously threatening me?”

Yuki protested, but it was too weak. Kiyose smiled slyly.

“Why do you think I’ve cooking for you guys every day and working so hard to manage all of you guy’s health until now?”

What on Earth was Kiyose talking about? Everyone, who received the benefits from Kiyose’s housework abilities in no small part, fell silent as they sensed the danger. Now that I’ve fattened you up, let’s eat. It was as though they were lost brothers who were pulled out before a witch sharpening a kitchen knife.

Kiyose, who expressed interest in Kakeru’s running, and said he also did track. Kiyose, who forcibly dragged Prince to tonight’s welcoming party and gathered all the residents of Chikusei-sou. And finally, a sport done with ten people.

It can’t be, Kakeru thought.

“Do you still not understand what we’re aiming for?”

Kiyose was teasing the residents sitting in a row, as though he couldn’t resist having some fun. Everyone Kiyose’s gaze shot through were as reserved as a mosquito at the start of the season, hanging their heads and shaking them.

“It’s a sport that everyone’s seen at least once before. On TV, while eating zouni.”

“Could that be…”

Shindou gasped. Kiyose, leaning against the window frame, calmly stated,

“Yes, Ekiden. What we’re aiming for is the Hakone Ekiden.”

Previous | Next

#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #run with the wind #kazetsuyo translations

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mindwideopen · 3 years

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youtube

Oscar the grouch, is a semi walking.... well, I guess he walks when he picks up his can... oxymoron. He loves to hate, and he hates to love.

But that doesn’t concern Oscar in the least bit, cause he’s used to it, and totally into his ways, and his trash. He’s made a weird, magical world his can. It’s never ending down there, like the mary poppins carpet bag. I mean he has everything down there! He’s got trash, and his apartment, and elephants, and all kinds of missing socks and other things people lose and only end up with one of. And it’s even a portal to grouchland. But he picks it all up, and carries it around with him. The weight of his world.... All his trash.

But here’s the thing; he loves it! He loves his trash! And despite the fact that Santa is watching him, he’s still a grouch. And Santa just laughs. Yes, Santa is amused by Oscar’s ways. Oscar asked to be on the naughty list for life. Oscar loves to hate, and he hates that he loves, but he loves hating so much, but loving to hate, is loving something, and he hates it. Oscar, is a mess, and he loves it.

Oscar hates Christmas. He hates people being cheery. It makes him miserable, and he loves it. He sings about his misery. Here’s an example of oscar’s awakening to his internal running monologue in his head (feel free to perform it at your holiday gatherings):

Oscar the Grouch: I hate all of this christmas hullabaloo! Christmas is awful, and stinky, even though I love stink, but I hate people, yet I live on Sesame Street with the nicest bunch of chumps ever! And I hate that! I can pick up my trash world and move, but I’m much happier complaining about all of these horribly happy people to their faches, and trying to make them miserable too, like me! But I don’t want company! I want to be unhappy all by myself! I am going to keep all my internal garbage and yell about it! Being selfish with my upset of others joy makes me happy. Oh noooo! That makes me happy! Man, I hate that! I hate being happy! I hate loving to hate! I’m so over loving to hate that I’m into the love a lot now, cause I hate so very much! Nooooooooooo but yessssssss! (Oscar’s head finally explodes)

Scene.

Oscar, has a choice to be the way he is. We all do. And becoming aware of your own ways, and deciding to change for the betterment of yourself is also choice. Recognizing your side of the street is the first step in healing all parts of you, then the connections you have with others. Love does that. I love love. I have no problem with it what so ever, so unlike Oscar, I’m good internally when I choose love. No struggle when I do that. The only time I struggle is when I don’t choose love, and the fear creeps in to turn me into a mess that belongs in oscar’s garbage can.

So, I think I’ll donate all of my internal crap and crazy to him from now on, cause he loves it, and I’ll try to be vigilant about focusing on the love in others. And not be so cynical of their intentions towards me. The love feels better. It’s a lot of fun, and believing that people are good, is too. It takes the weight off of my brain, and heart. I think I’ll give myself that for Christmas. ❤️🎅👍😎

#Oscar the grouch #sesame street #caroll spinney #Christmas #i hate christmas #choose love #lovematters #love #self esteem #selfworth #self reflection #selfawareness #selflove #mind wide open #kari keillor #Youtube

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colbybrocksmolder · 5 years

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The Wilderness – Colby Brock x Reader 4/4

PART 3

The next few days played out very similarly. Elton called everyone together once a day for a small competition. You’d won a scavenger hunt and you didn’t think the mud wrestling was worth any prize, so you sat that one out. People kept asking why you guys looked so clean and happy. Colby always said you guys just packed a lot of clothes and you liked camping, not wanting to share your secret lake. You guys continued to enjoy clean clothes, bathing in the lake, and plenty of food. You’d even busted out the smore supplies and playing cards last night.

The competition was down to 4 teams and Colby was worried Sam and Kat were going to throw in the towel soon.

“You okay?” Colby asked Kat, offering her a protein bar.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I think I just want to sleep in my own bed.” She half smiled.

“Do you want one of our sleeping bags? I know Y/n wouldn’t mind.” He offered.

“No.” She laughed. “I mean I miss my apartment with my bed and my shower and my tv and my phone and my microwave and postmates and…”

“I get it.” Colby laughed. “How long do you think you’re staying?”

“I’m only staying for Sam.” She smiled. “It’s up to him.”

“Kat, Sam wanted to leave yesterday.” Colby laughed.

“Really?” She asked, shock evident in her voice.

“Sam!” Colby called. You and him were sat by the water, talking. You both walked back when you heard Colby call for Sam.

“What’s up?”

“Not that I want you guys to leave, because I definitely want you to stay…but you’ve both said you’re only staying for the other person and you both seem miserable.” Colby laughed.

“You don’t want to stay?” Sam asked Kat, sitting down next on her on the bin.

“I wanted to go home yesterday!” She laughed.

“So did I!” Sam joined in laughing.

“Awww, we’re going to be all alone.” You pouted, sitting on Colby’s lap.

“Don’t pretend like you’re going to be sad.” Sam teased. “You’re just going to walk around naked more often.”

“He’s not wrong.” Colby laughed.

“Do we even want to stay today?” Kat asked, looking at Sam.

“I’m out, dude. I want to ask Elton if we’re allowed to give them our supplies, but after that I want to go home and play Minecraft.” Sam laughed.

“I’m taking a bath and getting my nails done.” Kat said, looking at the one nail she had busted in half.

“Hey, Elton. This is Sam. I have a question.” Sam said into the walkie talkie, walking back out to the fire.

“What’s your question, young Samuel?” Elton replied.

“If someone were to hypothetically quit, they can give their supplies to another team, right? Technically it’s still considered trading goods?” Sam asked.

“Yup. Make sure to pack and bring back anything they aren’t going to use to the RV so it’s easier to clean up at the end of the competition, but you can definitely give them your food and flashlights and stuff.” Elton answered. “I know it’s going to take missing his flight or a lightning strike to get Colby to quit, so is it safe to assume you and Kat are going home?”

Sam laughed. “Yes. We’re tapping out.”

“I won’t announce it until you drag your stuff down here.” Elton laughed. “Do you need any help?”

“No, I think we’re good. We’ll be down there in a bit.” Sam answered.

“If you open that tote, we can put our snacks and stuff in it.” Kat said, pointing to the bin you were sitting on.

You hopped up, moving to help Sam pack everything up.

“Do you guys want the pillows?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine with what we’ve got.” Colby answered. “Y/n?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, though.” You smiled at Sam, helping him pack the rest of the inside of the tent into the totes.

They ended up leaving an extra flashlight, the alarm clock, some snacks, and some toiletries. You got everything else packed back into the two bins and the both of you walked them to the RV. When you got back to your campsite, it looked weird without the second tent.

“I wonder why Elton hasn’t announced it yet.” Colby wondered aloud, holding your walkie talkie in his hand.

“He hasn’t announced our daily challenge thing either. Maybe he’ll do it at the same time.” You said, not thinking too much of it. “Let’s record a diary entry.”

“I’ll grab the camera.” Colby said, ducking into the tent and coming out with a blanket and the camera. “Can you grab the smore stuff?” Colby asked, shaking the blanket out to lay flat.

“Of course.” You smiled, grabbing the Ziplock baggie with the smore ingredients.

Colby turned the camera on. “Hey, guys. We’ve got a bit of a sad announcement this time around.” He sighed, turning to look at you.

“Sam and Kat decided to go home.” You said, leaning your head on Colby’s shoulder.

“I don’t blame them. They were kind of done with this whole thing yesterday.” Colby explained. “So, to cheer myself up, I’m going to make smores and cuddle with my beautiful girlfriend.”

You looked at him, surprised he just said it on camera. You placed your hand on his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “That sounds like a great plan.”

“I agree.” He smiled at you, turning back to the camera. “I don’t know if Elton has anything planned for today since there’s only three teams left, but we’ll update you guys in a bit.” He turned the camera off and started making a smore.

About an hour later, you heard the announcement. “Hey teams! Looks like we’re down to three! I need everyone to meet down at the RV in about an hour! See you then!”

When you made it down to the RV, you noticed a big table set up with chairs surrounding it. “Ooo, what’s going on today?” You asked, Colby standing behind you with his arms around your shoulders.

“We brought our batteries and SD cards, by the way.” Colby said, pulling them out of his pocket.

“Sweet!” Elton said, grabbing them and running inside to exchange them. “And today is going to be a bit different.” Elton answered.

“Hey, hey!” JC called, walking towards you holding hands with Chelsey. “Who left?”

“Sam and Kat.” Colby answered in a sad voice.

“No way!” Chelsey said. “I thought they’d stay as long as you did.”

“I think we actually enjoy this more than them.” You laughed.

“Definitely.” Colby agreed.

Crawford and Franny joined the group. “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU GUYS NOT LOOK LIKE YOU’VE BEEN SLEEPING IN THE WOODS FOR 5 DAYS?!” Crawford practically yelled.

“They won’t tell us.” JC laughed.

“Your hair isn’t even greasy!” Crawford continued.

“Dry shampoo, brother.” Colby snarked back, making you laugh.

“One whole tote was dedicated to things to keep us camera ready.” You joked.

“You’ll find out everyone’s secrets when you watch the videos.” Elton laughed, walking to the table. “Okay! Today is going to be a little different. I’ve got Chinese food for us to share and I want to just talk. I want to hear your thoughts and your funny stories. I want this to be a camp-wide diary entry. Talk about how you’re feeling, if you’re enjoying this, if you’ve learned anything.”

“Fuck yes.” You said, letting your head fall back against Colby’s shoulder. “I could destroy some sesame chicken right now.”

“Lucky for you, its on today’s menu.” Elton said.

The 7 of you sat around the table, loading up your plates with food.

“Okay, First, I want to hear how everyone is doing. Physically, mentally, etc.” Elton instructed. The camera men were in different spots to catch everyone’s parts of the conversations.

“I’m great.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “Seriously. I am loving getting to spend this time with Colby. It’s been great to hang out with Sam and Kat and get to talk without someone recording us or needing to leave to record something else.” You added.

“I agree.” Colby said, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “I mean, I ended up getting a vacation and a girlfriend in one fell swoop. AND I plan on getting that 10 grand.” He smiled at you.

“I wondered if you two were official.” JC said, reaching over to fist bump Colby. “Congrats, guys. You two seem to be really good together.”

The rest of the group all said their congratulations.

“I think we’re doing pretty good.” Chelsey chimed in on Elton’s question. “I’m terrified I’m going to start my period, but other than that I think we’ve enjoyed the break.”

“God, men have it so easy.” Elton replied, laughing.

“I think we’ve got a few days left in us.” JC added.

Crawford and Franny looked at each other. “We’re ready to go home soon.” Franny laughed. “Honestly, I’m just bored at this point. I didn’t realize how many things I use to pass the time until they were all 2 hours away.”

Crawford nodded his head. “I agree. It’s mostly little things I miss. We’ve talked and we want to stick it out a bit more, though.”

“That’s kind of why Kat wanted to go home. She just missed her normal everyday stuff.” Colby added.

“What is one thing you’ve learned out here?” Elton asked, shoving fried rice in his mouth.

“I think I need to remember it’s okay to unplug for a bit.” Crawford said.

“Same.” Franny added.

“I think I just needed a reminder that the world isn’t going to end if I’m not there to answer every text and every email.” JC said.

Chelsey nodded, leaning into JC. “I think it’s been good to realize that not everything is dire. We’re so used to having instant access to everyone and everything in our lives.”

“All good things.” Elton said, looking at you and Colby.

“I think I forget that taking a moment for myself isn’t wasting time.” You said, your chest heavy with emotion. “I think I’d convinced myself that it was lazy to take a day to sleep in or to argue to push a deadline back for my mental health.” You paused, taking a deep breath.

“Hey.” Colby said, pulling you into his arms. “You’re okay.”

You let him comfort you for a second, taking a few more deep breaths. “If I could honestly tell the people watching your series anything, it’s that you matter. And that doesn’t just mean to other people. You’ve gotta realize you matter to you. Ignoring stress and bad sleep patterns and your own need to rest and heal…You’re only going to make things worse.”

“I fully fucking agree with that.” JC said from across the table, reaching his hand out to hold yours for a second.

“Me too.” Colby said, his arm still around you. “I didn’t even know you felt that way which means you’re pretty good at hiding it.” He smiled at you sadly. “You were spot on with ignoring the problems because you don’t think you’re worth the time it takes to fix them. I do that all the time. I gotta get better at that.”

“We’ll help each other.” You smiled at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“It’s been years since I’ve cried while eating Chinese food.” Elton joked.

“That an old habit of yours?” you laughed.

“You don’t want to know.” Elton said, putting on a dramatic face. “In all honesty, though. That’s probably the best thing you could take back from this experience. Burn out is a real thing and it’s not just related to work.”

You guys talked for about an hour, laughing and telling funny stories. When you got back to your camp you went and mixed some of the sports mix with a gallon of water and put half your tampons in a Ziplock baggie. You added a trash bag and a pack of baby wipes to the Ziplock before walking back out of your tent.

“Do you know where JC and Chelsey are camped?” You asked, intent on giving her the supplies.

“I don’t, but Elton does.” He answered, looking at what was in your hands. “You’re quickly becoming the best human I know.” He said, pulling you into his arms. “Let’s ask Elton over the walkie talkie.

“Hey Elton, can you tell us where JC and Chelsey are camped? We have some supplies we want to give them.” Colby said after switching the batteries.

“You’re giving them supplies?” Elton asked.

“Don’t ask.” Colby laughed.

“Yeah, they’re closer to me than you if you just want to walk back up here.” Elton answered.

“I’ll be back.” You said, heading back down the path.

“As if.” Colby laughed, grabbing the flashlight and the walkie talkie. “Come here.” He said, grabbing your hand.

“Thank you.” You smiled over at him.

When you got to the RV, Elton pointed to where JC and Chelsey were camped. You could see the tent up the hill. “I’m gonna go by myself, okay?” you said, letting go of Colby’s hand.

“Be safe!” he called. “Watch where you’re walking!”

Elton and Colby watched you start your short hike up the hill. “You guys are kind of perfect together.” Elton said, looking over at Colby.

“I mean, I’m not going to argue with you.” Colby laughed, leaning against the RV. “But what makes you say that?”

“I know the only reason Sam and Kat stayed out here so long is because you guys helped them. Hell, Corey and Andrea would have quit day one if you hadn’t set their camp up for them. And here she is giving to another team when there’s 10 thousand dollars on the line.” Elton explained. “You’ve both got very giving hearts. You both know that people are always more important than things. You’re both just really good people.”

Colby smiled over at Elton. “You really think all that highly of me?”

“What do you mean?” Elton yelled, knocking Colby’s shoulder with his. “of course, I do.”

“Thanks.” Colby said, bumping his shoulder back into Elton’s. “I think I sometimes forget what got Sam and I started on this whole thing. It’s hard to breathe constant kindness through all the LA smog.” He joked, bitterly.

“Well I think a pretty good reminder for you just walked up that hill.” Elton nodded towards you.

“You’ve got that right, Uncle Elton.” Colby replied, seeing that you had just gotten to the tent.

“Chelsey?” You called. “JC?”

“Yo!” JC replied, crawling out of the tent. “What’s up?”

“I brought these for Chelsey.” You said, seeing her crawl out of the tent after JC.

“Whoa, why?” She asked, realizing you’d have to have hiked back to your camp and then all the way back.

“Girl, I am not about to let you suffer having a period in the woods with no supplies.” You laughed, handing her the bag. “There’s tampons, baby wipes, a few trash bags…” You pointed out different things in the bag. “And this will make sure you don’t get dehydrated as hell. It’s got electrolytes and shit in it.”

“Seriously?” JC asked, dumbfounded. “Can we give you anything for it?”

“Nope. We’ve got more than we need.” You answered, waving and walking back towards the RV.

“Thank you!” Chelsey called, running and pulling you into a hug. “Seriously, you’re so sweet.”

“No problem.” You laughed, hugging her back. “Really.”

When you got back to the RV the sun had completely gone down. “You ready?” you asked Colby.

“I am.” He answered, reaching out for your hand.

“Have a good night, guys!” Elton called, going back in his RV.

Colby clicked the flashlight on and lead the way back to your camp. “You did a very nice thing.” He said about halfway back to camp.

“It wasn’t a big deal.” You shrugged. “We still have more than we need.”

“That’s not the point.” Colby laughed. “Just wait until the series comes out. I guarantee you JC and Chelsey are going to talk about what you did in their diary entry and the comments are going to be filled with people thinking you’re crazy for helping the competition.”

“Think about it this way.” You said. “Would you want to win because one of your friends had to quit because of something you don’t even have to struggle with?”

“Not at all.” He answered, stopping in the middle of the trail to pull you against him. “It doesn’t mean what you did wasn’t a very nice and kind thing.” He leaned down and connected your lips.

When you broke the kiss, you laid your head against Colby’s chest. “I know we’ve been friends for a while, but we’ve been dating for less than a week.” You said, slipping your fingers under the back of Colby’s shirt to rest against his skin. “I know it’s way to early to ACTUALLY say what I’m thinking…So I’m just going to say I could really love you one day.”

Colby laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I could really love you one day, too.”

Crawford and Franny quit the next night. And you had to wait three whole days to get the final walkie talkie announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to announce that the 9th team has officially quit, and Y/n and Colby are our official winners!” You heard Elton scream into the walkie talkie at about 5 in the morning.

Colby grabbed the walkie talkie, replying. “Did you really have to wake us up for that? Also, if we’re the only ones left why did you say that like you were announcing it to the entire camp?” he laughed.

“Get dressed and head down here, guys.” Elton’s laugh could be heard through the speaker.

You grabbed the camera to record your ‘reactions’.

You yawned, looking over at Colby. “I think we just won.” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

Colby sleepily nodded, kissing your forehead. “I think we did.”

“I need to pee.” You laughed.

“Elton can wait.” Colby said, looking at the camera. “We’ve got priorities.”

You turned the camera off and started getting ready.

“It’s kind of chilly out.” Colby said, peeking out of the tent. “Wear this.” He chucked you one of his hoodies.

“Thanks, babe.” You smiled, pulling it over your shirt.

You finished getting ready and made the trek back to the RV. By the time you got there, the sun had fully risen.

“CONGRATS!” Elton yelled, hugging both of you. JC and Chelsey were still there and they both congratulated you guys.

“Thank you.” You both said, your arms linked and your hands in your hoodie pockets.

“So, as you know…You get 10 thousand dollars to split and you get to pick a charity that I’ll donate another 10 thousand dollars to.” Elton said, two stacks of cash in his hands.

You leaned up to whisper in Colby’s ear. “For Sparta, right?” You asked, knowing that Elton was working his ass off on a charity all by himself.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Colby said, kissing your forehead.

“What?” Elton asked, looking back and forth between the two of you.

“We’re giving the charity money to your charity.” Colby said, seeing Elton’s mouth drop open a bit. “You don’t get enough media attention or credit for the work you’re doing and 10 grand is a lot of money.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Elton asked.

“This is no joking matter.” You laughed.

“You know you don’t have to do that.” Elton said, making sure you knew.

“We want to, Elton!” you promised.

He pulled the both of you into another hug, handing you the other stack of bills. “Thank you.” He said, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “I honestly didn’t expect that.”

“With this one, you should have.” Colby teased, elbowing you.

“Do you guys know what you’re doing with your money?” He asked, remembering everything was still being filmed.

“I don’t know, actually.” Colby said, looking over at you.

“I hadn’t thought about it.” You shrugged your shoulders. “If it’s anything fun or crazy, we’ll make sure to film it for you.” You laughed.

“One last thing!” Elton remembered. “Do you want to tell Chelsey and JC why you were always so clean?” He busted out laughing before he even got the whole word out.

“Oh, yeah.” You chuckled.

“We found a lake.” Colby said, shrugging his shoulders. “It was a long ass hike every day to get down here, but it was totally worth it.”

“I KNEW it!” JC yelled, Chelsey laughing at him.

The cameras were turned off and JC and Chelsey walked back to their camp to pack up.

“Are you heading back down in the RV right away?” Colby asked Elton.

“No, actually. I won’t leave until tomorrow afternoon.” Elton replied.

Colby looked over at you. “Want to spend one last day up here?”

“As long as that means we get to go back to sleep for a few hours.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around Colby.

“Oh, for sure.” He replied, pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands and wrapping his arms around you. “Elton, do you mind if we stay and ride back with you tomorrow?”

“Not at all.” Elton shook his head. “We may come take a swim up by you in a little bit.”

“Sounds good to me.” Colby said, asking Elton to keep your cash prize in the RV for the night.

When you climbed back in your tent and stripped down, Colby pulled you to lay against his side. “I’m going to miss this.”

“I’ll miss it a little, too.” You said, dragging your fingers up and down Colby’s bare side. “But home is going to be a new adventure too. We get to do everything together for the first time.”

Colby smiled. “That’s very true.”

“And we’ve got 10 grand stashed away now. Maybe in a few months, You, me, Sam, and Kat can take a little trip.” You suggested.

“Another little break from the crazy.” Colby agreed.

“Exactly.” You said, snuggling further into Colby’s chest.

“I know you said it’s too early to say what I’m thinking, but I just want to reiterate that I am really going to fucking love you one day.” Colby kissed the top of your head.

You laughed, pressing a kiss to Colby’s neck before laying your head back down. “Well one day, I’m going to argue that I love you more.”

#colby brock #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock oneshot #colby brock smut

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1heartsickfics · 4 years

Note

Prompt suggestion❤️: kaiser, Hazel, Nathan and Jackson are hanging out at a cabin for the weekend when Nathan starts to get sick, he puts off telling them how he feels until he can’t bear it anymore and starts throwing up. They all help take care of him.

OMG thanks so much, I love this one!! I’m a sucker for group fics and I actually don’t think I’ve written hardly any, which is crazy. Also, I kind of turned it into a little joke because they’ve got so many allergies between them lol (Jackson can’t have dairy, Kaiser can’t have gluten, Nathan can’t have corn or sesame)

“Hey, you guys want to head in and start on dinner?” Kaiser asked, pulling himself out of the water to sit on the deck.

“Sounds good, I’m starving,” Hazel agreed.

“What are we making tonight?” Jackson asked, getting out of the lake as well.

“How about spaghetti,” Hazel suggested, swimming over to the dock to get out herself. She walked over to where Nathan was lounging in a deck chair to grab her towel. He wasn’t a big fan of being in the water so he’d opted to do some tanning instead.

“Gluten,” Kaiser shook his head. “We could do enchilladas.”

“Corn,” Hazel shook her head, glancing at Nathan, who was making a face at the suggestion. “Potato soup?”

“Dairy,” Jackson shook his head.

Huh. This was going to be more difficult than they thought.

“I could grill up some hamburgers. Jackson just won’t use cheese and I won’t use a bun,” Kaiser shrugged, wrapping himself up in a towel.

“Nathan will probably have to do no bun as well cause I think they’re sesame buns,” Jackson said.

“That’s fine,” Nathan mumbled, pushing himself up from the chair carefully and wrapping his own towel around himself, mostly to cover up how bloated he’d realized his stomach was. He hadn’t been feeling good since lunch but figured it would just get better if he just lounged around and took it easy, but in fact the opposite had happened. He felt worse than earlier.

Sitting in the hot sun had made the upset in his stomach turn to nausea, sweat prickling on his skin and making him feel too hot and too cold at the same time. Maybe that was the fever talking, he was pretty sure he had one now.

“You sure?” Hazel asked, leaning against his shoulder. He cringed, hoping she couldn’t feel the fever. She’d probably just assume if was from the sun though, he supposed.

“Yeah, lettuce burger is fine with me,” he shrugged, biting back a gag at the thought of eating anything. This was bad, this was really bad. The last place he wanted to be sick was at this cabin in the middle of nowhere with a group of people. But there was nothing he could do about it now, he was definitely sick.

He followed the rest of them inside, hoping as a last ditch effort that the air conditioning inside would make him feel better. Maybe lunch had just upset his stomach and now he was overheated? Probably not. But it was worth a shot.

After going inside he went to the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and wiping down his chest and his arms with a wet rag to cool him off. It didn’t help. Not enough anyway. It did feel good to hold something cold to his stomach though, which was definitely bloated, pressing against the waistband of his swim trunks.

Nathan exited the bathroom and headed to the bedroom him and Hazel were staying in while they were at the cabin. He figured that the rest of them were in the kitchen starting on dinner, probably annoyed that he hadn’t stuck around to help. He couldn’t find himself to care at the moment though, he was starting to feel really bad.

As he walked down the hallway, he found that his vision was spinning, making him even more queasy. He hugged his belly as he stumbled into their room, arm pressed against the wall for support. To his surprise, however, Hazel was sitting on the bed looking at her phone. He immediately straightened up as much as he could, fighting dizziness and nausea.

“Hey, there you are!” Hazel looked up, smiling when she saw him. The smile quickly faded when she saw how flushed he looked. She’d thought it was just from being out int he sun, but something had told her that it wasn’t just that.

“I was in the bathroom,” he mumbled, his jaw feeling too heavy to speak.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Nathan didn’t answer. There was a lump in his throat and his tummy was squeezing inside of him. He was afraid of what would happen if he opened his mouth. “Baby what’s wrong?” Hazel got up from the bed, quickly moving to Nathan’s side. She gently grabbed his arm to steady him just in time for him to pitch forward and vomit all over the floor, narrowly missing both of their feet.

“Oh jeez, okay hon, you’re alright,” Hazel stuttered for a moment, obviously taken off guard, before regaining her composure. She wrapped an arm around him to keep him upright as he hunched forwards, continuing to gag up their lunch. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and it definitely was not just from being outside. He had a fever for sure.

“S-sorry, I couldn’t m-move, I-” Nathan cried once the heaves finally tapered off, tears falling down his flushed cheeks.

“Aw sweetie, it’s not a big deal, I’ll clean it up no problem, come here,” she shushed him, pulling him into her arms.

Nathan let out a sob, “I don’t feel good!” He pressed his face into her shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

“I’m so sorry Nath,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek and rubbing her hands up and down his back until he calmed down. Then she carefully pulled him away from the mess and led him over to sit on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, “I didn’t want to ruin the weekend.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. I’m just sorry you don’t feel well. I’ll take care of you though okay?” she told him, wiping the tears off of his cheeks with her thumb.

She walked over to Nathan’s weekend bag and pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, tossing them onto the bed for him to change out of his swim suit.

“I’m gonna go tell Kaiser and Jaz that you aren’t feeling good and get some stuff to clean up with. You change into something more comfy and lay down to relax, I’ll be right back,” Hazel said, exiting the room and pulling the door shut on her way out.

Nathan sighed, hanging his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he’d just puked all over the floor of Kaiser’s parents cabin in front of his girlfriend. His tummy was still churning, so he pressed a hand to it, feeling his shorts digging into the underside of his belly. Hazel was right, he should change. He carefully put on the boxers and the shirt then crawled miserably under the covers, feeling suddenly cold.

Hazel came back and checked on him a moment later, kissing his forehead, before moving to clean the floor. When she was finished she grabbed the trash can from the bathroom and placed it beside Nathan on the floor, just in case. When she sat down at the edge of the bed to check on him again, she found that he was fast asleep, arms cradling his sickly tummy.

Good, she thought, maybe he just needs to sleep it off.

#tw vomit #vomit trigger warning #emeto #stomach flu #tummy ache #upset tummy #bloated tummy #sick nathan #caretaker hazel #nathan and hazel #kaiser #jackson

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thotteus-beaumont · 4 years

Text

Lover’s Cross

Summary: "Cause now it seems that you wanted a martyr...Just a regular guy wouldn't do. But baby I can't hang upon no lover's cross for you” ~ Jim Croce. Pete Moore & Henry Devlin are both absolutely sure they have nowhere left to go but down...

Ship: Henry/Pete & background Jonesy/Beaver

Words: 6,398

His father had once told a much younger version of Pete that ignorance was bliss. And when he’d asked him what ‘ignorant’ meant, he just smiled and handed him his orange juice. And as he usually did, Pete did not press the subject any further. Instead he’d sipped on his juice.

Pete had been feeling nostalgic lately. And not in the good way--no, this made him feel sick. His throat would close up and it would be impossible for him to catch his breath. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two as he continued walking up and down the kitchen area in his apartment. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nose. He was getting that feeling you get when you drink too much soda and the fizz sort of creeps uncomfortably at your nose, giving you a weird half-headache. Just a tiny echo of the usual hang-over he’d wake up with.

This Tuesday morning there was no real hang-over...just the phantom memory of one that his brain put on because the feeling of waking up without one was just too uncomfortable.

He shot Jonathan down at least a good 4 times before the man had somehow wormed his way into Pete’s affectionate heart. Coming up on a year in just a few short days and Jonathan was standing in their apartment and calling-in sick to excuse them from a nice Holiday work party at his office.

Pete scraped his thumbnail down his lip and thought about how the speed-limit for the busy street near them had gone down some but the yellow car he spotted through the large window didn’t seem to care.

“Done is done.” Jonathan flung the home-phone onto the couch and looked up with an expectant face.

“Do you want a ‘thanks’? I didn’t ask you to do that-” Pete went on the defensive but that only seemed to piss his boyfriend off.

“But I had to do it. Ain’t worth a shit if you say thanks or not, Pete. Tender is the night, babe and I can’t have you inebriated in front of my co-workers again and turning that mood into...that." He vaguely gestured to Pete with an exhausted sense of familiarity.

“I was barely drunk, John. No one noticed-”

“Janine asked me if you were in A.A., Pete!” Jonathan sighed with restrained irritation. Pete fell silent and turned away from the conversation. “Look, I know that you’re trying...I know that-”

Pete pursed his lips together. “For your sake. I don’t personally think it’s a problem, John. You want me to drink a little less, yeah-I can do that, no problem. But swearing it off entirely just because your secretary thinks two beers is A.A. worthy?”

Jonathan groaned and leaned against the small counter. “You had more than two and you Goddamn know that so I won’t pick on that comment.” He rolled his eyes and ignored Pete’s returned gesture. “Do you really want me to be doing this for you for ever?”

Pete turned on his heels and cocked his head to the side.

“Meaning, having to pick you up from parties you can’t drive yourself home from, take care of you because you won’t do it yourself? Goddamn defend your actions to my concerned co-workers?” Jonathan waved his arms about and shook his head. “For every night you spent sober and laughing with me, there were at least six nights spent with me worrying about whether or not I’ll have to keep turning you on your side so you don’t choke on your vomit!”

Pete blinked away some stress tears, a habit he seemed to have picked up from ol’ Jonesy, who was bound to flow some out whenever he got too passionate. It could be a stream just as strong as Beaver’s road-side pisses. “If I make you so miserable, than yeah I’d rather you leave.”

John let out one of those incredibly frustrated groans again. “Pete, I’m not accusing you of trying to make my life hell-”

“But it’s exactly what you’re saying-” Pete stepped forward and made eye contact with his boyfriend, who looked to be at some sort of tipping point.

“Not it’s fucking not!” John had somehow managed to take the few steps needed to being face-to-face with Pete. “I just want you to get better.”

Pete shook his head. “Won’t be hard considering, I’m fine. I don’t have a problem.”

John shocked them both by raising his hand and slapping Pete across the face. The sound was a loud and horrible smack of hot skin.

Pete recovered instantly yet slowly at the same time. He raised his face again and made dreaded eye contact. “Get out.”

John stepped back and swallowed. “I’m so fucking sorry, Pete. I just-...You’re right. I should go.” he seemed to give up on this justification and started walking around their apartment. With Pete’s watchful and conflicted eyes following his every move.

He packed himself an over-night bag and stopped just as soon as he hit the kitchen. “Listen Pete, I love you. I just want you to be healthy but I won’t fight for this love if you won’t at least...meet me in the middle.”

Pete pursed his lips and shrugged. John soaked that ‘answer’ in and lifted his bag from the table. “Ok, well...I’m gonna stay over at a friends. Give you some space.”

Pete still didn’t speak and watched the guy shut the door behind him. “Fuck.” was all he muttered as he glided his way towards the phone sitting on the coffee-table. He dialed quickly and tapped his fingers against his side.

“Hello-”

“Beaver, can you come over, buddy?” Pete tried not to let the anxiety bleed into his voice but the Beav was always unusually great at knowing how all his friends felt by just like 3-words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver Clarendon, 5′6 and with a bead of sweat dripping down his temple against that long hippie-hair, stepped inside with happy determination. There was a jar of fresh peanut-butter in his hand and the mission for him now was to find two clean spoons.

Pete felt mounds of stress leave his body just from seeing his pal. He solemnly followed the man and took a seat at the counter to wait.

“My Spidey-Sense was correct, Pete.” Beaver wiggled one of the spoons and pulled up a stool across from Pete, even though Pete knew those kinds of chairs bothered him. Beav continually slouched in life but a little back support helped a little. Pete lifted a brow and opened the jar. “I told Jonesy that we would need to buy an extra jar.” He smiled with pride.

Pete chuckled and broke the perfect top of the butter with his spoon and ate a full on glob. “I think I fucked up something great, Beav.” He swallowed, with struggle, and bite into his cheek. “Even when I think things are gonna be ok--hell, maybe good--some part of me has to lose anyway.”

Beaver frowned and opened his mouth.

“Jonathan left. Say’s he’s concerned about me but he got all kinds of frustrated with me and slapped me across the goddamn face. A total fuckarow.” He shook his head.

Beaver rolled his lips and looked as if he wasn’t sure how to bring up what he wanted to say. “Did a specific incident cause his ‘string-to-break’?”

Pete would’ve been a little offended if this had been maybe Jonesy or Henry-- and even so not much with them either--but the Beav was gentle. “If you’re asking if I got drunk and did something stupid, answer’s no.”

Beaver nodded.

“The answer is I got drunk and did several stupid things throughout the entire relationship, if you ask John.” Pete scoffed and licked the spoon as Beaver went in for a large scoop.

“And if I ask Pete Moore?” Beaver gave a gentle smirk.

“He’s overreacting.” Pete frowned.

Beaver hummed and took the liberty of feeding Pete a larger spoonful of the peanut-butter with his own utensil, which Pete knew was his way of preparing him for hard words. He didn’t mind so much if they came from the Beav so Pete cleaned the spoon and watched him settle it back down on the counter.

“He shouldn’t have slapped you. I hate that shit.” He shook his head, straying black hairs flew about him. “But...-” Beaver looked up with wide eyes which said ‘Please, don’t make me say it.’

Pete rolled his shoulders back.

“I can be frank, Pete, if that’s what this calls for. I don’t want to be but--Hell, I’ll be goddamn Elmo from the Muppets and give you a reason why you should stop drinking starting with each letter of the alphabet, if I thought it would help-”

“Elmo was from Sesame Street.” Pete took another dip into the jar.

“Same thing.” Beaver chuckled and rolled his eyes. “A is for-”

“A.A.?” Pete scowled and Beaver felt a burning in his stomach.

“I was going to say, A is for Apple Juice comes in a cuter package but...” Beaver stuck his tongue out and enjoyed Pete’s little grin. “I say we invite the gang over for dinner? I can whip something up with whatever you got here.” Beaver hopped off the stool and began going through the cabinets.

“Beer?” Pete made the snide and self-deprecating joke and Beaver hummed.

“Take that attitude and use it to chop up this Onion, please.” He tossed the vegetable and almost nailed Pete in the eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was a trying one for Rhonda. The home was practically dead apart from the terribly busy sounding quick taps of a keyboard in the other room. And though it was a soft sound, it didn’t stop it from slowly driving her insane. Her stomach turned from the mixture of anger and nerves that were boiling inside her.

So instead of slamming her head into her palms and letting out the emotions, she composed herself. She sat straight and tall, threading her slim fingers together. She copycatted those relaxing breaths Henry had once taught her.

Rhonda rarely treated herself, as Henry tried to tell her many times. Though he was never quite able to put it so lovingly. Where she was soft, he could be so blunt. And it went both ways. However tonight while her anxiety was running it’s high fever, she decided to pour a glass of wine for herself and Henry, whenever he decided to come into the room. As it poured, she tapped her nails in a small beat on the counter.

Just as the last drop splashed in the glass, she heard the door to their office close gently. She hated the way it made her grin with pride. Like just getting out of that room should be applauded. That sound was tragically one of her favorites. It either meant that Henry was giving himself a break from throwing himself into his work or he was feeling joyful enough for husband-wife activities. Either way, she’d be met with him again and instead of pondering why they were even still together. But soon, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore...

“Did you sign the divorce papers?” She tipped her chin and frowned at Henry, who looked exhausted.

He scratched the back of his neck and sighed. “I will, I promise. I just-”

“It’s just a signature, Henry.” She didn’t want to push him, even still after their bickering, but she felt strongly that things would be better once it was done. “Did we not come up with this decision together?”

Henry swallowed. “We did, Rhonda. I know that and I will get to it.” He urged her with genuine eyes, she softened.

“Bridges burn when people joined by them have changed, Henry. You told me that and now it’s about us.” Rhonda felt her stomach roll. “I want to burn this bridge. Go back to a relationship where I don’t feel like your martyr. Friends.”

Henry nodded. “So do I, Ronnie. Believe me. I never met for this...-look, It’s just hard to accept that I couldn’t make this marriage work.”

Rhonda looked up at him with curious eyes and asked a question which had been plaguing her mind for several months now. “Is it my fault that your depressed? It seems like our relationship-”

Henry didn’t let her finish. “Don’t do that to yourself, Ron. It ain’t you. It’s me.-”

“You never seemed to want to be close enough with me.”

“Not just you, Ronnie. I just don’t think I’m wired that way, that’s what the ol’ Doc says anyway.” Henry tapped his own temple and she rolled her eyes.

“You can’t just consult yourself, Henry. I’ll say that for the last time.” She sipped her glass of wine. “It’s just...watching you fade inside yourself these past months has been painful for me too. Seeing yourself pull-out of it for your friends but not me-”

“Rhonda, it ain’t like I just up and cure myself for them. That’s not how it works-”

“No they cure you, for the while you’re with them. It’s not something I could ever do, huh? Lift the darkness for a little bit.” She shrugged and blinked down at the counter. Henry didn’t say anything else. “By the way, Beaver called. He wants you to come over to Pete’s for dinner. Says it’s an emergency.” She cocked her head towards the answering machine.

Henry felt so horribly guilty, knowing he’d be leaving for them instead staying for Rhonda. He couldn’t help it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beaver had been able to brief Jonesy on the situation, considering he picked up with the home-phone they shared. But Henry hadn’t answered so he just gave Rhonda vague details and hoped to catch him right at the door to speed him through Pete’s day.

The thing about them was, well the five of them--Douglas, Pete, Beaver, Jonesy & Henry--were the closest best friends in the world.

Jonesy and Beaver had hooked up around high-school, maybe early Junior year? And been a couple ever since.

Henry and Pete...they’d been entertaining to watch. Sure, they started hooking up a bit before the other two but they had just never said anything about it so it’d been shocking to find out. It was kind of a strange off-and-on thing. Then they’d sort of became a legit couple for a good while only to break up around the beginning of Henry’s first college year. But there was never any bitterness carried between them. They were still best friends.

And so Henry married Rhonda and Pete had fling after fling until he landed on that Jonathan fellow.

“He slapped him?” Henry whisper-yelled to Beav as he took off his jacket by the front-door. Jonesy and Pete were joyfully bickering about some horror movie that Jonesy was trying to beg him to watch. Henry peeked over Beaver’s head. “I gotta talk to him about this-”

“Hey I didn’t stick the dime in ya so that you could throw Pete a ride. I just told you so that you would know enough to make the night better. Without directly talking about it just yet.” Beaver waved his hands around.

Henry rolled his eyes but suddenly surged forward and stuck his hand into Beaver’s jacket pocked to produce a physical and literal dime. “Hey!”

Henry smirked. “Too late, Beav. Dime’s already in the slot and the ride is coming. But I’ll wait, ok? You can’t ask me not to talk to him about this. We’re all going to have to at some point.” Henry frowned and Beaver nodded with understanding eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get off!”

Jonesy shrieked as he wrestled Beaver who’d just pulled his finger from his mouth and was ready to stick it into Jonesy’s ear. Only, when they heard Pete coming back from the kitchen, they paused.

Jonesy took the chance to kick Beaver off, knocking the tiny man over the back of the couch and onto the floor. “Bitch-in-a-buzzsaw!” He whined.

Pete chuckled and plopped down teasingly onto Henry’s lap in the arm-chair he liked so much. It wasn’t an uncommon thing at all for any of the four of them to be affectionate like that with each other.

But Beaver knew it would only make Henry want to speak about the situation again. Henry was far too soft on Pete and for him, that meant he wanted to bluntly offer help.

“So, you think Jonathan is coming back...tomorrow?” Henry asked, gently. The room suddenly filled with tension as Beaver still laid flat against the floor on his back.

Pete frowned and wiggled a little in Henry’s lap. “Probably. What he’s going to do, I don’t know. Part of me thinks the break-up is inevitable but...man, I don’t know that I could afford this place without him.” He chuckled, like it was funny but no one else joined in. “Tough crowd. Look guys, I’ll be fine.” Pete shoved himself off of Henry and stood. “I don’t need the pity.”

Jonesy gave him a look of genuine love. “It’s not pity, Pete. We just love you-”

“And think I’m a drunk, yeah.” Pete laughed bitterly and went to lean against the kitchen counter.

Henry desperately wanted to come back at Pete with how they just wanted to help him but he figured it would only serve to piss him off. There’d have to be a way to ease him into the ‘help’ discussion.

“Hey, if worse comes to worst, I could move in with you and help out.” Henry copied the laughter and felt the concern turn on him; exactly what an exhausted Pete needed. “Divorce papers gonna be signed soon-” He selectively explained without mentioning he was the one stalling it. “File that in the ‘pity’ section of your memory warehouse.” He tipped his chin to Jonesy as he stood as well.

Pete frowned deeply and felt a rush of relief that surely made him feel guilty.

“How’s Rhonda feeling about everything?” Jonesy sat up straighter and Beaver finally picked himself up off the ground. He placed his ass right on the edge of the couch’s top, near where Jonesy’s head was.

Henry shrugged.

“How are you feeling?” Beaver adds, scooting over slightly so Jonesy could lean his head against his lower-back...grossly adorable.

Henry bit into his cheek and reminded himself that he’d asked for this turn of attention. He thought about the newly-noticed feeling of walking the floors of his home as if it were just some small town he was passing through on a longer journey. “I’m fine. Managing everything.” was the answer he decided to go with.

It did not impress any of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small glass of perfume sat on a dresser. It was the small and delicate glass with a large daisy stopper blocking any leakage.

It sat there, absolutely still, as a pair of hands quickly picked and pulled from the array of products sat around it. But with that speed came clumsiness and the hands just darted to fast on the pull-back of his watch and down came the bottle. Knocking it off the counter and revealing the ring of dust that had been living underneath it.

Henry paused for a moment before peeking over the lip of the dresser to find the tiny bottle. The rounded broken piece was rolling just the slightest bit while the rest of the tiny shards bathed in the small puddle of the scent leaking out.

Henry had given that perfume to Rhonda as a small Valentine’s Day gift about a year ago. Kneeling down, he intended to start cleaning the mess up but he hesitated. The tip of his finger laid frozen in the burgundy puddle as a wave of emotion fell upon him. He’d been holding back on truly coming to terms with what his mind and body ached for. But looking at the old shattered gift on their hardwood floor...the gate was opened without his permission.

A flood of tears finally broke past his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, the heat from her previous restrain could almost burn his skin. He thought about the time one of his ‘work friends’ said he couldn’t imagine Henry ever crying, he seemed far too straight-headed for it. Henry didn’t really know what that meant.

But in this instant he was near hysterical. His breathing was rapid and short as it became harder for him to push-back the devastation. More then anything in his life he wanted to call Pete, Beav or Jonesy...Douglas would always be able to make him smile. He wanted to hear their voices. But at the same time he was desperate to shove them away from this side of himself entirely.

The palm of his hand curled over his mouth in an attempt to block some of the sound from breaching the thin walls of their home. He did not want Rhonda to her any bit of this breakdown, she didn’t need to see him so...sad. It would just be too hard for them and she didn’t need anymore stress so Henry just needed to be strong, he was usually extremely good at that. It was enough that he’d been allowing this to burn his insides. There’d be nothing more now.

A deep breath or two and he was off the floor and on his way to collect the dust-pan and broom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Pete squinted as he walked briskly to the front of his apartment building where Jonathan was sat, hands shoved in his pockets. He’d been gone for a good week.

“I wanted to see you and....-” He pointed his thumb at the door behind him. “I’m locked out of the building.”

Pete rolled his eyes and got his own key from his pocket as John stood and followed behind him. “Where’s your key? You should still have it....where did you end up staying by the way?”

The man behind him went quiet again in that eerie way could really freak Pete out sometimes. “Forgot it here. And I um...-I went to Marty’s.”

Pete nodded and worked on getting inside the building and strolling on up to the apartment that should still be referred to as theirs.

“I thought maybe enough time had passed for us to try talking again.” John swallowed nervously and allowed Pete to escort him inside their place. “I actually tried coming by last night but you weren’t here so I went to that place-umm...Sully’s.”

He shrugged like it was no big deal but he knew for certain that it was an explosion waiting to happen. Pete looked at him with fury as they got to his door.

“You went to the bar to look for me?” He glared and it felt as if his stomach was suddenly tied in a huge knot.

“You can’t blame me!” He went straight into defense and followed the man further into the lonesome apartment. The air grew with tension as his partner chose not to speak and instead went about the place doing small clean-ups. This only made John feel even more angry. “You honestly can’t blame me.”

“I’m not some sorry man that you need to look out for, John.” He suddenly turned from his position at the sink. “I don’t go out drinking just because we had a fight. You make me sound like such a...-loser. Do you realize how belittling it is that you consistently treat me like that?” He threw down a dish-towel and swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I’m just stressed so I worry. Give me a break.” John ran his hand through his hair and sat down on the couch, hoping that the fight would ease up.

“This is just not a good time for us, John.”

John opened and closed his mouth, deciding to just tilt his head back and sigh. “I don’t think it’s a good time for you.”

Pete scowled at that comment and looked freshly betrayed yet again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy was in the midst of the most vivid dream he’d had since he was fifteen, when two or three wet-dreams about Beaver had ushered him into manhood and repressed homosexuality.

But this was the most horrible dream he’d ever experienced. Nothing came close to the sickening feeling it brought.

A deep sense of hot-dread ran through the stained-glass universe and burned Jonesy to his sheets. He was aware of that fact. He was dreaming but he couldn’t quite escape it. It felt thin but thick enough to pull his consciousness back into it every-time the need to wake felt strong.

He could still feel those silky sheets that he shared with Beaver against the sweat on his back but he could also see a hallway filled with pictures in front of him. Something in his mind knew that he was home...enough so that those sheets sticking to his back started to feel like the dream.

He shuffled across the hard-wood in knitted socks and didn’t make it very far before he suddenly appeared in the office. His office? Henry’s offfice.

The Jonesy that still laid in bed with the Beav twitched in his sleep as the Jonesy standing in Henry’s body shook himself. He was just standing in him? A looker. One that Henry apparently couldn’t feel.

He could smell the ink and coffee coated cups lingering around the place. There was a drawer cracked open, a lock that would usually keep it closed was on the desk, and inside was a shot-gun. Not used, barely touched, just laying there against some forgotten patient notes...deadly ironic, Jonesy thought.

Jenry; Jonesy could chuckle at thinking of this being as such a name but something devastated his body and mind too quickly.

He was being dragged along a potential suicide attempt.

It was horrifying and inescapable. His bed was so near yet so far off in another world. He didn’t want to go back to it though. He couldn’t rest a wink if he thought this was real.

Some part of his brain screamed out ‘Dial 1-800-HENRY’ but nothing came to be...

He woke up in an instant, hand coked in a gun-shape against his temple--He screamed and sat up, looking next to him to see Beaver with the same gesture to his temple.

Jonesy shoved him, hard. Beaver nearly fell off the bed and screamed for himself. “Fuck me Freddy! You almost gave me a heart-attack.”

“Did you have that dream?” Jonesy wasted no time but Beaver just looked clueless as ever.

“What dream!?”

Jonesy sighed, skin still burning and wet. He felt another rush of devastation and was haunted by the image of him & Beaver; asleep, side by side, with matching fake ‘hand’-guns to their temples. “Get up.”

Henry answered the door in his boxers and a long sweatshirt that was most definitely a last minute addition before answering the door. He was dazed but awake. That was enough to chill Jonesy.

While he took in the fact that his best friend was in fact, ok and alive, Beaver rushed to Henry’s phone and called up Pete.

“Is Rhonda here?” Jonesy choked out some words finally and pushed himself inside fully, trailing after a confused Henry.

“No. She’s staying with a friend.” Henry shrugged and padded about the hardwood with his arms crossed. “What’s with the late-night visit?” He asked, casually.

Part of Jonesy now felt stupid. Maybe the dream really had just been a...dream. And he was being completely ridiculous by coming over. His brain was waking up with the white-noise of TV static.

Beaver approached from their side and wiggled in his pajama pants. “Yeah. What’s going on, Jonesy?”

He waited until Pete came about to fully explain the situation at hand, carefully choosing his words as to try not to freak anybody out or...embarrass Henry.

The man tipped his chin down and sighed as if he were far beyond the year in life he currently was. He scratched the back of his neck and tried to ignore the concerned and painful looks from his friends. “Look...”

That one word was confirmation enough. The three of them sank into their seats and each felt a horrid wave of deep pain.

“I’ve fallen into this...-intense depression.” He tried to calmly explain the one thing he had never planned on telling them. “Don’t ask me exactly when it started, I’m not sure but...I was always ok at taking it day-by-day, y’know?” He rolled his lips together and felt his brain go on and on; ‘What’s wrong with me, Doc?’

“This whole thing with Rhonda has...well it’s not helping much.” He bitterly chuckled. “I just wanted to make it work. But it ain’t goin’ my way. Hell, sometimes I don’t want to get outta bed...”

Beaver looked positively sick to his stomach.

“But I’m better with you guys...always better.” Henry finally looked up and happened to lock eyes with Pete. There was a rush of affection for the younger man who was going through a special pain all his own.

Pete was the first to shoot over and basically fall into Henry’s lap, wrapping those long arms around his anxious body. Beaver and Jonesy followed in seconds.

They were one sad little dog-pile...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonesy wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted that Henry move in with Pete after the divorce papers were signed. Rhonda was going to take the home and he was on his own, which was no struggle considering the money he made, but money wasn’t the center problem.

Mental fucking health was. SSDD. A mantra....that always helped.

Jonathan was fully moved out by that point and Pete never confirmed their state but it was pretty obvious what had happened.

Douglas had called Henry’s home phone shortly after that dog-pile had ended. He brightened the room with his voice all the way from back in Derry. “Ennie!” He’d cried happily, always knowing exactly when he was needed. He’d called to check on him...Their best pal was a better man than all of them, inside-and-out...and they would always feel this way.

Henry knew it was the right thing to do, moving in with Pete. Maybe it’d give him a chance to talk about the drinking topic again...

“Remember that time, Junior Year, you got one of your flickers and we were trying to hook-up in my old car and I banged my head on the steering-wheel and then you accidentally elbowed us into reverse?” Pete asked as he set down a smaller box onto the counter...their counter.

Henry chuckled. ‘Flickers’. That had been the word they’d ended up using to describe the rare moods in-which Henry found he wanted to do something...sexual. He just wasn’t the kind of person who felt comfortable doing things like that. It was part of the reason Rhonda thought he was repulsed by her...or that she wasn’t good enough because they’d only get ‘sexy’ once every sixth months or more.

But back when he and Pete were...-not dating, they’d never referred to it like that...but...being with each-other....he understood. Pete always understood Henry in a way that no one else could.

Pete Moore never cared that Henry wasn’t interested in sex, nor dating. It had been complicated, for sure, what they’d been in those days. More than friends sometimes but never a couple.

It was just that they kinda slept with each other pretty rarely--at least once for each year in high-school--and occasionally cuddled closely or held hands in private.

Again, complicated.

“Oh yeah.” Henry chuckled. “Man, we were pretty stupid back then.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “I was. Still am. You were far from it and that still stands now.” He curled his hand around the fridge door and grabbed a bottle of beer, purely out of instinct, if Henry had to guess. He plopped down onto his couch and smiled, no teeth.

“Who’s helping who here, Pete?” Henry fell onto the spot next to him, arm on the back of the seat and one leg over the side. His eyes fell on the bottle which was still sweating in his best friends hand. Pete tried to pull away, both physically and mentally which was common in confrontations like this.

But Pete wasn’t a patient. So Henry was free to gently lean over towards the floor and scoop up the mans legs and rest them over his lap as he scooted closer. With a wave of affection, Henry adjusted them both comfortably and patted Pete’s legs.

“Before he left, John got super pissed and said I was a burden.” Pete set the bottle down but kept his longing eyes on it. “I know that’s true.”

Henry sighed, tipping his chin to the ceiling. He gathered some courage and looked back to Pete. “Maybe to him, Pete. Just the same as I became one for Rhonda.”

“That fucking sucks. You’re great at this, buddy.” Pete chuckled and looked back to his bottle on the table.

Henry slapped Pete’s leg. “But we’re not burdens to each other and we’re gonna help each other.” He gripped his leg harder now and spoke in a genuinely heart-felt tone. “And we’ve got Beaver and Jonesy for support-”

“Beav’s gonna spend all his money on peanut-butter for us sad-sacks, huh?” Pete wiggled his legs and suddenly looked extremely exhausted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took four-weeks of fighting for Henry to convince Pete to go to at least one A.A. meeting. With the promise of the compromise that Henry make an appointment with a nearby therapist.

He really hated that idea. It made his skin crawl with embarrassment. ‘Hey, Doc. Me? Oh, I’m a Psychiatrist who apparently can’t handle his own problems.’

He’d have to tough it out though because Pete Moore was doing his best to explain that he could just stop drinking on his own....actually, the explaining was more like begging. It made Henry feel a mixture of guilt and devastation that his friend seemed so desperate to avoid the help.

Henry drove him to the meeting and did his best to calm him. But it was hard when for a moment in his passenger seat, Pete was back to being fifteen. Juvenile, joyful and without a dent in his innocence yet.

Henry had to blink a few times to ease that anxiety hiccup. “Different shit today, Pete. I know.” He put the car in park once they hit the lot and rested his heavy palm on the man’s knee. “But soon enough, it’ll become the new SSDD and then I’m telling you, Pete, I promise...”

Pete looked over at him with a terrified face.

“It won’t be shit at all anymore. You won’t have to struggle to get through a day without drinking. You won’t dread the meetings...” Henry vaguely gestured to the building. “You’ll be able to grow from this.”

Pete let out a long sigh and deflated into his seat, looking towards the building with a mixture of hatred and longing. “When’s your appointment?” He tilted his head.

“Thursday. You can drive me.” Henry lightly pinched Pete’s arm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{A Month Later}

“Hey, call it!” Pete flicked his thumb and flicked a coin into the sky with a bright smile on his face.

“Tails!” Beaver shouted from across the room.

“You always pick tails.” Jonesy rolled his eyes. “Heads!” He chuckled.

The gang had been called to meet at Henry & Pete’s apartment with the promise of a home-cooked meal and a good time. They were currently shoved into the living room and flipping to see which of the two were going to do the dishes.

Pete caught the coin and flipped it blindly onto the back of his palm. He glanced down at it but let several seconds pass in silence. Henry smirked to himself and tried not to beam at his friend.

“Jesus-Christ-bananas, tell us! I’m dying.” Beaver slapped his hands onto the counter.

Instead of speaking, Pete shyly slid the coin over to them.

It was red rather than silver and Jonesy & Beaver were met with no head or tail. Instead, the coin was showing a triangle which read ‘1 Month Recovery’

“They gave it to me yesterday-”

Beaver didn’t wait to hear the end, instead he hopped over the couch and into Pete’s arms. Thank god he was so tiny. Jonesy was quick to follow, just with a more gentle attitude.

When they pulled off, Henry proudly kissed Pete’s temple like it was something he did fairly often. Pete felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. “Lord, I will never drink again!” He beamed and Norman-Normal flew from his attitude as he pulled Henry in to kiss him on the lips.

The gang broke into hysterical laughter and enjoyed their great sense of pride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Pete mumbled as he served Henry his best cooked meal, a bowl of buttered noodles.

“Hmmm?” Henry looked up with soft eyes.

“I’m so proud of you for going to those appointments. We all are.” Pete sniffled and sat down across from him. “Jonesy was about the scaredest I’ve ever seen him that night of his dream. We all fucking were.”

Henry rolled his lips together and sucked in a noodle or two.

“Henry, the five of us...we need each other and if you-” Pete broke off with embarrassment.

Henry laid his hand atop his and gently rocked their grip. “I know, buddy. I know.” He felt a little choked up himself now too.

“You don’t know it all-” Pete swallowed and blinked about a hundred times to try and get rid of the tears. He laid his fork on the table, breathed deeply and held eye contact. “I love you, Henry....I’m in love with you.”

Henry sat back on his seat and smiled. “Oh Pete...” He chuckled.

“Don’t laugh, asshole.” Pete scowled but in good-nature. Both knew that if he were straight-up rejected, Pete would still try and laugh it off.

Henry leaned over the counter and caressed his cheek. Pete leaned into his hand with longing and second-guessing eyes. “It’s always been you.”

Pete let out a tiny little hiccup and smacked his own hand against the one on his cheek. “I should fucking hope so.”

#idk #is this bad?#@ olivia cause you're the only one who would read this!!#ahhhh #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher (2003)#henry devlin #pete moore #beaver clarendon #Gary Jones #henry/pete #jonesy/beaver #my fanfiction #stephen king #stephen king books

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

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sorry it’s late but here’s the Simon/Baz Bookshop AU

Real life got to me yesterday

____________________

Simon

Penny’s birthday is next week. I don’t know what to get for her.

She’d probably like if I didn’t make such a mess in the kitchen every time I cook but that’s not really a present now, is it? It’s a courtesy you’d expect from a flat-mate. Like you’d expect someone to clean her hair out of the shower drain.

I can’t think about the things that drive me and Penny stark raving mad about us sharing a flat.

Shopping for Agatha was easier. She liked things.Candles and perfume and picture frames. The bracelet I got her. The hat and scarf set. It was easier with a girlfriend.

When I had a girlfriend.

I don’t want to think about that either.

But Penny’s not my girlfriend. She’s my best friend so I feel like an utter pillock for not knowing what to get her.

Don’t want to get her something silly, like I used to. We’ve already got too many mugs at the flat anyway. Funny ones. Ones with stupid pictures or puns on them. Penny used to love those when we were in school.

I shove my hands in my pockets and frown at the world in general.

I stop by the bakery on my way home. Not that a cherry scone will solve my problem but it does make me feel better.

I catch sight of the new bookshop on the corner as I leave the bakery. I suppose it’s not really new. It’s been there for a few months. Penny raves about it. It’s got an eclectic selection of books according to her. Which means a fair selection of feminist literature, books on the occult, and ancient history.

I’ve been avoiding it.

It’s not that I don’t like books. I do. Or at least I do now. Didn’t care for them much when I was young. Had trouble reading when I was a kid. Someone finally figured out the issue and it was like a light turning on in a dark room.

I like books well enough now. Fantasy and science fiction mainly. Penny says I should read more classic literature and biography.

I like biographies. Just depends who they’re written about.

I stand on the street corner and scowl at the bookstore. “Open Sesame” it’s called. Odd name for a bookstore but Penny likes it. Says it makes her think she’s entering a magical world when she goes in.

I’m sure I could find something for Penny there.

I just don’t want to go in.

I’m sure it’s a fine bookshop. I know it is. I went in there once, when it first opened.

And managed to piss off one of the employees.

I didn’t mean to spill my coffee, really, I didn’t. He just startled me. Came out of nowhere, he did. I wasn’t expecting one of the employees to be lurking among the shelves. Thought they’d be at the counter or something like that. You know--selling books, ringing people up, the usual store thing.

But it seems this wasn’t that kind of bookshop. There was a red-haired chap up at the counter and an older woman at a desk near the back of the store. I didn’t know there was another bloke—one with longish dark hair and arresting grey eyes—prowling around the store and startling unsuspecting customers.

He came up right behind me, he did, and said “That’s a bit of a humdrum one. If you’re looking for a fantasy novel that’s not one I’d recommend.”

I’d been reading a bit of it. Just to get a feel for the book. See if it interested me. Didn’t expect some posh, disembodied voice to pop up out of nowhere in the vicinity of my ear. I started and my coffee went down my shirt, splashed onto the book in my hand and dripped all over their new carpet.

“Bloody hell! Give a guy a bit of warning, could you?” I turned to scowl at whoever it was who had crept up on me like that.

Slate grey eyes met mine. His gaze raked me from top to toe and it was obvious in his sneer that whatever he saw was sadly lacking. “We try to be helpful to the customers here. Wouldn’t want you to buy something you didn’t find interesting.” He glanced at the coffee stained book in my hand. “Unfortunately, it seems that you will be this time.”

I spluttered for a moment but had to admit to myself that I’d mucked the book up. And the carpet too. “Listen, of course I’ll pay for the book. I can see that I’ve ruined it. And I’m sorry about the carpet too.” I looked down at the irregular dark stain in front of my feet then back up at him. “You startled me. Helpful suggestions are one thing but sneaking up on unsuspecting customers like that is unnerving.”

He didn’t say a word back to me. Just held my gaze for a minute before turning away and bellowing “Fiona!” at the lady at the back of the store. “Did you think to stock any carpet cleaner in the back? We’ve just had our first spilled coffee christening of the store. I told you carpet was a terrible idea.”

I shuffled my way up to the counter to pay for my coffee-blemished book and there he was again-- waiting for me, no sign of the other chap.

Fuck.

Rang me up without a word. Handed me my change and then pointed to an exquisitely lettered sign on the countertop. “Feel free to enjoy your beverages as you wander in the magical confines of our treasure trove of books but please no open containers. Books are magic and we wouldn’t want to damage them.”

Fuck. I hadn’t seen the sign. I never put a lid on my coffee. Don’t like lids. Keep the coffee too hot. Cools down faster without one.

I grabbed the book and hustled out of the shop, becoming painfully aware of another skillfully lettered sign situated right by the front door as I did.

I’d have to remember a lid next time I came.

No, fuck that. There wasn’t going to be a next time. I wasn’t going to set foot in that place ever again.

And I hadn’t. I’d avoided it like the plague.

But somehow, I couldn’t avoid seeing the bloke. He was everywhere, all of a sudden, it seemed.

Walking across campus. In the library. At Ebb’s bakery.

Maybe he was always there and I was just noticing him now that I’d had that miserably embarrassing encounter at the store and shouted at him.

I stare across the street at the bookshop. Surely I’ll find something for Penny there. How bad could it be? I don’t have a drink with me. I can’t possibly have a run-in with him again. I’ll check the aisles to make sure no one is lurking about.

He must be a student. I’ve seen him on campus enough to make me sure of it. He can’t work there all the time. The chances of him being there on a Wednesday afternoon are slim, right? He must have class.

I don’t let the niggling realization that it’s a Wednesday afternoon and I don’t have class deter me. I need a book for Penny. She likes this store. I’ll find something and be done with it.

The beverage sign is still on display by the front door. I honestly can’t believe I missed it the first time. I’d have finished my coffee and pitched my cup or just come back another time if I’d seen it.

There’re a few people milling about the store. The woman who had been behind the desk last time is up by the counter today. Maybe I’ll be lucky and grey eyes won’t be here.

I wander over to a display table. An interesting selection but nothing Penny would like. I go down the aisles, looking at the titles and topics, trying to find the feminist section or the occult books. I can’t make sense of the layout.

I’m scanning the titles on the endcap and not watching where I’m going. End up bumping into someone as I turn into the next aisle.

A scattering of books falls to the floor and as I look up to apologize I see a pair of grey eyes.

Fuck.

It’s him. The posh tosser. He’s not in class, he’s here. Fuck.

Maybe he won’t remember me.

“Sorry.” I mumble an apology and bend down to pick up some of the fallen books, not daring to meet his eyes again. I’m such a fucking wanker. I told myself I’d keep an eye out for lurking employees.

Although from the looks of it he wasn’t lurking this time. He was shelving books. He’s got a cart and everything.

The books are plucked out of my hand and I reluctantly raise my eyes to his. His eyebrow is arched up. He looks cool, collected and utterly bored. “At least you don’t have coffee with you this time. You’d be purchasing an entire set of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s books.” He waves a copy of Little Lord Fauntleroyat me.

Oh shit. He does remember me.

“Sorry.” I shuffle a bit and bend down to pick up The Secret Gardenfrom where it sits by my foot. I hand it to him.

He takes it from my hand and his fingertips touch mine ever so slightly as he pulls it away. They’re cold.

“Decided to venture into the world of bookshops again? Didn’t scare you off for good last time?” He raises an eyebrow, holding the stack of books to his chest.

He had scared me off. Penny’s the only reason I’m even here but I’m not about to tell him that.

“Looking for a book for a friend.” I suppose that’s telling him why I’m here. I’m such an idiot.

He turns away from me and I think this pathetic excuse for a conversation is over. I go to gingerly edge around him but he stops me. “Let me shelve these and I’ll see if I can help you.”

Even worse. Now I’ll have to actually speak to him.

I stand there awkwardly. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about it. That’s his job. He’s supposed to help people find books. Not sneak up on them and whisper in their ears, I remind myself.

I take a moment to settle down and end up watching him shelve the books. He’s tall, taller than me. Slim build but muscular, from what I can see of his arms. His hair is chin length, falling in dark waves but not obscuring the sharp planes of his face.

He’s got an arresting profile.

What the actual fuck?

What am I doing? Why am I staring at this bloke so intently? I can feel my face heating up so I turn to look at the shelf behind me, so my back is to him. The entire collection of Harry Potter books is in front of me. I focus on the spines.

It doesn’t help. I may not be looking at him but I’m still thinking about him.

He’s attractive. I’d noticed that last time, in passing, but in more of a pissed off way than I am now. I’ve gotten a closer look at him today. He’s actually fucking gorgeous. I want to turn around and look at him again but that would be a terrible idea.

I turn around and look at him just as he finishes shelving the stack of books and our eyes meet. My cheeks are hot.

He crosses his arms over his chest and regards me critically. “Looking for a book for a friend. Let’s narrow that down a bit, shall we? What kind of friend and what kind of books?”

“Uh. . . well that’s what I was looking for when I bumped into you. She’s got a lot of interests but feminism, antiquity and the occult are high on the list right now.” I look around and frown. “I couldn’t find them. I thought feminism would come shortly after Crafts and before Foreign Languages but I can’t seem to find it.”

“Feminism is in the Social Sciences so you are in the completely wrong section. Come on. Follow me.”

He tilts his head to the right and I trot after him, passing a few aisles of books before he makes a sharp turn and stops. I almost run into him but manage to catch myself before I do this time.

“So Feminist Theory? Women’s Studies? Gender studies? Any of those sound promising?”

I just stare at him. I’ve not got a fucking clue. Maybe the occult would have been a better choice.

“Uh.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Give me some idea?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything that combines the occult and feminism? Or ancient cultures and feminism?” Is that a stupid thing to ask? It’s probably a stupid thing to ask. I’m going from bad to worse here.

His grey eyes are narrowed now. “Who is this friend of yours? It wouldn’t be Bunce, would it?”

A wave of relief washes over me as well as curiosity. “Yeah, yeah. My friend Penny. Penelope Bunce. How do you know her?”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s in here practically every week. I’ve had quite a few thought-provoking conversations with her.” He shakes his head. “Come on. This way. I’ve got something new that she’s likely not seen yet.”

He strolls across the store to another section. I don’t think I realized quite how big this place is. I don’t think I had the time or inclination to notice last time.

He plucks a book off the shelf but doesn’t hand it to me, just taps a finger on his lip thoughtfully and then turns in another direction entirely with me trailing along in his wake. He heads to another display table and picks up one of the books there. “Here you go. Either one will appeal to Bunce.”

I reach for the books and our fingertips brush again. I don’t know why I notice that. I look down at the titles he handed me. ‘Circe’ and ‘Agrippina: Empress, Exile, Hustler, Whore.’

He’s moved down the aisle already and is pulling yet another book off the shelf. “Here. This one’s new too.” I take the title from him, slowly this time, my hand brushing his once more.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

Baz

I hand him a book Bunce will surely find of interest--a copy of Good and Mad: The Revolutionary Power of Women’s Anger—when it happens again. Our fingers touch. It’s the third time it’s happened. I don’t know what to think. I’m not attempting to initiate contact.

That’s complete bollocks. I’m desperately trying to initiate contact. I’m not letting go of the books as he grasps them. I’m holding them in a way that makes our touch inevitable.

I’m doing everything I can to prolong this interaction.

I’ve seen him around campus for months now. He’s in my Film as Literature class. It’s an auditorium class—one of the most popular courses offered—so it’s hard to get to know everyone. He sits near the front, with Bunce. I sit in the back with Niall.

The class is enjoyable but the view even more so. I try to avoid looking at him while the professor is lecturing but I have no such compunction before class. I get there early for that very reason.

I know his name is Simon. I’ve heard Bunce call that name out at him. She shouted it across the room on the first day of class, to get his attention.

Simon.

I watched him come in the lower doors of the auditorium and saw him smile at the sight of her.

I haven’t been able to look away since.

I’m sure he didn’t even know I existed before he came into the shop.

I still can’t believe what an absolute prat I was that day. I’d been watching him for weeks by then.

Pining over him is what Niall called it but what does he know?

I’d been seeing Simon everywhere, it seemed. Class. The library. Ebb’s coffee shop.

And then he was suddenly here. I’d watched him walk in and made myself busy in the aisles as I followed him, discreetly. He’d stopped and lingered in Fantasy and Science Fiction so I purposefully made my way over there to see if I could be of assistance.

He’d been thumbing through one of Davy Mage’s books. I’ve told Fiona I don’t know why we even carry them. They’re pretentious and boring, in my opinion. But for some reason every bookshop seems to carry them. They’re insidious. It’s irritating. His writing style is pompous and overblown and his use of the Chosen One hero trope far too predictable.

I’d only meant to offer some assistance but instead I’d managed to startle him so badly he’d spilled coffee everywhere and shouted at me. I’d gone completely distant and cold in my embarrassment.

Fiona had a field day with me after he left. “That’s the boy you’ve been mooning about, then?”

“Shut up, Fiona.”

“So he is the one! You’re absolute shit at flirting, Baz.” She leaned across her desk and smirked. “Or did you just want to see him with his shirt all wet and clinging to him?”

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the store room.

But he’s here again. I thought he’d never come back.

Bunce is here almost every week but she always comes alone or with that tall American chap. I’ve never dared ask her about Simon. She talks about him though. That’s how I know he’s her roommate.

How I know his girlfriend broke up with him a few months ago.

How I know he’s not seeing anyone currently.

Against all odds he’s here again. He bumped into. Literally bumped into me and knocked down a stack of books.

His hair’s a mess, disheveled curls falling over his forehead. He’s covered with freckles. They’re much more noticeable close up. He’s fucking gorgeous and I’ve got no idea what to say or do. Play it cool,Baz, I tell myself. Don’t be a fucking numpty like last time.

It’s child’s play finding books that Bunce will like. It keeps me close to him, wandering about the store, crossing back and forth to find books I know will appeal to her. He follows right behind me and when he almost bumps into me again I catch the scent of soap and cinnamon rolls.

He must have been at the bakery before coming here.

I’ve no more excuses to keep his attention. I’ve found three or four books that will work and we’re making our way to the counter now. He’ll pay and leave and I’ll likely never speak to him again.

Fiona’s on check out duty but as soon as she sees me coming towards her she makes a show of moving off and complaining about all paperwork on her desk and how it’s my turn to run the counter. She makes a runner for the back but not before winking at me.

I’m mortified. She’s my aunt so she thinks she can get away with being this way.

I slide behind the counter. “So, which one are you going to get?” The pile of books we’ve collected as likely prospects for Bunce are in his arms. He sets them down.

Simon frowns. “I’m not sure, really.” His blue eyes meet mine. “Which one do you think she’d like best?”

I can pick one and ring him up or use this opportunity he’s given me to extend my time with him. I dart a look around the store. A few customers but no one headed up to make a purchase.

I start to talk about ‘Circe’ and then carry on about the other books. What I think Bunce would like about each one, why I think they’re relevant. I know I’m droning on and on but he’s got his eyes riveted on me and I can’t stop talking and I don’t want to look away.

I don’t want this moment to end.

He’s right here. In front of me. And I’m blathering on about subversive retellings of myth and anger transcending into political upheaval.

I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I pick up ‘Circe’ and push the other books away. “This combines a bit of everything. Feminism. The occult. Antiquity. I think she’ll like this one.”

It’s over now. He’ll pay for his book and walk out the door. And I’ll never have a chance like this with him again.

“Sounds good. I’ll take that one, then.”

“Would you like me to wrap it up? Since it’s a gift?”

“You do that?”

“It’s a service we provide, yes.” It’s not. I’m making this up on the spot. We do have some gift wrap we sell, in the back, with the gift bags and such. I ring Simon up and then leave him at the counter while I scurry to the back to grab wrap and ribbon.

“I’m taking this out of your wages, boyo.” Fiona whispers at me as I skirt by her desk, ribbon and shiny wrap in hand.

“Fine.” I have no time for her. Simon is still waiting for me up at the counter.

Simon

I could buy any of the books he’s chosen and Penny would be thrilled. It’s easier to let him choose. He’s read them all and has a better idea of what interests her, if he’s been debating feminist ideology with her. It goes over my head when she gets on a rant.

I lean my elbows on the counter and just drink him in. His face is animated and there’s a flush on his cheeks. It suits him.

I could listen to his voice all day. It’s posh and cultured but that’s not what I like about it. Not all I like about it, I mean.

I like how deep it is, resonant I suppose you’d call it. It washes over me and I’m quite content to let him go on about the books to his heart’s content.

He stops eventually. Pushes one towards me. “This one. I’m sure she’ll like it.”

I don’t even look at it. “Sounds good. I’ll take that one then.”

He offers to wrap it and I eagerly take him up on it. I’m a fright at wrapping gifts.

He disappears to the back and returns moments later with ribbon and brightly coloured paper.

It’s all precision and crisp, sharp edges. Penny won’t even believe it’s from me. His fingers are long and slender, folding the paper meticulously, curling the ribbon with an expert flick of the wrist.

That’s it then. I’ll pay up and then I’ll have to go. I don’t want to, not now. I’ve got no excuse to linger though, after he rings me up.

I pass him the money and then the coolness of his touch contacts my palm as he hands me my change. The sensation sends a rush of warmth up my arm.

He hands me a shopping bag, the expertly wrapped book carefully tucked inside. That’s it then. Time for me to go.

“Thank you. That was quite helpful.” I smile up at him. “I’ll have to remember that next time I need to get her something. Thanks so much . . .” I trial off. I don’t know his name. He gets the hint.

“Baz.”

“Thank you, Baz.” And I stand there, like a lump, not moving.

“You’re welcome . . .” he pauses meaningfully.

“Simon. I’m Simon.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Simon.” He pauses and then glances to the back of the store, tilting his head up and raising an eyebrow. I turn and catch the woman in the back rolling her eyes at him and then nodding.

“I seem to recall I made our first meeting a bit awkward, Simon. And I’m reminded that I likely owe you a coffee.” There’s a smile on his face now and this suits him even more.

“Oh. I don’t know about that. I made a right mess of your carpet.” Is he asking me to go out for coffee? Or is he just mentioning it? I’ve got no idea. I’m pants at reading people, Penny tells me that all the time.

Maybe I’m not good at reading people. Or perhaps I’m better than Penny thinks. I don’t want to wait for him to ask me.

Baz

I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask him to coffee. It should be the easiest thing in the world to say it. I’ve got leave from Fiona to bolt. I just need to get the words out.

“I might have ended up down one coffee but I’ve a feeling you ended up on carpet cleaning duty.” He’s right. I did, thanks to Fiona.

Simon’s smile is dazzling. I’m gaping at him, I’m sure.

I should just go ahead and ask him to coffee.

But then he goes and asks me.

“I think you got the worse end of that so we’re more than square.” He shifts his shopping bag from hand to hand and then gestures at the pile of books I found for him. “You helped me so much today, Baz. I know you’re working now but could I buy you a coffee sometime? As a thank you?”

“I’d love to, Simon. Is now good?”

It’s his turn to gape at me. “But aren’t you working? Can you just leave?”

“Happens I’m off. Starting now.”

I bolt from behind the counter, nod at Fiona, and come around to stand next to Simon. “Ebb’s then?”

He grins at me. “Yeah, Ebb’s. That’d be great.”

#carry on countdown #coc 2018 #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #bookstore au

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just-a-nerdy-queer-girl · 6 years

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Rainbow Rowell - Carry On (favourite quotes)

It’s always fire with Baz. Unless they’re Baz. He’s immune. Maybe he’s built up a tolerance to my magic, having shared a room with me every term for seven years. We both woke up a few hours later in a blackened pit. The boulder we’d been hiding behind was dust, and the chimera was vapour. Or maybe it was just gone. Baz was sure I’d singed off his eyebrows, but he looked fine to me—not a hair out of place. Typical. “I thought you were helping me because I’m thick,” I said. “Everyone’s thick,” she replied. “I’m helping you because I like you.” “My mum said that nobody really knew where you came from. And that you might be dangerous.” “Why didn’t you listen to her?” I asked. “Because nobody knew where you came from, Simon! And you might be dangerous!” “You have the worst survival instincts.” Baz plays for our school. Of course. The tosser. He’s the same on the field as he is everywhere else. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless. I felt tall all of a sudden, and posh. Until Baz walked into our room, much taller than me—and posher than everyone. I’m 18. I’ll dress myself. Or Penny will help. “Same difference. I’m no soldier. Don’t see why I should have to fight for a living just because I can throw a punch.” No. 10—Agatha Maybe I should take Agatha off my list, too. “Why are you already weeping?” he snarled. “You’re ruining my plans to push you to tears.” “Don’t say hello, Simon,” she’s told me. “Because then we’ll have to say good-bye, and I can’t stand good-byes.” “What’s she done?” “Come back.” “You were expecting otherwise?” “Don’t make a scene,” I whisper back. “There are only so many hours in the day, Simon. Two, three people—that’s all any of us have time for.” “There are more people than that in your immediate family, Penny.” “I know. It’s a struggle.” “I don’t know about ‘sworn,’” I say. “I’ve never taken an oath.” “I’m pretty sure Baz has.” Penny shakes her head. “If I caught Micah holding hands with Baz, I’d want an explanation.” “So would I.” I have the room to myself, and I can’t even enjoy it, because Baz’s empty bed just seems sinister now. I summon the Sword of Mages and practise my form on his side of the room. He hates that. “Ah,” she says. “Young Master Pitch. Surely he’ll be back. His mother did so value education.” “That’s what I said!” “Well, you know him best,” she says. “That’s what I said, too!” Ebb nods and pets the goat. “To think you used to be at each other’s throats.” “We’re still at each other’s throats.” She looks up at me doubtfully. She has narrow blue eyes, bright blue—brighter somehow because her face is so dirty. “Ebb,” I insist, “he tried to kill me.” “Not successfully.” She shrugs. “Not recently.” “He’s tried to kill me three times! That I know of! It doesn’t actually matter whether it worked.” “It matters a bit,” she says. “’Sides, how old was he the first time, eleven? Twelve? That hardly counts.” “It counts with me,” I say. “Does it.” I huff. “Yes. Ebb. It does. He hated me before he even met me.” “Exactly,” she says. “Exactly!” I suspect we’re saving up.” “For what?” she asks. “The end.” “The end of school?” “The end of the end,” I say. “The big fight.” “So you were saving it, and then he didn’t come back for it?” “Exactly!” And then I add: (T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch.) And then I wish I hadn’t, because of course the Mage knows who my roommate is, and now it sort of looks like I’ve signed it. “Baz,” I say. “My roommate.” “The dead one? With the pretty eyes?” “Yes.” Is Baz dead? I’ve never thought of him that way. I mean, he is a vampire, I guess. “Wait, are you saying he’s dead? Like, really dead?” “My roommate. Baz. The bloodeater.” “He’s not here,” she says. “Are you sure?” “More sure than you.” “You’re burning up goodwill here, magician.” “How many times do I have to save the Wood to win you people over?” “He isn’t here,” she says. “Unless he’s hiding.” “Well, of course he’s hiding! He’s hiding bloody somewhere.” “Probably not.” “You’re impossible.” “I’m improbable.” “Fine.” “Fine?” “If we see your handsome bloodeater, we’ll tell him you’re looking for him.” “Marcus—is he the one who got trapped in a dumbwaiter our fourth year?” “Yeah.” “That one’s joined the other side, eh? Well, I’m shaking in my boots.” I don’t say anything. I really, really hate to talk to Simon about Baz. It’s like talking to the Mad Hatter about tea. I hate to encourage him. I lean into him, because I’m cold and he’s always warm. And because I like to remind him that I’m not afraid of him. She’s right, but I wonder who she’s parroting. Sometimes Simon’s power seduces other magicians; they can feel it, and they want to be closer. But anyone who’s actually been close to Simon is long past feeling seduced. I don’t think Simon and Agatha are in love. But it isn’t my job to tell them so. (And also I’ve already tried.) Even the people who didn’t believe it couldn’t say so out loud. And nobody could deny Simon’s power. And Simon … Well. Simon. Simon exhales loudly and runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up in curly bronze chunks. “I’m going for a walk,” he says, marching towards the door, leaving his wand on his bed. Part of me wishes he were following her, but I don’t think he is. That he’ll see me up here, waiting for him on the ramparts, and really see me for the first time—There’s the answer, he’ll think. That he used to watch me. Especially when I was with Simon. I know that he hated what Simon and I have. And wanted it. That he’d do anything to get between us. Baz was always there, cutting in at every dance. Teasing me away from Simon, then just teasing me. Disappearing. Sneaking away. I played along sometimes—maybe I should be grateful that Baz never called my bluff. Because maybe it wasn’t a bluff. Maybe I would walk away with Baz. I followed him into the Wood that day; I still don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be evil—but Baz wouldn’t expect me to be good, always so good. And maybe I’d live forever. I walk the ramparts at night in a white dress and a knee-length woven cloak. “Me, too.” I’m lying again. then he stopped and turned to me, all casual, with his hands in his pockets—like he’d known I was behind him the whole time. I know Baz did it. I know he did something. I saw it in his eyes when Philippa went mute. I wonder if Baz still feels guilty. I wonder if he ever did. Now he’s gone, too. I know that it’s Baz’s handkerchief before I even see his initials embroidered in the corner, next to the Pitch coat of arms (flames, the moon, three falcons). I know it’s his because he’s the only person I’ve ever met who carries old-fashioned handkerchiefs. He dropped one on my bed, sarcastically, when we were in first year, the first time he made me cry. “What is this?” I ask, holding it up. (We both know what it is.) “He’s a monster. An actual monster.” “We’re all monsters,” she says. She means that I am. “We can fix this.” “Probably,” she says. “But I don’t want to.” (You have to pretend that you get an endgame. You have to carry on like you will; otherwise, you can’t carry on at all.) Fucking hell, I can’t—I just. I can’t. I’ll kill Baz, so that he isn’t an option. I’m just lying in my bed, thinking about Baz. Maybe he just had to be himself. Smarter than I am. Better looking. Wealthier. Fucking horsier—he could go to all her events and wear the right suit and the right shoes. He’d know which necktie went with which month of the year. If he weren’t a vampire, Baz’d be bloody perfect. Bloody perfect. I roll over and press my face into my pillow. “Did you hurt him?” “No.” “You can’t lie to the dead.” “I don’t want to.” If Baz ever comes back, I will. Let Baz’s mum hang out with his empty bed; I’m tired of staring at it. Maybe death is a big place. (It would have to be.) In all of this, I’ve never seriously considered that Baz might be dead. Hiding, yes—plotting. Maybe even kidnapped or hurting, but … not dead. yes—plotting. He promised to make my life miserable. Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled up in a sneer … I know that face as well as my own. Baz. Baz. I stand up too quickly, knocking my chair over. Across the room, a mug falls to the floor and shatters—I glance over and see that Agatha is standing, too. Baz. It’s unnecessarily grandiose to use an Open Sesame on the doors, but I do it anyway because I know everyone will be in the dining hall, and I may as well make an entrance. I wanted it this way. I wanted to be the only person who got to break the news that I’m back. Snow is the first to react—leaps to his feet, sends furniture flying. It’s work not to roll my eyes. (It’s a bit of work not to stare at him. He’s thin. And drawn. Normally, he’d be back to clobbering weight by now.) Snow is still standing. His meddling sidekick is yanking on his sleeve, trying to get him to sit down. He should listen to her. Wait, what’s this?… Where’s Wellbelove in this pretty tableau? I scan the room without turning my head. There she is, sitting on the other side of the room—trouble in paradise?—staring at me. “Gentlemen,” I say. “What have I missed?” Snow stands again when I walk into our Greek classroom. I take my seat without looking his way. “Enough, Snow, I’m not the Queen.” He doesn’t reply—he must still be working up to a bluster. Snow blusters like no one else. But! I! I mean! Um! It’s just! It’s no wonder he can never spit out a spell. I am never telling anyone I was kidnapped. Kidnapped. And by fucking numpties, no less. “The front seat is for people who’ve never been kidnapped by bloody numpties. Jesus Christ, Baz.” I could tell she was half disgusted with me, half relieved that I was still alive. I’d been stuck under that bridge for six weeks, in a coffin—and I don’t even think the numpties were trying to torture me. I think they thought that was humane treatment for a vampire. So to speak. They even brought me blood. (I decided not to think about where they got it.) Most people know fuck-all about vampires.… I know fuck-all about vampires. Fortunately, my aunt is an utter badass. She laid waste to the numpties before she found my coffin; “It’s September, take me to school.” “It’s October, I’m taking you home to rest.” “It’s October? Take me to school, Fiona. Now.” “We’re always in the middle of a war. Take me back to Watford—I’ll be damned if Penelope Bunce finishes our last year at the top of the class.” “Baz, everything is different now. You’ve been kidnapped. And held for ransom.” I leaned on her car. “Is that why the numpties didn’t kill me? Because you paid the ransom?” “Fuck no, Pitches have never paid ransoms, and we’re not starting now.” “I’m the only living heir!” “That’s just what your father said. He wanted to pay up. I told him I knew my sister had scraped bottom when she married a Grimm, but I wasn’t letting him have any more of our pride. No offence, Basil.” “So,” she said. “Obviously, you are not going back to that school, right into that bastard’s clutches.” “I am so.” “Basilton.” Full name, all three syllables. “I’ll steal it if I have to!” I shouted up the drive. “Or I’ll steal a bus!” There was no way that I wasn’t going back to school—this is my last year. Last year in the tower. Last year on the pitch. Last year to torment Snow before our antagonism turns into something more permanent and less entertaining. My last year at Watford, the last place I saw my mother … I was damn well going back. “Back seat,” she said. “Front seat’s for people who haven’t been kidnapped by fucking numpties.” I can feel Snow staring at me all through Greek—actually feel it. He’s so worked up, his magic is leaking out all over the place. Sometimes when he gets like this, I’m tempted to pull him aside. “Deep breaths now, Snow. Let it go. Some of it. Before you start another fire. Whatever it is you’re worried about, this won’t help.” I never do, though. Pull him aside. Or talk him down. Instead I just poke him until he goes off. That’s what Snow does best. He doesn’t plan or strike—he just goes off, and when he does, he takes down everything in his path. His brain blinks out, I think, about the time he starts swinging. If Snow knows you’re there, he shields you. I don’t know how he does it, I don’t even know why. It’s just like him, really, to use what little control he has to protect other people. I watch Bunce try to shake it off—she’s glaring at him. He’s glaring at me. Baz is back. Baz is alive. Or as alive as he gets. Penny says at dinner, as if I’m not literally fuming. “I’m cool.” “Simon. You’re never cool.” “That hurts, Penny.” “It shouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons I love you.” Baz hidden away, plotting somewhere. Maybe he was sick and plotting.… Maybe he was sick and plotting.… “Gay people have an unfair advantage!” she complains. “Only when it comes to visiting their roommates,” I say. She’s decent enough not to argue. Baz and I have spent seven years grimacing and growling at each other. (Him grimacing, me growling.) And that’s the problem with all the Pitches and their allies—it’s impossible to tell when they’re up to something and when they’re just being people. “Snow,” he said. “Yeah,” I said, waggling my hand. “Here.” “The Mage’s Heir.” My wand comes, but then, half the time, it plays dead. Baz admitted it, then argued that the fact that he’d failed was punishment enough. And the Mage agreed with him! When I get out, wearing flannel pyjama bottoms and a towel around my neck, “You,” he says, throwing his bag down. “Always you.” He looks away from me. “Where’s your necklace?” His voice is low. I might as well throttle him for putting me through it. Or … I could do my homework. I’ll just do my homework. (Though it’s been centuries, at least, since the Pitches ate fairies.) (You can’t even find fairies anymore.) (And it isn’t because we ate them all.) Fiona is smart—and powerful—but my mother was the chess player in the family. Fiona is vindictive. She’s impatient. And sometimes she just wants to rage against the machine—even if she’s not exactly sure where the machine is or how to properly rage at it. “Then steal his phone.” “You steal his phone,” I said. “I’ve got homework.” Normally I shower in the mornings, and he showers at night. We’ve got the dance all worked out, after so many years. Moving around the room without touching or talking or looking at each other. (Or at least not looking at each other while the other is paying attention.) (Or at least not looking at each other while the other is paying attention.) There used to be a step stool at the head because the bed was too tall for me to climb into by myself. I roll over onto my side, facing Snow. He’s sleeping, so it doesn’t matter if I stare at him. Which I do. Even though I know it doesn’t do me any good. And when I felt myself slipping too far, I held on to the one thing I’m always sure of— Blue eyes. Bronze curls. The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I’m hopelessly in love with him. The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I’m hopelessly in love with him. The operative word there is “hopeless.” That was evident the moment I realized I’d be the one who was most miserable if I ever succeeded in doing Snow in. It dawned on me during our fifth year. When Snow followed me around like a dog tied to my ankle. When he wouldn’t give me a single moment of solace to sort through my feelings—or try to wank them away. I wish I’d never figured it out. That I love him. It’s only ever been a torment. Sharing a room with the person you want most is like sharing a room with an open fire. He’s constantly drawing you in. And you’re constantly stepping too close. And you know it’s not good—that there is no good—that there’s absolutely nothing that can ever come of it. But you do it anyway. And then … Well. Then you burn. Snow says I’m obsessed with fire. I’d argue that’s an inevitable side effect of being flammable. The cruel joke of it is that I come from a long line of fire magicians—two long lines, the Grimms and the Pitches. I’m brilliant with fire. As long as I don’t get too close. No … The cruel joke of it is that Simon Snow smells like smoke. Snow whimpers—he’s plagued by nightmares, we both are—and It doesn’t do me any good to know all this. But I’m not sure it makes it any worse either. I’m not sure it could get any worse. The windows are open; Snow sleeps with them open all year long unless I throw a snit about it. It’s easier to sleep with extra blankets on my bed than to complain. I’ve got used to the weight of them against me. Snow moans again, and tosses back onto his side. I’m home. Finally. I fall asleep. Snow suspects, I think, and is constantly opening the curtains. I guess we used to fight more about stuff like this. And then I almost killed him, and squabbling over the curtains suddenly felt ridiculous. Snow will tell you I tried to kill him our third year. With the chimera. But I was only trying to scare him that day—I wanted to see him wet his pants and cry. Instead he went off like an H-bomb. Really, we were fighting at the top of the staircase, and I got in a lucky punch that sent him flying. Then, when my aunt Fiona asked me if I’d pushed Simon Snow down a flight of stairs, I said, “Fuck yes I did.” But the next year, fifth year, I actually did try to take Snow down. I hated him so much that spring. I hated the sight of him—I hated what the sight of him did to me. I hated the sight of him—I hated what the sight of him did to me. I felt like I was in a spy movie, standing by the gates and pushing the button in my pocket the moment I could see Snow start to lose his temper. Maybe I thought I was entrapping him.… Maybe I did think it would hurt him—or kill him. Maybe I didn’t think anything could kill him. Maybe I didn’t think anything could kill him. (She wouldn’t leave Snow alone that year, even though he clearly wasn’t interested.) I’ll never forget Philippa’s face when her voice ran out. I’ll never forget Snow’s. That’s the last time I tried to hurt him. Permanently. Snow is … something else. Snow is … something else. When he goes off, he’s more of an element than a magician. He stretches one arm over his head, and I watch the muscles shifting in his shoulders. All I do is lose. I don’t know why Snow lingers over his clothes like he has big decisions to make. He wears his uniform every day, even on the weekend. When I close my wardrobe door, he’s staring at me. He looks unsettled. I’m not sure what I’ve done to unsettle him, but I sneer anyway, just to drive it home. I get dressed in the bathroom. Snow and I have never dressed in front of each other; it’s an extension of our mutual paranoia. And thank snakes for that—my life is painful enough. Snow is still standing near his bed, shirt on but not buttoned, tie hanging round his neck. His hair actually looks worse than it did when he woke up, like he’s been tearing his hands through the curls. “Spit it out, Snow. You’d think you were trying to cast a spell. Are you? Next time, use your wand, it helps.” He ransacks his hair again with one hand. “Could you just—?” He blinks them at me. Stammering. I feel myself blushing. (Crowley, that’s how much blood I drank last night—I’m capable of blushing.) I’m out the door. Down the steps. I hear Snow snarling behind me. He looks up at me then, but I’m already looking away. Taking turns staring across the dining hall, then quickly looking away. Baz always looks at me, too, to make sure I’m watching. “I know the official answer, Simon—thanks. In America, they think that you become more powerful the more magic you use.” “Just like fossil fuels.” Baz’s elocution is flawless. “Slow down, Mr. Pitch,” Madam Bellamy says. “No need to waste magic.” I hear the irritation in Baz’s voice as he starts shooting the spells out even faster. I can’t keep a secret this big. I don’t have room for it. She’s stupidly brave—it’s the only stupid thing about her—and She’s stupidly brave—it’s the only stupid thing about her—and I swear it gets worse when we go too long between emergencies. I’m tempted to slam the door when I see that it’s her. “Yep,” I say, “I’ve heard it’s fascinating.” It made me really glad that she doesn’t know the details of every other scrape Simon and I have got ourselves into—and got ourselves out of, I should add. We deserve some credit for that. Mum probably would have cooled down sooner, if it weren’t for the nightmares.… I didn’t scream when it actually happened: One minute, Simon and I were in the Wavering Wood, gaping at Baz and Agatha—me holding Simon’s arm. Now they make me carry a mobile phone. Ix-nay on my ue-feelings-tray. (Just when you think you’re having a scene without Simon, he drops in to remind you that everyone else is a supporting character in his catastrophe.) As soon as Simon and Penny disappeared that day, Baz dropped my hands. “What the fuck just happened to Snow?” “We haven’t talked since you’ve been back,” I say. “Did we talk before that?” He sighs. “Crowley, Wellbelove, there must be a better way to get your parents’ attention.” “What?” “Nothing,” he says, walking ahead. “Baz, I thought—I thought you might need someone to talk to.” “Nope, I’m good.” “But—” “Maybe I want something more interesting!” I call out. “I’m not more interesting!” he shouts back, without turning his head. “I’m just wrong for you. Learn the difference.” A vampire who’s afraid of the dark, for Crowley’s sake. Snow would probably sit across from me and watch. I feel 15 again, like I’m going to give in if he gets too close—kiss him or bite him. Those were my fifth-year fantasies: kisses and blood and Snow ridding the world of me. Since when do Snow and I have anything to tell each other? For a moment—not even a moment, a split second—I imagine him saying, “The truth is, I’m desperately attracted to you.” And then I imagine myself spitting in his face. And then I imagine licking it off his cheek and kissing him. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.) “The truth is, I’m desperately attracted to you.” And then I imagine myself spitting in his face. And then I imagine licking it off his cheek and kissing him. (Because I’m disturbed. Ask anyone.) Baz has worked himself up to a full-on strop by the time we get to our room. He slams the door shut behind us, sets the book on his bed, then crosses his arms. “Fine, Snow. We’re alone. Whatever you have to say—say it.” okay?” “Why should I sit down?” “Because you’re making me uncomfortable.” “Good,” he says. “You should be glad I’m not making you bleed.” “For Christ’s sake,” I say. I only swear like a Normal when I’m at my wit’s end. “Could you just calm down? This is important.” “What about my mother?” His arms unfold, and he leans forward, grabbing at my notebook. I whip the notebook away. “I’m telling you, okay? Just listen.” He guesses it immediately—his nostrils flare, and his eyes go a little wild—he’s so fucking smart, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get the best of him. ‘He said we were stars.’” “Simon?” I hear Penny say. Baz arches an eyebrow, and I can practically hear him thinking, Interesting. Though he’d much prefer to catch me disrobing the maid.… (Definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.) (Definitely more disappointed in my queerness than my undeadness.) Will I get to see her when Simon finally finishes me? He will … Finish me. Snow will do the right thing. Until I’m done crying. As soon as I’m settled—eyes closed, willing myself not to cry again—Snow clears his throat. Awake, then. I won’t cry. “I’ll help you,” he says—so softly, only a vampire could hear him. “Help me what?” “I’ll help you find whatever killed your mother.” “Why?” He rolls over to face my bed. I can just see him in the dark. He can’t see me. He shrugs. “Because they attacked Watford.” I roll away. “Because she was your mother,” he says. “And they killed her in front of you. And that’s—that’s wrong.” He’s standing at the windows—he’s closed them, even though it’s already too hot in here—and he’s tying his tie in the reflection. He has long hair for a bloke. When he plays football, it falls in his eyes and on his cheeks. But he slicks it straight back after a shower, so he always looks like a gangster first thing in the morning—or a black-and-white movie vampire, with that widow’s peak of his. And, no matter what, we’re still enemies, right? He still wants to kill me? me, putting on his jacket. “You’re not getting off.” I sit up. “What?” “You’re not going to pretend that last night was a dream or that you didn’t mean what you said. You’re helping me avenge my mother’s death.” “Nobody said anything about avenging.” I throw back my blankets and stand up, shaking my hair out with both hands. (It gets matted when I sleep.) “I said that I’d help you figure out who murdered her.” “That’s helping me, Snow. Because as soon as I know, I’m killing them.” “Well, I’m not helping with that part.” Then he takes my hand in his—he’s cold—and I pull back, out of reflex. He tightens his grip. We’re both staring at our joined hands. I can still feel his magic. His grip loosens, and I yank my hand back. “Fine.” “Because we’re solving a mystery, Snow. I like to organize my thoughts.” “Is this how you normally plot my downfall?” “Yes. With multicoloured pieces of chalk. Stop complaining.” “What’s all this?” I say. “Tea, obviously. I know you can’t function unless you’re stuffing yourself.” I unwrap the roll and decide to take a bite. “Thanks.” “Don’t thank me,” he says. “It sounds wrong.” “Not as wrong as you bringing me bacon butties.” “Because you do everything together, don’t you? When you said you’d help, I was counting on you bringing your smarter half.” “Penelope doesn’t know anything about this,” I say. “She doesn’t know about the Visiting?” “No.” “Why not? I thought you told her everything.” “It just … seemed like your business.” “It is my business,” Baz says. “Right. So I didn’t tell her. Now, where do we start?” His face falls into a pout. “I was counting on Bunce to tell us where to start.” “Right.” Baz actually seems nervous. He’s tapping the chalk against his trouser leg, leaving white smudges. Nicodemus, he writes on the chalkboard in neat slanted script. Baz looks back at the chalkboard again. His hair is dry now and falling in loose locks over his cheeks; he tucks a piece behind his ear, I don’t know how he can do this—talk about vampires without acknowledging that he is one. Pretending that I don’t already know. That he doesn’t know I already know. My father says they’re like bears.” They. “What else does your father tell you about vampires?” Baz’s voice is ice: “The subject rarely comes up.” I shove the last bite of roll into my mouth. “Can vampires really turn into bats?” “Why don’t you ask one. Moving on: What else do we know?” Except … Hell, I’m not his worst enemy, am I? Hell and horrors. “I wouldn’t think so,” he snarls, “but I’ve been wrong before. It’s always about you around here.” Don’t hurt it? Sod that. I go back to yanking on my blade. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Baz!” I yell. “No! You’re flammable!” “So is everything!” he shouts back at me. I slide off the beast’s neck, yanking my sword out with my body weight as I fall. He’s looking at me like I’m a complete freak. (Which we both already knew was true.) His right brow is arched so high, it looks like it’s broken free of his eye. “We’re telling you now,” Baz says. “‘We’?” she says. “Since when are you two a ‘we’?” “We’re not a ‘we’!” I half shout. Baz throws his hands up in the air and falls back on his bed. “You people are impossible.” “Simon, imagine what we could do with your power and my spells. We could finish the Humdrum off by dinner—and then take on hunger and world peace.” “Imagine what the Mage will do when he realizes he has a nuclear power generator in his backyard,” Baz croons from his bed. “We never have to,” I say. “You just always want to.” Baz drops back onto his bed, cackling. “Did it feel like I cast a spell on you?” I ask. “No,” they both say at once. “Did it hurt?” she asks him. “Maybe you didn’t see what you think you saw,” Baz says. “Maybe Snow really was just giving me moral support.” “Right. And maybe you’re the most gifted mage in five generations.” “Maybe I am,” he says, “Get well soon!” “How did that feel?” I ask her. “Better,” she says reluctantly, pulling her arm away from us. She frowns at Baz—“Hot.” He grins, hitching up that eyebrow again. “I meant temperature-wise,” she says. “Your magic feels like a grease-burn, Basil.” “My dad loves marriage rites. Any sort of family magic, actually. He and my mother are bound together in five dimensions.” “That’s lovely,” Baz says, and I’m terrified because I think he means it. “Obviously,” I say. “What was I thinking.” “Obviously,” Baz says. “You weren’t.” —Google? Yes! (Can’t hurt, Simon.) Even her notes are addressed to Snow. They’re like Ant and Dec, the pair of them. Joined at the hip. “Simon’s right about the vampires,” Bunce says without turning away from the chalkboard. The dinner tray tilts in my hands. I stoop a bit to correct it. “What?” I kick his shin. “Anathema!” he says. “I thought she liked me,” he says. “I saved her from a kitchen skink!” “Yes, well she likes me for who I am.” I stand above them, not prepared to actually sit on Snow’s bed. I wait until I’m down in the Catacombs to tuck in. I don’t really like eating in front of people. enemy that I could get my head around.” “Wow,” Penny says, finally turning away from the board, “what are you going to do with yourself now that you don’t have Baz?” “I still have Baz.” “Not as an enemy.” “We’re just having a truce,” I say. “A magic-sharing truce.” “Penny.” I frown and lie back on my bed. I’m knackered. I close my eyes. “I wasn’t using him.” “Baz?” “What.” I sit on my own bed, on top of the covers. “I … can you come here?” “No.” “I can come over there, then.” I cross my legs and arms. “You may not.” Snow huffs, exasperated. Good, I think. “You can’t sit on my bed,” I say as he sits on my bed. “What do you want from me, Snow?” “Nothing,” he says. And he means it, the actual bastard. “Why are you such a villain?” He sounds disgusted. “Why have you already thought of that?” “I thought of it when I was still rhyming at the dragon,” I say. “Didn’t you?” “No.” “This is why I’m going to beat you,” I say. “I can still think antagonistically. I’m thinking violent thoughts at you constantly.” He grabs my hand. I want to pull it away, but I don’t want to look scared—and also I don’t want to pull it away. Bloody Snow. I’m thinking violent thoughts at him right now. “It didn’t hurt before,” I mutter. “It didn’t?” “No.” “What did it feel like?” “Stop talking about feelings,” I laugh, and it comes out more good-natured than I mean it to. “Snow. I think I could cast a sonnet right now.” “Show me,” he says. I’m so full of power, I feel like I can see without opening my eyes. Like I could go nova if I wanted to and have my own galaxy. Is this what it’s like to be Simon Snow? To have infinity in your chest pocket? I speak clearly: “Twinkle, twinkle little star!” By the time I get to the end of the next phrase, the room around us is gone, and the stars feel close enough to touch. Simon grabs my other hand, and my chest opens wider. “Merlin and Morgana,” he says. “Are we in space?” “I don’t know,” I say. “Is that a spell?” he asks. “I don’t know.” “No. It’s like you completed the circuit,” I say, gripping his other hand. “I feel kind of drunk, though.” “Drunk on power?” he asks. I giggle. “Shit, Snow. Stop talking. This is embarrassing.” “Do you want me to pull back?” “No. I want to look at the stars.” “I’m pulling back,” he says. I shake my head. I don’t let go of Snow’s hands. “All right?” he asks. “Yeah. You?” “Fine.” Now we’re just sitting on my bed, holding hands, Simon Snow and I. I can’t look at his eyes, so I stare at his cross. He looks uncharacteristically thoughtful. I wonder if he’s forgotten that he’s holding my hands. Or if he’s forgotten what it means to hold hands. Or if he’s forgotten who I am entirely. I think again about pulling my hands away—but Snow could light fires in my palms at this point, and I wouldn’t pull away. It feels like he has. “Baz,” he says, and it’s not unprecedented for him to say my name, but I know he avoids it. “You should really just let me stay in your room,” Penelope says. “It would make things easier.” “No,” Baz and I say at once. “I think it’s kind of cute,” I say. “You think Trixie’s kind of cute,” Penny says. “Trixie is cute.” I shrug. “It’s like being a fairy named Mary,” he goes on. “Or a vampire named Gampire,” I say. “Gampire isn’t even a proper name, Snow. You’re terrible at this game.” It’s like he’s got two emotions—pissed off and sadistically amused. (And plotting, is that an emotion? If so, three.) (And plotting, is that an emotion? If so, three.) (And disgusted. Four.) Half the time we’re together, I’m just sitting on my bed reading while Penelope and Baz are comparing their Top 10 favourite spells of the 1800s or debating the magickal worth of Hamlet versus Macbeth. When he came back, he reported that there weren’t any clues about how she gets into Mummers House. The next day, she told me he didn’t acknowledge at all that he was on his way to suck blood out of rodents. “You going my way?” she says to him now, from the doorway. “No, I’m in for the night,” he says. So fucking weird. “Snow,” he says. “What.” “You should come to Hampshire.” I stop and look at him. “What? Why?” Baz clears his throat and folds his arms, lifting his chin to emphasize how much he looks down on me. “Because you’ve sworn to help me find my mother’s killer.” “You’re suggesting I go home with you.” “Yes.” “For Christmas.” “Yes.” “With your family.” Baz rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s not like you have any family of your own.” “You’re mad.” I move again towards the bathroom. We get to my next lesson, and I intentionally slam my shoulder into the wall next to the door. (People who tell you that slamming and bashing into things won’t make you feel better haven’t slammed or bashed enough.) to myself—and trying not to watch him. I clear my throat. “Stop showing concern for my well-being, Snow. It’s making me ill at ease.” “You’re such an arse!” I say, jumping to my feet and charging at him. “Anathema!” he shouts, and I hear him, but I almost plant my fist in his jaw anyway. “Then I won’t stop!” he says, like he’s the one who should be angry. “Is that better? I’ll damned well marry her, and we’ll have the best-looking kids in the history of magic, and we’ll name them all Simon just to get under your skin.” I bloody well should marry Wellbelove. My father would love it. Then find a thousand men who look exactly like Simon bloody Snow and break each of their hearts a different way. I think if I got married, to a girl from a good family, my father wouldn’t even care that I’m queer. Or who fathered his grandchildren. If the idea of passing on my mother’s name that way didn’t turn my stomach, I’d consider it. Snow would probably find a whole new way to hate me if he knew I thought this coldly about love and sex and marriage. About his perfect Agatha. I know Simon and I will always be enemies.… But I thought maybe we’d get to a point where we didn’t want to be. This is one reason Penny doesn’t like blood oaths and spells. “If you’re as good as your word, words should be good enough.” I’m quoting her again. I’ve been having conversations with her in my head all day. Sometimes Baz joins the imaginary conversation, too—usually to tell me I’m a twat … though he never uses that word, even in my head. Too vulgar. I’m on a train, an hour away from Watford and an hour from Winchester, when I realize that I probably could have just borrowed a phone from somebody and called. When I get to the foyer, Simon Snow is standing there like a lost dog. Or an amnesia victim. “Baz…,” he says again. And I wait for him to get it out. “You’re—you’re wearing jeans.” “All right,” I say again, this time cutting him some slack. I don’t actually want him to get so frustrated that he leaves. (I never want Snow to leave.) All the blood I’ve got in me rises to my ears and cheeks. “Come on, Snow. Let’s … talk.” I never think. I don’t know what she means; I never have official business. “You don’t call me Simon,” I mumble. I still can’t believe he’s wearing jeans. I guess he wouldn’t wear his uniform when he’s not at school, but I’d always imagined Baz lounging around in suits and waistcoats—with, like, silk scarves hanging around his neck. I mean … they do look like really expensive jeans. Dark. And snug from his waist to his ankles without looking tight. It’s another vampire joke: The walls have red fabric panels, and his bed is monstrous and decorated with gargoyles. (There are gargoyles. On his bed.) “He’s Ebb’s brother.” “Ebb your girlfriend?” “Ebb the goatherd.” Baz seems confused. “You came straight here?” “Huh,” I say. “Did it say anything about salt and vinegar crisps?” Baz eats them on his bed when he thinks I’m asleep, then brushes the crumbs between our beds. He glares at me, There’s a knock at his door, and it swings open. “You’re supposed to knock!” Baz snaps before the girl even steps inside. It’s his sister, I think. “I did knock,” she says. “Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say ‘come in.’” “Mum says you have to come down for dinner.” “Fine,” he says. She stands there. “We’ll be down soon,” he says. “Go away.” The girl rolls her eyes and lets the door close. “Well,” I say, “I’d better head back. Send a message if you hear more. You can try to call, but I don’t think there’s anyone answering the school phone over break.” “What?” He scowls up at me. “I said, send a message if—” “You’re not leaving now.” “I told you everything I know.” “Snow, you came in on the last train, then you walked for an hour. You haven’t eaten all day, and your hair’s still wet—you’re not going anywhere tonight.” “Well, I can’t stay here.” “You haven’t burst into flames yet.” “Baz, listen—” He cuts me off with a hand. “No.” Which I might have enjoyed if I wasn’t so desperate for him to stay. Everything on his plate seemed to confuse him, and he alternated between staring at his food miserably and vacuuming it up because he was clearly ravenous. “No,” I said. “Please don’t. Snow’s just here for a school project.” Father practically winked. I’ve never actually sat at a table with Snow before. I let myself watch him, and let myself enjoy it, at least for a few minutes. I keep doing that, since this all started—indulging myself. Snow’s table manners are atrocious—it’s like watching a wild dog eat. A wild dog you’d like to slip the tongue. He keeps moving away from me, and I pretend not to notice. “What’s the point of becoming a vampire,” Snow says, “if you’re not planning to hurt anybody?” “What’s the point of becoming a vampire?” I ask. “You tell me.” “No,” he says. “I’m being serious. Why would Nicodemus have done it?” “You’re asking me to pose a theory?” He nods. “To become stronger,” I say. “Physically.” I shrug. “You’d have to ask him. I wouldn’t know how to compare.” Because I don’t remember being normal. “Because it’s death,” I say. “It clearly isn’t.” “They say your soul dies.” “That’s tosh,” he says. “How would you know, Snow?” “Observation.” “Observation,” I say. “You can’t observe a soul.” “You can over time,” he says. “I think I’d know—” “It’s death,” I say, “because you need to eat life to stay alive.” “That’s everyone,” he says. “That’s eating.” “It’s death,” I say, refusing to raise my voice, “because when you’re hungry, you can’t stop thinking about eating other people.” He pushes at his bottom lip with his tongue. I think about licking blood from it. “Maybe I should. Apparently, I’m the world’s leading expert.” When I look up, Snow’s staring right at me. I can feel the cross around his neck, like static in my salivary glands, but it’s never been less discouraging. I could knock him over right now. (Kiss him? Kill him? Improvise?) “You should ask your parents,” Snow says. “Whether I’m alive?” Fuck. I didn’t mean to say it like that. To concede, even a little. “Oh,” he says. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.” “You didn’t think—” I say. And then—“Oh. Oh, oh, oh.” “So predictably paranoid,” he mutters. “What’re we doing?” I ask. “Looking for Nicodemus.” “You think he might live here?” She’s got mad dark hair with a blond streak, and she’s grinning with her nose crunched up and her tongue between her teeth. Plus there’s something under the bed. I don’t know exactly what, but it moans and clicks and makes the bedposts shake. I end up at Baz’s door, telling him I’m going back to Watford. “I’m leaving,” I say. “That room is haunted.” “The whole house is haunted, I told you.” “I’m leaving.” “Come on, Snow, you can sleep on my couch. The wraiths don’t hang out in here.” “Why not?” “I creep them out.” “You creep me out,” I mutter, and he throws one of his pillows into my face. (It smells like him.) I realize, as I’m settling in on his couch, that I don’t mean it. About him creeping me out. I used to mean it. I usually do. But he’s the most familiar thing in this house, and I fall asleep better, listening to Baz breathe, than I have since winter break started. “Nobody,” he says. Liar. What would you say to him if you were here? No … Never mind. I know what you’d say—and you’re wrong. That’s one way I’ve bettered you. I was weak enough to give your son a chance. And look at him now—he may be dead, but he isn’t lost. He’s dark as pitch and sharp as a blade, and he’s full of your magic. He’s a bonfire. He’d make you proud, Tasha. I’m not worried about getting my hands dirty now and then.” Then, sister, he cocks one of your eyebrows at me. I spit out some smoke. “Pfft. Not like that, you perv.” “I told you. I’m going dancing.” I look at his suit again and his shiny black shoes. “Basil. Have you met a bloke?” He smiles, and he’s made of trouble. We should have dropped him in the Thames in a bag of stones. We should have left him out for the fairies. “Something like that.” Which freaks me right out. To think of all those murders happening. While we wait. “You should eat something,” I say. He raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh, piss off.” I wonder if this is why he’s never had a girlfriend. Because he’d take her on dates to the library, then insist on sitting there creepily while she ate dinner alone. I’ve finished my curry and two orders of samosas, and I’m watching him read—I swear he sucks on his fangs when he’s thinking—when he snaps the book shut with one hand and stands up. read—I swear he sucks on his fangs when he’s thinking—when “Hey,” I say, trying to catch up. When he ignores me, I grab his arm. He frowns. “You can’t just grab people when you want their attention.” “I said ‘Hey.’” “Still.” “Fine,” Baz says. “Get in the car, Simon.” He straightens his collar and cuffs. We’re standing outside an old building full of flats, with a row of names next to the doorway and a brass slot for letters. “Stay close,” he whispers, and raps at the door with the back of his fist. He’s got to be scared, or at least nervous, but he doesn’t look it. I swear he gets less ruffled the more that he’s threatened. (When I’m the one threatening him, that’s infuriating. But it’s kind of cool now.) Baz is walking so slow, I keep kicking the back of his heels. It’s like he wants everyone here to get their fill of him. (Maybe he’s also trying to hide his limp.) (Baz knows. He couldn’t believe I left it at Watford.) (I was in a hurry!) Someone makes eye contact with me and holds it, so I let my magic come to my skin—I just think about it overflowing. He looks away. laugh—Nicodemus laughs like nothing matters; Ebb laughs like everything does. He opens his eyes, and they’re pools of grey and black and pain. I can’t stand it. I growl again. The fire blows back. You’re so alive, Simon Snow. You got my share of it. Because I’ve never kissed anyone before. (I was afraid I might bite.) And I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but him. (I won’t bite. I won’t hurt him.) I just want to kiss him, then go. “Simon…,” I say. And then he kisses me. He’s pushing me, so I push back. He’s so cold, and the world is so hot. I am going to die kissing Simon Snow. I’m going to die kissing Simon Snow.… Simon Snow is going to die kissing me. The fire dies in one breath—more like it was sucked in than blown out. My ears pop, and smoke pours out of the trees. “Why? Are you gonna bite me?” “No. Have I ever bitten you?” “No. You’ve never kissed me before either.” “You kissed me, Snow.” watching me like I’m being an extra-special idiot. Baz shivers. “You have to stop doing that.” “What?” “Godlike displays of magic.” “Why?” I say. “It’s cool.” “It’s terrifying.” I grin at him. “It’s cool.” “Don’t watch,” he says, walking towards the deer. I keep smiling at him. He looks back at me. “Don’t watch.” I can see it in his eyes when he finally discerns me walking towards him. I light a flame in my hand. (Not in my hand—floating above it.) “No, I didn’t.” “You did.” I genuinely have no idea how to proceed. How do you pick up from, “I have to stop kissing you, so I can go drink some blood.” “Does it have to be fatal every time? The biting? Couldn’t you just drink some of a person’s blood, then walk away?” “I can’t believe you’re asking me this, Snow. You, who can’t walk away from half a sandwich.” “Hey,” Snow says, wrinkling his forehead at me, “don’t.” “What?” “Think. Whatever you’re thinking. Stop.” “Sunlight burns me,” I say. He shrugs. “Me, too.” “You’re an idiot, Snow.” “You called me Simon before.” “No, I didn’t.” The kissing. That’s new. The wanting to kiss. The looking at Baz and thinking about the way his hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead … Yeah, nope. I’ve thought about that before. And also apparently the best-looking. I want to kiss a bloke. That is a change, but not one I’m prepared to think about right now. … Again. I want to kiss him again. I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning. I wish I knew what he was thinking.… BAZ I don’t know what I’m thinking. I crawl over to sit next to him. “You’re a pyro,” I say. Snogging my halfwit roommate. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?” “One kiss, and you think the world is upside down.” “Two kisses,” I say. And I take him by the back of his neck. We’re lying on our backs next to the fire, what’s left of it, holding hands. He brings my palm to his mouth and kisses it. “Are you gay?” he asks, looking over at me, still laughing. “Yeah,” I say. “Completely.” “So you do this all the time?” I roll my eyes. “No.” “Then how do you know you’re gay?” “I just do. How do you not know?” “Dunno,” he says. He laces his fingers in mine and holds my hand loosely. “I try not to think.” “About being gay?” “About anything. I make lists of things not to think about.” “About anything. I make lists of things not to think about.” “Why?” “Because,” he says, “it hurts to think about things that you can’t have or help. S’better not to think about it.” I rub my thumb back and forth on the back of his hand. “Am I on your list?” He laughs again and shakes his head; his hair brushes against mine. “Fat chance.” He sounds sleepy. “Trying not to think about you … S’like trying not to think about an elephant that’s standing on my chest.” I think about that. About Snow thinking about me. I grin. “I can’t decide whether that’s a compliment.…” “Me neither,” he says. “So you don’t think,” I say. “S’pointless.” Simon drops back onto the floor. I reach out and very carefully push his curls back off his forehead. He closes his eyes. I wind my fingers in his hair. It’s thicker than mine, and curlier, and it shines golden in the firelight. There’s a mole on his cheek that I’ve wanted to kiss since I was 12. I do. “For a long time,” I say. “Hmmm?” He opens one eye. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Almost since we met…” I smile, too, only because he isn’t watching. “I thought it was going to kill me.” I wake up at least an hour before Snow. It’s hard not to watch him sleep. I’ve done it before—excessively—but that’s when I thought I was never going to get any more than that. (Which is moronic. But Snow is a moron. So.) He rolls into the cushions, burying his face. “You don’t get to watch me sleep now,” he says, “just because we’re snogging.” “I’m up,” he says, dragging one of the cushions down over his head. “How did I lure you? You hitchhiked to my door.” “After you invited me,” he snaps. My 7-year-old sister watches me do it. “I’m telling Mum,” she says. “If you do, I’ll stop up all the chimneys, so Father Christmas can’t get in.” “There are too many chimneys,” she counters. “Not for me,” I say. “I’m willing to put the time in.” “He’ll just come to the door.” “Don’t be an idiot, Mordelia, Father Christmas never comes to the door. And if he did, I’d tell him he had the wrong house.” I’m carefully manoeuvring the whiteboard through the kitchen door. “I’m telling Mum!” she shouts after me. “Baz. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to fight you at all, am I?” “Good,” I say, stepping back from the whiteboard and admiring my columns. “That will make things much easier.” What I can promise, Snow, is to weep over your corpse.” “Or not,” he says. “Fine, I’ll weep in privacy when the day arrives.” “No,” he insists, “I’m serious. Or not.” I look over my shoulder at him. “What are you trying to say?” “That we don’t have to fight.” “‘The rest,’” I say, turning around. “Way to oversimplify a decade of corruption and abuse of power.” “Isn’t that how you think of yourself? Oh, right. I forgot—you don’t think at all.” Simon groans and rakes at his hair. “Jesus Christ. Do you ever not go for the lowest blow? Like, do you ever think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say the most cruel thing just now?’” “I’m trying to be efficient.” He leans against the shelf where I’ve set the whiteboard. “It’s vicious.” “We’re always fighting,” I say, going back to the board. I’m facing the board; he’s standing next to me, facing the room. He leans towards me a bit, without looking at me, and bumps his arm against mine, ruining the word I’m writing. “Or not,” he says. “Is this how you get what you want? By just repeating it until it comes true?” My chalk hand drops, and I turn to him, exasperated. “Simon—” “A-ha!” he shouts, springing up and pointing. It scares the hell out of me. I’ve seen him kill a dog with less effort. (He said the dog was were; I think it was just excited.) “You did it again!” “Did what?” I say, slapping his hand away from my face. He sticks his other hand in my face, pointing. “Called me Simon.” it.” I swallow, and it must be obvious how nervous I am, because he looks down at my neck. “Simon,” I say, and swallow again, “you’re being idiotic.” “There is no ‘this’!” I protest. “You slept in my arms,” he says. “Fitfully.” He lets his hand fall, and I catch it. Because I’m weak. Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself. Because he’s standing right there with his tawny skin and his moles and his morning breath. “Simon,” I say. He squeezes my hand. “Potato, potahto.” He pulls at my arm and I fall forward a bit. Or maybe I’m swooning—it’s not beneath me. (Snow is. Beneath me. Always. By at least three inches.) “How can you be like this?” I whisper. “How can you even trust me, after everything?” “I’m not sure I do trust you,” he whispers back. He reaches out with his other hand and touches my stomach. I feel it drop to the floor. (My stomach, that is.) “But…” He shrugs. He’s rubbing my stomach, and I close my eyes—because it feels good. (So good.) And also because I want him to kiss me again. Snow kissed me last night until my mouth was sore. He kissed me so much, I was worried I’d Turn him with all my saliva. He held himself up on all fours above me and made me reach up for his mouth—and I did. I would again. I’d cross every line for him. I’m in love with him. And he likes this better than fighting. If Penelope were here, I’d tell her she’s wrong about me. She thinks I solve everything with my sword. But apparently, I can also solve things with my mouth—because, so far, every time I lean into Baz, he shuts up and closes his eyes. I’ve just pushed my fingers between Baz’s shirt buttons; his skin is room temperature. Then someone clears her throat. Baz stands up straight, which means his mouth jerks away from mine. I step away so quickly, I’m not sure I didn’t teleport. Boys kissing is probably mild—she’s probably walked into interrogations and goat sacrifices. “I’ll have tea,” Penny says. “Excellent,” he says, striding past Agatha out the door. “Temporary peace?” Agatha asks. Penny hands her a cup of tea. “Are you all possessed?” She hands the tea back. “I’m not drinking this.” Baz—though I guess I should rethink all that, in light of recent information. “You went to a vampire bar!” Penny shouts from across the room. Baz must be catching her up. “What a pair of splendid morons you are! Did you take photos?” “Vampires don’t show up in photos,” I say. “That’s mirrors, you dolt,” Baz says. “You can’t see yourself in the mirror?” “That Baz is a vampire?” “No, he’s definitely a vampire,” I say. “I guess it is that simple. “Simon’s the one who broke it all open,” he says, “without even opening a book.” “Typical,” Penny says. He doesn’t say how fucking cool he was at the bar, or how he lost it completely as soon as he walked out. How I kissed him to save his life—and then kissed him just because I wanted to. (I’m just now realizing that maybe I could have saved his life some other way.…) Baz and Penny move to block the whiteboard—Baz, looking cool; Penny, looking like she has a terrible secret. but he’s thrilled to meet Penny and Agatha—even though I know he doesn’t get along with their parents. Maybe he just has nice manners. Baz keeps rolling his eyes. “Maybe you guys didn’t ask nicely enough,” she says, waggling her eyebrows. “Corking idea, Penelope,” Baz says. “We’ll have you seduce him.” “Nobody’s seducing a vampire,” I say. Baz frowns at me. “I—” He clears his throat and looks down at his knees. “—was kidnapped.” I sit up. “Kidnapped?” “Kidnapped,” he repeats, then clears his throat again. “By numpties.” “Numpties?” Penny says. “Was it an accident? Did they mistake you for a hot water bottle?” Agatha sits up. “You were kidnapped at the club?” “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I ask. “Well, I tried,” he says. “I guess nobody heard me shouting from inside the coffin.” I’m still holding a sandwich. I drop it. “The numpties kept you in a coffin? For two months?” “Six weeks,” he mutters. “And I think they thought they were doing me a favor, with the coffin.…” “Was there a ransom?” Penny asks. “Yeah,” Baz says. “My family wouldn’t pay it. Pitches don’t negotiate for hostages.” “If I’m ever kidnapped at the club,” Agatha says, “tell my parents to pay the ransom.” “No,” Penny cuts him off. “It wasn’t the Mage, Baz—it was the murderer!” “I thought it was numpties…,” Agatha says. I should have remembered that Agatha doesn’t appreciate a good mystery. “Barely,” Baz says. “And what are we going to ask them—‘Lose something?’” Simon looks horrified. “Your aunt murdered numpties?” “In self-defence!” “Did they attack her?” “In my self-defence,” Baz says. “Your aunt should have asked for help!” “If you’d have been there, Snow, all the numpties would be dead.” “Maybe.” Simon sticks his chin out. “But it wouldn’t have taken six weeks.” “If you’d have been there, Snow, all the numpties would be dead.” “Maybe.” Simon sticks his chin out. “But it wouldn’t have taken six weeks.” Baz is standing behind him, grimacing. (Irritating love-triangle dynamic.) Baz clears his throat, and Simon looks back over his shoulder. “I…,” Simon says. “Well, actually, I feel like maybe I should keep working on this numpties thing.” Merry Morgana, does Simon actually realize that getting back together with Agatha would be a terrible idea? (I wonder, is Simon still a virgin…) (Surely not.) (Maybe?)

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