#audiences these days are honestly really rude as a collective | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wincore · 4 years

Text

runway (m) | jung yoonoh

pairing: model!jaehyun x fashion designer!reader

words: 18.7k

summary: there are some things that come with dedicating your life to fashion: a taste for finer fabrics, a splash of love for art, and an appreciation of the human body. none of these are supposed to include the hottest model you have ever laid eyes on, or the fact that you completely, utterly hate his guts.

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, light smut, comedy-ish

warnings: sexual content, mentions of anxiety

a/n: woohooooooo she’s finally here!!!! i cant believe this!! everything aside, i do not have first hand experience working in the fashion industry so please do take this with a grain of salt. i’m also going to pass out. good night <3

A list of things you appreciate: colours, satin, comfort.

A list of things you do not appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

The hum of the car engine has little effect on you; you travel like this almost every day. Tall buildings, scorching pavement, the blare of traffic—it’s Seoul, after all. You sigh, more of a short expression of annoyance, scrolling down with your thumb and back up again. Since when did he get permission to post pictures from pre-fittings? And one of your works, no less.

His feed is so messy. You click your tongue. For a model, that is.

You open the story again and consider messaging him. It’s your cherry red coat, or rather the collar of it, golden thread sewn in swirls of patterns, and a sheer floral shirt extending all the way up to cover Jaehyun’s neck. You frown. It’s meant for showcase, not teasers. Even if the picture extends just from the curve of his shoulder to his parted lips, you can’t stand the sight of it on him. It’s not bias, you try to tell yourself. This is business. You tap your fingertips rapidly against the back of your phone. This is obviously business.

Seoul Fashion Week is the height of your anxiety, which means you have little regard for anything else decorated around you. With a new frenzy arising in every minute of your day—you don’t have time to think, a sense of madness in the way you keep busy. Your Elixir collection is more than what you had hoped for it to be, a twinge of satisfaction sitting at the pit of your stomach. It nicely puts together everything rich and extravagant, humanity’s first love—everything you despise really, so Jaehyun wasn’t a bad choice for a model.

You backspace on your text. Is this rude? Should you care if you’re being rude? How unprofessional, you imagine his voice saying. It wouldn’t be the first unprofessional thing you’d done.

The final text reads ‘Glad you’re enjoying my designs, but they were not meant to be publicly displayed before the official show, as common sense predicts.’

No, of course you’re not trying to be snarky. It’s perfectly formal. All that time writing professional complaint letters to companies for ripping off your designs paid off, you suppose.

You exit the Uber, thanking the driver quickly before you rush into the building, checking the time on your watch. It’s sunny, and hotter than you anticipated. You can only hope it’s cooler tomorrow so the heat doesn’t suffocate your models.

The company building is another madness in its own. Joohyun greets you with a quick smile, a bunch of fabrics being handed to her before she can make any conversation with you, and the rest of the workers bow in greeting before getting back to their own individual windstorms. You step over a few boxes on the grounds, beelining to your workspace so you can settle down your bag.

You’re team leader, you tell yourself, a short breath tumbling out of your mouth. Even so, you don’t do very well under several pairs of eyes on you at once. Some part of you is still the timid fashion designer, packing your entire identity into a small sketchbook.

The sunlight is blaring out of control in the place—it’s meant to be spacious and sunlit, of course, but the heat makes you adjust your collar before you can move forward. The bustle of the style and design team along with the production team in the same place is akin to a nightmare, and you trace your steps quickly.

“Guys,” you begin, fidgeting with the leather strap of your watch as you continue, “Firstly, good job.”

There’s a bunch of short cheers and clapping to interrupt before you can continue.

“As for tomorrow…stylists, I need you to touch up the collars in all the Western-style coats. The detailing needs to be kept clean and sharp. I want the audience to be able to see it.”

You pause, your tone still neutral. “And let’s not start again on the lacing. We had that discussion yesterday.”

There’s some nods and sounds of affirmation.

“Production team…I don’t think I can say much to you without Doyoung getting on my case.”

There’s collective laughter and you crack a smile. With a few more rapid words, you dismiss yourself, walking over to your colleagues to help them out. You’re team leader, the one with the final say in all the designs, but you can’t possibly imagine completing it without Joohyun or the others.

“Good pep talk there, (name),” Joohyun says, walking over to you as her hands sharp and steady as they go through the clothes rack.

“They think I’m an asshole,” you say, breathing out. You know your words are too direct. Drunk co-workers on a Friday night are not the best place to discover facts about yourself. Sometimes even you think you sound bossy. You check the key parts for each item, knowing you’ll be doing this once again before the show.

“We wouldn’t be going anywhere without direction,” Joohyun responds, laughing as if you’d said something silly. “We’re all glad you’re here, (name).”

Words like these are so easing for a mess like you, not that you’d admit it. Joohyun has always been a sort of mother figure to you after you entered this company, followed by Doyoung. A good few years senior to you, she started out as a model before she moved on to designing.

It’s her last year working in this place. But of course, it’s a given when she’s starting her own label (mom clothes and children’s apparel, she’d called her clothing line, rolling her eyes) and one of the most well-known names in South Korean fashion not having her own label is sacrilege (according to your colleagues anyway). She’d said to contact her when you start your own family, and maybe she’ll send a congratulations package for both you and your baby. You’d laughed. Out of all the insults you could ever receive, that was perhaps the loveliest one.

Ridiculousness aside, you’ll miss the comfort of her presence. You were still in school when your designs led you to a showcase in New York Fashion Week, your sponsor more than generous. You stepped into it too soon, too eager. It was breath-taking and awful all at once—and the first time you saw a world outside of your own. It was overwhelming. There are few people in this new world as kind as Joohyun.

The sound of your notification snaps you out of your thoughts. You swear you kept it on vibrate, a little irked at having to search for your phone when your hands are full. The notification itself brings on a stronger wave of vexation.

_jeongjaehyun:

My manager told me it was good publicity

But I could take it down for you

The ‘for you’ adds an unnecessary effect, you think as you hold back a scowl. And what does ‘could’ mean? A miscommunication with the sales team isn’t even on the list of things you need to worry about. Honestly, you don’t have time to fight him, quickly typing out a ‘whatever. it’s okay’ before looking back up.

You jump, the look on Joohyun’s face a little suspicious for what might come out of her mouth.

“It’s not a crime to text people.” She shrugs, shuffling through the rack one more time to take the clothes for transportation.

You’re quick to jump to your defence. “I have nothing to do with him.”

Joohyun looks at you, amused. “He’s not a bad person, you know? How long are you going to keep hating him for one thing he did?”

“It’s not one thing,” you groan, averting your gaze to the clothes so as to help her. “I just- he’s so- so- oh come on. You know how I feel about him.”

“I’m just saying you don’t have any reason to. Everyone’s different from what they appear to be. Especially in this line of work.” Joohyun balances the clothes you give her across her forearms.

“So he’s fake. I hate that even more.” You sigh, pulling out the blue silk overcoat, the colour matching Joohyun’s work dress.

“You mean unreal? Models tend to be that way—don’t be so harsh on him, honey.”

You simply shake your head, words entering one ear and out the other. Joohyun presses her lips into a line but lets it go soon enough. She knows you’re capable enough to separate professional from personal and that should be enough. You’re not keeping a tab on something as warming as spite.

You can’t believe you’d ever been within five feet of him without turning your nose. You can’t believe you’d smiled at his jokes once, even if it was just that one night. He was the godsent Prince Charming, just perhaps not yours. Paris surely had a distressing effect on you that year.

You don’t make the same mistake twice.

You walk back to your desk to take a seat and scavenge through your belongings, most of the people already outside. Fashion Week, which once upon a time was a faraway dream, now is part of life—exciting and exhausting. It’s almost always over in a flash, your love for it whisked in peaks of bittersweet. (“You work your ass off for six months and it’s, what, fifteen minutes long?” your mother had asked after you’d brought her to one of the shows.)

This line of work is a nightmare without mental preparation. You have a degree, you have experience and yet it doesn’t feel enough, confidence easier to drain in a person than blood. And you’re not very fond of pale cheeks.

It came to asking yourself if you really have it in you for a few months—a test of sorts everyone puts themselves through at least once in their lives. At that time, your favourite professor, a bald man nearing his retirement years with the wrinkliest face you’d ever seen, had asked you just one question.

Do you love it?

Of course you fucking do.

You couldn’t say that to his face, sure, but you know he saw it in you—either the effort you put out every day of the semester or the way your hands moved across fabric like a machine, your designs made with the persistence of nature. Your final year project landed you an internship at one of the largest clothing brands in Seoul and your internship landed you a job at the same. Your job, well, lead you to Jaehyun, among many other things.

You scowl at the image of his face that appears when you close your eyes, massaging your forehead—it’s hard to not see it everywhere already, from Cosmopolitan to Vogue.

While you were biting your nails in New York, Jaehyun had flown out to Paris with Saint Laurent, one of the younger male models to show his face for the first time. He’d taken the whole place by storm, you had heard from a friend. To say half the world had fallen in love—either with his dimples or his confident walk—would be an understatement. A privilege, to be gold-plated in a mercenary world.

You’d briefly made eye contact at the airport the first time you saw him, a year later, when you were arriving in Incheon and he was leaving it. It was London, that time. For him, Milan. As much as you couldn’t believe living a fashion student’s dream, Jaehyun’s face was truly, unironically much more unrealistic. Your classmates’ gabs and gossip in sewing class had suddenly made sense. You taught yourself to not be swayed by faces, even if they look like they’re stitched together by Aphrodite and Apollo with their bare hands—friendly advice from seniors at the orientation night ‘party’.

You’d met him formally in Paris, after you’d graduated from fashion school. He was certainly the most beautiful face in the room—and you weren’t the only one aware of it. The entire night you’d been starting conversations you couldn’t relate to, till he came along with his charming dimples and a faux connect. You were naive, and a little tipsy. The attraction was obvious, and it had been you by the bathroom pulling him in for a drunk kiss till he’d snapped out of the daze—as if it were some joke you’d been playing. He’d apologized before leaving, like it wasn’t a big deal, with silken lips parted in a gesture of remorse and a short, firm bow. It didn’t settle very well alongside the merlot in your gut.

You. You’re a big deal.

You were alone in a room full of painted faces and he sat atop the throne they worshipped. Why had you expected any more from him—in the understanding nods or the few kind words that escaped his lips? You felt stupid. He made you feel like smiling for the first time that night and you hated him for it—you’re sure he doesn’t care either way. Or maybe he does, with the wonderfully irked responses he graces you with.

Jaehyun made something out of himself in these nine years, just as you have. Runway supermodel to the face of South Korean men in fashion to an entrepreneur, he might as well have a documentary on him—and he would if he didn’t evade paparazzi and reporters like his life depended on it. Enigmatic, the articles wrote. You scoffed. Conceited, more like. After the initial years, he decided to settle in New York, frequently flying to Seoul and other fashion capitals for business and contractual events. Some of those occasionally include your shows.

Having Jaehyun gets more attention but it’s not like you’re a new, doe-eyed kid. Your works have been featured for popstars and foreign celebrities, and you’ve been invited to several interviews with big magazines. You’ve gone global (albeit under the brand’s name) and you’ve been to places you’d only seen pictures of in the very same magazines you looked up to. They can describe your work as unique all they want—and you don’t mean to sound fucking pretentious—but your job is nothing more than an expression of the self. It’s a part of you; you first started sewing patches onto things simply because your closet lacked colour. And eventually, you found yourself searching for more—colours, fabrics, dreams. You’re devoted to your job because you love it, you want to do it. You’re allowed to be a little arrogant about it.

If only trying desperately to be arrogant did something about your insecurities.

You hope your works redefine themes, your need to stand out contrasting with your fear of it. Eye-catching is always your forte; this time it’s fairy tales and royalty in a mix of East meets West.

D-1. Same feeling, new season.

The press is here, you take note. Photographers. Models. Students. Vloggers. It’s a burst of colours down there.

You hate running late, rushing down the stairs to the plaza through the crowds of people. Some recognize you, as they make their way to you but you end up walking a little faster to minimize your presence. You curse yourself for wearing the jacket. It goes nicely with the rest of your outfit and March isn’t supposed to be this hot. You wipe the sweat from your hairline, hoping the makeup is waterproof like it said.

You consider stopping at the café for a fix of coffee but stop when you notice Joohyun holding a bunch of cups by the venue. She doesn’t look too happy about the sun, or the burdening errand of fetching coffee. You adjust her little red beret at her request, smiling at her annoyance but trying your best to keep it hidden. You don’t want to get cussed out by Joohyun.

“Someone tell Doyoung to get his coffee,” Joohyun complains. “I’ve been waiting for half an hour.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” you say, sipping your coffee. The taste fills your senses with a pleasant dose of energy and you hum out a satisfied note. “Why are there so many students out here? Influencers? Did we sponsor this many kids?”

Joohyun shakes her head. “Jaehyun just got here.”

You suppress an eye-roll. “Wonder why he still comes back for Seoul when he’s booked full for New York.”

“It’s his hometown.” Joohyun shrugs. “I’d come back too. Even if I’m paid more out there.”

You finish your coffee and duck into the fitting room, much to Joohyun’s displeasure as she’s left alone again. Doyoung’s in for an earful, you chuckle thinking about it.

It would look like a hell of a mess to anyone not accustomed to this. Everyone is a flurry by themselves alone but if you mix them with the eclectic crowd you find at a Seoul Fashion Week backstage, it’s more of a disaster. A colorful one, at the very least.

New York was worse. You were too young, in a world that was too big. It’s a miracle you even received an opportunity from so big a name. But, you suppose, it hardly matters now.

You no longer live in a world where Seoul is far from Paris. Fashion and art are things unmarked by place of origin.

It’s easy to spot Jaehyun in a corner, two people adjusting his coat for better fitting at the waist. His makeup’s done, you notice as you get closer. Good, you think. If any makeup were to get on the fabric, you’d go feral (although you do have full confidence in the makeup artists here and their choice of product).

“Jaehyun,” you greet. Your co-workers give each other a look before excusing themselves. You raise an eyebrow, too late to stop them. They didn’t finish the looping of the belt properly, you take notice. You wrinkle your nose. Sloppy.

“(name).” He responds with an equal lack of amusement.

You pull the belt at his waist, Jaehyun stiffening at the contact.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“My job? What do you think, genius?”

Jaehyun presses his lips together and lets you complete the altercations. The chiffon shirt allows you to see the hazed definition of his core, a rather flustering thing to be exposed to for anyone with eyes. When you look up in a moment’s mistake, you’re reminded of why his face is everywhere. Flawless, almost. You hate it. Averting your eyes, you fix the collar so the pattern stands out more. You can feel his eyes over your outstretched hand all the way to your face, subtle as ever. If Jaehyun thinks you’re bothered by it, he’s an idiot for believing so.

You take a step back to analyse the coat. The golden threads are flawlessly detailed, spiraling in patterns of different flowers and vines around the collar, gradually getting larger as they twine at the base of the neck. They meet the polished rhinestone buttons a little lower. You almost smile. You’d sewn each thread and each button in yourself the first time. It hardly looks the same now.

Bright red is an eyesore if you look at it longer than five minutes, you realize. The frown that’s been itching to show up finally does. Suddenly, you’re glad Jaehyun is modelling this piece. You shake your head and look back at his face, from his deep-set brown eyes to his full, tinted lips before pausing. The little Swarovski pearls line strands of his hair in a starry display, perfect in every angle of it. It’s easy to appreciate the human beauty when you see his face, and even if you claim your vehement dislike for him, you’re not a liar nor an idiot.

How infuriating it is, to let things be. Bad blood can only dry to an ugly, unusable brown.

You narrow your eyes at the thinning layer of glitter on his peach-blushed cheeks. He doesn’t exactly need much more of it but the unevenness bothers you.

“Your makeup needs retouching,” you say, frowning. “Did you touch your face? I thought you were a more...professional model than this, Jaehyun.”

“You walked in,” he replies, casually. “I was distracted.”

You feel your cheeks colour. “That’s- that’s not a reason.”

He smiles politely. “I suppose I’ll leave you then. You must have other work to do.”

You hold back a biting remark. His playfulness doesn’t sit well with you; he’s polite just enough to annoy you and straightforward just enough to make you want to throw something at him. He could’ve directly told you to fuck off maybe—but oh no, it’s Jung Yoonoh, seamless and radiant, with only the sweetest collection of words on his tongue. You think of the first time you met, something warm in the corner of your heart. You’d mistaken it, of course.

He didn’t care for you, or any of the people trailing after him and his silver flute, or the rest of the shallow carcass of a world so undeniably obsessed with him. It didn’t hit you till he’d left you hanging, mangled memories of something close to hurt. You’re glad you didn’t kiss him. You wouldn’t be able to get over the embarrassment, the blow to your pride had it escalated any further.

And of course, the one thing he did to make you absolutely certain of his distaste—was simply choose another designer’s work over yours when given a choice. It seems silly, unprofessional even, but the lack of response to your Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection had been embarrassingly low, someone else’s designs sold out at an equally awful rate. You—your insecurities—wanted to blame your own failings—maybe it was the lining of the coats, or the colours maybe— the fabric? Perhaps, you hadn’t focused on comfort all too well. But it was clear, a word from Jung Yoonoh could change the minds of a fashion-forward youth as easily as his face and physique scored contracts with the biggest brands and labels. And it was clear he didn’t like you very much.

You walk over to the other models, eyes scanning down to the T. You glance over one of Joohyun’s designs, a modern men’s hanbok. The blood red paired with yellow is certainly easing on the eyes, though the shades vary from top to bottom, like a sunset. The dark grey chunky shoes fitted under dark tights complete the entire future oriental look you suppose she was going for. She’s only showcasing two of her designs this year and they’re just before the centrepiece. You shake your head, clutching the fabric of your jacket sleeve. You hate seeing other designs before a showcase, even if they’re a friend’s.

You turn your head to make eye contact with Jaehyun across the room. It takes a few seconds but you snap your head in another direction to break the spell.

How strange. You haven’t had nearly enough coffee to feel jittery under his gaze.

You’re forced to take a breather away from this jungle of liveliness.

The amount of people outside the venue gives you yet another headache. Excited college students and fashion vloggers stand outside expectantly, and you give a short bow and polite ‘hello’ to anyone who approaches. You desperately want to be left alone. Even if it’s for a few seconds.

You walk quickly, your feet soundless against the floor. Your mask performs considerably (and surprisingly) well in hiding you. You consider visiting the Design Market to enjoy a seat alone and charge your phone before it’s show time.

Open spaces. You need open spaces. Suddenly, the DDP seems to be suffocating you despite its tremendous size.

“Hey!” You’re greeted with a sudden force to your right side, an arm wrapping around you. You look up to see Johnny, a wide grin on his face and you let yourself mirror it, shaking your head.

“Big day,” he says. “Want me to take some pictures? I’ve got some time between shows—lovely outfit, as usual.”

It’s strange how Johnny’s the photographer and not the model—you’ve heard he receives a lot of requests to get on the other side of the camera though he always refuses. He doesn’t visit Seoul as often, but he has much to do in uplifting the mood with his strangely effective sense of humour. The coffee-coloured shirt he’s wearing goes well with the plaid grey coat, reminiscent of Fendi’s Spring collection, and sometimes you wonder whether a job as a fashion photographer ever had much to do with his style. Johnny has always been effortlessly impressive.

You politely decline, your mind still focused on the smooth running of things. Nothing’s ever on time when it comes to Fashion Weeks—yes, it’s called fashionably late but it just makes you annoyed. You consider ducking back to your venue, adding some final final touches and any more last-minute altercations. Years have passed and you’re still not used to it, fingers itching to do something about everything. You’re grateful the company gives you your creative space but it only makes you wonder just how far the limits are.

Johnny accompanies you to the charging station till he’s distracted by some of the children in the latest Fendi kidswear and you make a mental note to never bring your kids to Fashion Week, if you ever choose to have them.

You breathe in and out for a few moments, feeling lightheaded before the sense of reality touches on you. People walk in and out of the stores lining the pathways, a soft buzz of conversation in the air as your eyes follow their movement. You wonder if you’ll have your own stores opened in plazas like this—here, in Seoul, and on brightly lit streets of the world outside. After all, colourful dreams are the hardest to get rid of. You sit quietly till you get a text from Doyoung asking you to get your ass over there quickly with several exclamation marks. You smile to yourself. Joohyun might have had a sour effect on him.

You arrive back at the venue, trying to tear your eyes away from anything that might want to make you fix it. You avoid Jaehyun’s eyes even more so, like you’ll jinx something right before it’s showtime.

The buzzing reaches a peak before everything is drowned out.

The show finally starts. And it’s over. Twenty-two minutes, this time.

That’s the way it goes. You hold your breath till you’re sure it’s safe to let go, blind to everything that goes on in between. Sometimes it’s underwhelming, sometimes you can’t give a fuck when you love doing this anyway.

You breathe a sigh of joy when everyone gathers backstage, Johnny making all the models pose together for one giant group photo. It’s like a ritual for him, always finding time for a backstage picture with the models goofing off.

Jaehyun looks at you instead of the camera, a nervous shiver running through you. His gaze is not something of inconsequence, eyes piercing into you with words hanging in the air that you don’t care enough about. You think he sends you a smile, cockier than you’d like. Despite your efforts, you have to look away.

Now, what should your dear Fall collection look like? You exit by yourself, relief humming through your veins when you think of getting back to your apartment, papers to be sketched on in your hands, soft fabric to be sewn on your table. Maybe they’ll display your works in the front rows of the stores, maybe you’ll even have displays outside of Seoul. You’re not a student anymore and your job has taken you enough places.

Even so, Paris and Milan sneak into your dreams often. You used to dream of them so much that it was hard to consider them reality—finding yourself in those streets, in between all those beautiful picture-book monuments.

You prefer Seoul, you decide after conscious thinking. You don’t have to worry about the world outside.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You somehow still find yourself in them, hoping to catch a drunk video of Doyoung for blackmail or make eye contact with an attractive stranger only to stop at exchanging numbers because you never find the time.

It’s a social event. You’re supposed to be doing social things. It’s exhausting.

The last person you expect to bump into is Jaehyun, drinks in hand as he looks down at you with a greeting of surprise on his tongue. He’s wearing a simple dark Oxford button-down, two buttons at his chest undone, and tucked neatly into his pants. His hair looks untouched since afternoon, parted in messy waves, minus the pearls. The music changes to something with slower beats as you stare at each other for a few moments.

“What are you doing here?” You raise an eyebrow. There are other afterparties he could be attending. Big ones.

Jaehyun tilts his head, cracking his neck before smiling. “Charming, as always. I’m here because I want to be here, obviously. So does everyone, I’m sure.”

“Fucking narcissist,” you mutter to yourself. You think Jaehyun might have heard you because you get a dirty look thrown your way, masked with the signature apathy across his relaxed lips.

“That’s a little rich from you,” he mumbles.

The muscle by his mouth twitches but he doesn’t say anything more. This is probably the most emotion he shows, you think. Wouldn’t his lovestruck magazines relish seeing him riled up like this? They’d still find a way to fall in love with him.

You could have, too.

No way. You tell yourself that’s ridiculous.

You’re aware he’s booked for at least three other shows this week. It’s a miracle he agreed to yours, considering your mutual distaste for each other. You suppose it had more to do with his agency than himself but it wasn’t like you were the keener one. Jung Yoonoh is the face professionals look for and your company loves the publicity, although you keep telling yourself your designs would still shine without him.

Jaehyun excuses himself before you can get on with any unpleasant conversation you might have. At least you have something in common—that is, trying to avoid each other as much as possible.

A few minutes (and uncomfortably snaking through swarms of bodies) later, you find Doyoung, unfortunately sober and intending to remain so, people congratulating him with claps on the back for securing the position of PR Head. You think it was supposed to be a secret, but someone higher in the ladder must have spilled early. Joohyun never attends these, and honestly, good for her.

Afterparties are not your thing.

You shouldn’t have taken those shots but you’re on the dance floor now anyway—what more could happen? It’s easier when you’re not paranoid about all the eyes on you, dancing against a stranger with a lion tattooed against his neck. Maybe you’ll go home with him, maybe you’ll leave at the first signs of attraction. Romance isn’t quite on your to-do list, but an occasional intoxication with the skin works just fine. You could live like this for a few moments.

Your back runs into someone else’s rather forcefully and you turn around, apology bubbled up to your tongue already, mixing with the alcohol.

“Oh look.” You roll your eyes. “It’s the prince of high fashion. What can I get you today, sire?”

Jaehyun drives his tongue over his lips, quite definitely over your antics. Soft breaths leave his mouth in a rhythm irrelevant to this box of laughter and blaring music called a party. You love how he never knows how to respond—what new words will he choose to keep false dignity? If you think about it, he’s the embodiment of why you always thought everything was so out of your reach—big names, exclusive parties, not for kids like you. They were never for fashion students too honest to know their own worth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good colour on you,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear.

You scoff, a pang of annoyance sizzling through you. “Jealous? Of who? You?”

You sneer at the last part, Jaehyun’s frown deepening. Some days you just like to think you’ve won. A few moments pass between you two, the sound of pop music filling in the gaps.

Jaehyun presses closer to you, your chests almost touching as your breath hitches in your throat.

“Do you know what makes success?” he says, head dipping lower to look you in the eye. The smell of alcohol disturbs you for a second before your heartbeat gets loud enough to drown it. You try to not focus on how his mouth is so near yours—and perhaps if you were drunk enough, you might commit a mistake against the very core of your being, something you’d been dangerously close to once.

You stay quiet, the pulsing in your ears too loud in the shallow distance between the two of you. You swear it’s always the two of you pressed up like this once you’re drunk enough, the dislike growing stronger and stronger with every breath exchanged. You’ve intertwined each other into a strange garden of contempt, easy to forget when you're facing him. Jung Yoonoh has the prettiest face in the industry, and the only one you can’t bear seeing.

“It’s confidence,” he answers, as slow and steady as ever. “And there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance I intend to keep. I’m not so sure about you.”

The rest of the night passes without conflict and you retire early, Jaehyun’s breath still hot against your face. Only when you collapse on your bed do you get an urge to shout, yell, anything that doesn’t make you call him up and scream at him. You have your precious dignity too, something he seems to look past. The effect he had on your breathing, the crawling over your skin—God, you hate him. You’re too stubborn to not continue doing it.

“What’s this?” you ask, your eyes darting in between the director of design and Lee Taeyong.

To say you were surprised to see him would be an understatement. You note the simple dark rimmed glasses in contrast with his light dyed hair, the mellow blue of his cashmere sweater sporting his own label’s logo—Lee Taeyong is a household name. You feel yourself shrink the tiniest bit.

This industry’s all about names, you think miserably. You meet people and you remember the ones who can get you ahead. It’s tiring.

Taeyong started his career even earlier than you did, and before he had changed his major to fashion. He’s a little older than you, though he doesn’t look it and he had begun with working exclusively on jackets. Several rejected designs later, he had popped up as one of the designers to look out for in Seoul Fashion Week. Now he has his own global label slowly turning brand, several worldwide stores and everything dreamers in the same place as you look up to. You think you’re fine here, you tell yourself despite that.

The director smiles at you, her hand gesturing rapidly at you to come forward.

“You’re going to be so happy,” she says, signalling Taeyong to continue.

“Uh, hi,” he greets.

A little awkward for a world-class designer, you think.

“I’m Lee Taeyong. You might have heard of me—”

“I know who you are,” you interrupt, ignoring the disapproving look of the director.

“Oh, that’s good!” He smiles. “I’ve seen your work—I’ve been following your work for a few years now…and, well, I’d love for you to work under my label—in a collaboration of sorts. You’ll have full creative freedom, of course! I’m just there more or less for supervision, really…”

You think you feel your heart stop for a few moments, Taeyong’s sudden stream of information fading out. The pinnacle of your career, you believe, had been Paris Fashion Week four years ago and you’d been dreaming of it ever since. This is a business contract, you’re sure, and you don’t know if you have a real choice but maybe you could take that step forward you’ve always wanted to.

“Isn’t that great, (name)?” The director interjects. “You get to work under the Lee Taeyong label. And…surprise! You’ll have your work presented at New York Fashion Week in September. They’ll hit the stores a week later.”

You freeze.

“New York?” you manage to squeak.

“Yep!” Her voice a notch away from annoying. She’s not the first person you’ve met who sounds so goddamn manufactured. “Pack your bags, darling. You’re flying next weekend.”

You must be looking like a deer caught in the headlights because Taeyong opens his mouth to say something, alarmed. You speak before he does.

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than them. It should be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a good thing. Even so, you feel the anxiety in your ribcage threatening to overgrow into thorns.

“I’ll- I’ll do it,” you clarify. Looking from your manager’s bright yet stern face to the hopeful smile on Taeyong, you don’t think you have much of a choice.

New York, huh. How long has it been? You shudder at the memories, your focus a little off for the rest of the day.

Joohyun visits you a day before you leave. She places the box of chocolates on the coffee table, that Doyoung apparently sent for you.

“You know, I’m really happy you’re getting this chance,” Joohyun says, crouching down beside where you’re splayed, trying to count the travel essentials and everything else on your messy checklist.

“He gets promoted and now he can’t even come visit me, huh?” you say, shifting to grab the box and tear off the clear wrap.

Joohyun laughs. “He’s certainly enjoying his duties. I can’t wait to boss him around again after I leave.”

Your shoulders hunch, a sigh leaving your lips. “Great. You’re leaving. Doyoung’s too busy to annoy. And now I’m a part of this godforsaken project for almost six months.”

Joohyun softens a bit, running her hand through your hair. “I heard you accepted it. All by yourself. You’ll do just fine, don’t worry.”

You feel yourself turn pink, a feeling of warmth you’ve been missing for a week. It’s cozy in your apartment, always the right temperature with a tinge of happy memories. You wish you could find comfort in people as easily as others do. Everything happened so fast, you can barely remember the conversation you had with Lee Taeyong. A few moments pass, Joohyun and you picking out chocolates before you can rummage through your suitcase again.

“I hate New York, Joohyun. Just what else can you throw into the mix to make me hate it even more?”

She freezes for a fraction of a moment, pressing her lips together before clearing her throat. “Oh. Uh. I probably shouldn’t tell you what I was about to tell you then.”

You turn your head to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting yours. “You know. New York. Fashion capital of the world. Lots of things to love.”

“What are you not telling me, Joohyun?”

She sighs, defeated. “A certain someone might be on the same flight as you. I was about to give you his number in case you needed help.”

You pause to think, curling your lips. “It’s Jaehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

You groan, dropping your head back and yelping when it hits the coffee table. Joohyun moves to rub your head and ease the pain as you let out a stream of complaints.

“You really thought I’d call him for help?” you yell. “Him? Of all people?”

“I think you’d rather have a known face there. Besides, he’s a good kid,” she reasons, looking you in the eye. “And stop yelling.”

You quieten a bit at her glare, gulping. She adds the number to your contacts, saving it with a professional ‘Jung Yoonoh’ before she helps you clean up, advising you on how to manage your finances abroad. You know she’s trying to ease you, but how could she—after dropping this awful news on you like it shouldn’t matter at all? She doesn’t even know what happened—almost happened in Paris, or the fact that your honeyed feelings had turned bitter so easily. She’s worked with him before, you know this, when he was a much younger model and she trusts him more than you ever could.

But maybe, just maybe she can’t see what you see—after all, she’s also part of the elite, crème de la crème of this industry, more so in this country. It’s frightening, and so vague what goes on up there, at the top of the chain; and whatever you have—it might never be enough.

You’re you. Sometimes, that isn’t enough.

You jump at the water rushing from the shower, too cold for skin and scramble to twist the knob the other way. This time, the water’s too hot and you yelp, shutting it off altogether.

You press your hand against the shower glass, breathing heavy. You’re trying—you’ve been desperately trying ever since you landed a week ago. Change is not something you can take lightly. You miss the dim lights of your apartment in Seoul that Joohyun always warned would get you some brand new prescription glasses. You miss walking down the streets to your favourite convenience store at three in the morning to get honey butter chips. You miss picking fights with Doyoung over which detail to scrutinise during your project discussions. This project seems to have torn apart several things that belonged to you.

You can’t seem to get your head into it either—even spacing out during the meeting you had with Lee Taeyong among several other things. You can’t remember a single design detail he’d specified or what the theme was even supposed to be—a bunch of bright foggy lights replacing whatever fuzz was growing in your head. A twenty-something-year-old shouldn’t be letting homesickness affect them like this.

You finish the rest of your shower with a heavy heart and a clouded head.

Taeyong booking a luxury suite for you was a bit…much. Not that you’re complaining, but it gives more fuel to the profound sense of emptiness you keep drawing. There’s no intimacy to this place, no love. It’s a little hard to create things without love, and comfort.

Still, you grit your teeth and get dressed into something more comfortable for the night. If not today, then tomorrow. Something will have to give, even if it costs you—whatever the hell your parents keep telling you when you’re going through problems. What if you don’t want to be cost things? Compromise isn’t as delicate as it sounds. You try to comfort yourself, rocking yourself on the much too large couch, hugging a pillow close and trying to think of things that don’t immediately make you want to throw up.

The memories of your first visit are a little less than pleasant. You think you cried after the entire ordeal because you thought you did a bad job of talking, socializing, the most ordinary things. There are some people who are good at wearing masks—good at making copper look like gold, good at shining under dim lights, and good at using words that don’t have much meaning to their existence other than being pretty.

You were not one of them.

The intense need for everything to be perfect was still there, even when you couldn’t possibly have achieved it. You wanted to make things and show them to the world—what was so wrong with that? Why did being there make you feel like you could never even touch your dreams? You were so out of place, feeling completely out of touch with yourself. There were people from the top there, established and famous. It felt out of your grasp. You felt fake.

The city lights twinkle with life but there’s no sound, the windows shut tight. The ambience of the room is kept to a caramel minimum—the best you can do to honour your sweet little home back in Seoul.

The hatred for everything pretentious was born with your first step into this place, into the game that the big boys play. It showed in your designs, your choice of fabric, your distaste for certain people. You wanted reality—you wanted a taste of life in your everyday clothes. You wanted that flavour you feel on your tongue in a room full of strangers or the one on a quiet night by yourself at your apartment rooftop. You didn’t want dignified fur coat ensembles, you wanted the naive chaos you feel every day and you wanted to make it look good. It’s driving you insane just how much you feel like you’re losing now.

You take out your phone after what seems a few minutes of contemplation.

Jung Yoonoh. Your finger hovers over the call button. What would he say if his night is interrupted by your voice?

You’d met at the airport after landing, though you were only two seats away in the plane. You’d made no error in acknowledging his presence, browsing through the inflight magazine half-heartedly. Truth be told, sometimes you couldn’t really seem to get over him. Sometimes the thought of him made you so pissed, you had no idea what to think of it.

“Welcome to New York,” he had said shortly after you’d exited, a giant crowd of people greeting out-goers, holding up placards with names of people, in numbers you’re unaccustomed to. Or, used to be accustomed to.

You hadn’t talked since—and really, you weren’t expecting to.

You press your home button, any lingering thoughts of him vanishing at the force with which you tell yourself it’s not worth it. How is Jung Yoonoh better than anyone else you know here? He might have been living in New York for quite a few years now, and he’s probably the only one you’d feel comfortable enough to swear at—that doesn’t mean you’d actually ask for help. That doesn’t mean he’d actually help. Joohyun must have had her hopes far too high to have convinced you for even a moment.

The couch feels colder all of a sudden, and you turn down the air conditioner. This place will never adjust to you, and your stubborn little self won’t either.

You think of Jaehyun from the afterparty, loose shirt and knowing eyes, and you wonder if he feels just the same frustrated agony, if not more. You think of his parted lips and breathing words close enough to be provocative, discomfort growing at the base of your stomach. Who does he think he is? He might have the airs and dignity of someone way up in the hierarchy of society but you know what people can be like. You know envy, you know malice, and you know lies. He has to fit in there somewhere—and perhaps you would have hated him less if he did.

Even if you’d scoffed at the idea of jealousy, that might very well be the closest to what you feel, what you keep hidden in the darkest corners of your locked chest. When you first met at that star-spangled dinner, you’d felt what it’s like to watch a fireworks show or a big musical opening; but the fireworks are being blocked by skyscrapers and you’re only the helping staff at the theatre, watching from a balcony at the very back. Jaehyun was impressive with barely any words. It annoyed you so much and somehow, the only solution you arrived at was the tremendous need to understand him, pick him apart and see what made him.

No. That’s wrong. You were annoyed because you still wanted to kiss him after he’d pushed you away, his dislike steaming clear. It strikes you as gently as lightning that the only reason someone would have to hate Jaehyun is being attracted so violently to him. God, you hate making a fool out of yourself.

You pass the night in quiet contemplation, promising yourself a better tomorrow. After all, no one else is going to do it.

You walk with your chin up as if you don’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. You picked out your black Harrington jacket to look at least a little more professional, but you might have miscalculated the size and the material in the equation because you look completely and utterly ridiculous in it. No one would look at you and think you even work in fashion, much less be competent in that line.

(To be fair, you wear the same beige sweater and black corduroy pants to work and if your coworkers choose to judge you, you wouldn’t blame them.)

It’s only been a month and somehow, it translates to forever to you. You think you’re adjusting better now, and you pat yourself on the back for it. It’s not raining today at the mercy of the skies, a tidal wave of sunlight splashing through the buildings every time you take a turn. The city doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. It’s a good day, for once.

You lean your head against the car window, eyes trailing up and down the reflective blue of each skyscraper. You can barely see any clouds, and the sky’s endlessly the same, comforting blue. Just like back home, you think for a moment. Your eyes move back to the sidewalk, people passing by—mothers with their babies in strollers, kids clutching the strap of their school bags as they run, men and women in all levels of professional clothing. No one stops in this city. Except the fucking traffic apparently.

You sigh, glancing at your watch. Only moments ago, you were moving and yet again, you’ve stopped. The cycle keeps repeating and you’re trying to keep patience focusing on things around you that you can appreciate.

Maybe you jinxed it when you said it was a good day.

You reach Taeyong’s studio just in time (not that you’d get yelled at or anything, he’s too nice of a guy). Your eyes fixate on the numbers that light up on the elevator one by one till it finally reaches the first floor.

You walk right into someone’s chest, an apology tumbling out of your lips as you bow out of habit.

“(name)?”

You look up to find Jaehyun in the elevator of Taeyong’s building, a casual white shirt clinging to his frame that’s tucked into his jeans to look somewhat formal. A pink overshirt hangs at his forearm and from the windswept styling of hair and his perfected dark locks, you’ll assume he’s here for a shoot—even without it, he looks like something from a teen magazine, someone people would see and instantly daydream of. Best known for high fashion, Jung Yoonoh is still a spectacle in casualwear.

“I can’t believe I have to see your face here too,” you mutter, getting into the elevator. You’ve had your share of moments with him.

“Good to see you too,” he says, bemused.

You make a sound of acknowledgment, taking out your phone to turn the damn notifications off so you don’t feel it vibrate in your pocket every few minutes. You feel eyes on you for a moment and snap your head to the side.

Jaehyun has his eyes focused on the door, quiet breathing fresh against his lips and you hesitate before concluding you might have been mistaken in your perception.

“You’re here for a shoot?” you ask, curious about his relationship with Taeyong.

“What else can I be here for?” He says nonchalantly.

“Sarcastic. Very nice.”

“It’s a little weird, you trying to make conversation with me. You’re usually raving about me too much to actually talk to me.” He smiles, the dimples provoking and eyes the familiar beguiling brown.

“I’m not trying to make conversation,” you hiss, crossing your arms. “I’m sorry, I forgot you’re only a person in front of cameras.”

Jaehyun takes a sharp breath before turning to you, a not-so-happy look on his face despite the calmness over his features. You’ve seen it enough times.

“How long are you going to keep up the pretentious this and pretentious that before you face it, really?” He looks at you with tight lips, poisonous implications in his question. “Why you love to get up in my case all the time?”

The words take time to settle in. You shake your head when you realize, a sardonic laugh leaving your lips. Of course he’d think that.

“Oh my god,” you scoff. “You’re so full of yourself. You think I’m interested in you? Don’t let what happened years ago get to your head.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Oh, what did you mean then? Pray tell.”

“First of all, stop cutting me off,” he says, taking a step towards you. A certain feeling of uneasiness runs through you when you detect annoyance in his quiet statement.

“Secondly,” he says, taking a another step forward just as your back hits the wall of the elevator, “Stop treating me like I’m the bane of your existence. I have nothing to do with you.”

He’s right, of course, but the words sting where they hit. Asshole, you think. He has no business telling you what to do and what not to do. But in this moment, you can’t fish for the correct words—you don’t have the strength to when you’re so close to each other like this, the scent of his cologne syrupy and sickening. His tall stature is intimidating, with his straight shoulders and proud jawline.

The elevator dings at the seventh floor, Jaehyun stepping away from you without a glance or care, striding out just as smoothly as on a runway.

You take a moment to breathe, unsaid words burning holes into your tongue. You wish you could’ve said something better, anything that didn’t make you feel so pathetic. Maybe you should’ve told him to stick his words up his ass, sounding vulgar being the least of your worries. You wait patiently to reach the last floor, each ding souring your mood little by little.

You are so glad you didn’t call him that night. To think he’d ever help you knowing it’s mutual, the whole hating each other’s guts. You just can’t believe the audacity of him—to accuse you of, what, romantic feelings? In an industry where you can’t tell apart gold from copper? Where all the people warming up to you are fair weather friends and competitors? He must have let all that attention get to his head. Runway faces aren’t as easy to fall in love with as he thinks.

“(name)! Come quick!”

Taeyong’s voice urges as soon as you enter and you settle your bag down, rushing to him. His smile drops when he sees your seething figure place your bag on the desk with a loud thud. You turn to him, without a hint of sweetened formality and ask him the day’s schedule.

Taeyong gulps before responding, undoubtedly afraid of your lips, a twitch away from a scowl, but he explains nicely nonetheless.

“Can you do a rerun of these designs for me?” he says, arranging the papers on the desk. That’s how he says these need improvement. No wonder the interns love him.

Taeyong’s in his usual attire, still too chic for you but strangely comfortable to look at. You nod, immediately scrutinising them, your (almost pointless) years of training trying to give you hints as to where you went wrong. You’re not really expecting to find big flaws or anything—just details you can enhance. You’ve learned enough about Taeyong in a month and it’s that his sense of style encompasses comfort, even in the most abstract of concepts. You respect him for that. It doesn’t change the fact that you think it’s a little overdone maybe.

Taeyong laughs, breaking you out of your daze. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is- Is something wrong?” You look at him, perplexed.

“It’s just that- It’s just you remind me a lot of the fashion students.” He smiles at you.

Your shoulders droop. Amateur. New. Unprofessional.

“Oh.”

Taeyong rephrases himself quickly, waving his hands about. “I don’t mean it as a bad thing! It just means you still…love doing it.”

It sticks with you longer than you’d expect, as you work throughout the day. You think Taeyong is too nice to criticize you properly but he eventually gets the point across—stick to the theme, written in Taeyong’s dainty handwriting and pinned to the softboard.

Secrets.

What an atrocious concept. Firstly, it makes no sense apart from sounding like a fucking lingerie collection. Secondly, when you went over Taeyong’s designs with the layers and patches, you supposed he wanted to focus on the inside of things because everything he’d drawn was inside out. Thirdly, when you heard him explain it, you were a little taken aback to hear it was going to be all about you, us. The designers, the models, the photographers, the magazine editors—there are millions and millions of people working to make sketches come to life, for a few items of clothing in someone’s closet. It feels nice to hear that from him. You promise you’re going to perfect it.

And perfection is your dear old friend.

It’s what you always strive for, but end up with something else that’s a little less beautiful. You take slow breaths, removing and adding details (after all, art is in the details). But perfection can easily grow tiresome. It makes you increasingly frustrated and you don’t think you have the heart to tell Taeyong everything in his studio stresses you out.

“So, you’re working with Jaehyun?” you ask, trying to look less antsy.

Taeyong blanks out for a moment before responding. “Yes. Why? Is he- Is he making you uncomfortable?”

Uncomfortable wouldn’t even begin to explain what he makes you feel.

“No,” you deny. “Just curious.”

Taeyong smiles. “We usually work on summer shoots together. It’s like tradition.”

“That’s…nice,” you say, trying to reciprocate his smile.

“Oh, but we’re having terrible weather so the shoots keep going longer than planned. That’s why I’m having to compromise planning time with you. Sorry about that.”

You try to keep your posture despite the mild annoyance brewing at the back of your head. Great. Now you have to see Jaehyun’s unbelievably annoying face every time you walk in. Maybe if you plead enough, you’d get permission to leave early and not want to throw some insults at him.

You decide to walk, despite Taeyong insisting his driver help you get home. He doesn’t act like it but he’s a busy man, with side projects and interviews coming up so often you lose count. It’s no wonder he had to, and you hate using this word, hire someone for the label’s next venture. You think articles like Lee Taeyong loses touch and hires designers instead of doing his job would make him upset but he seems to genuinely not let it bother him. It’s about ideas to him. His label, almost large enough to be a brand, is for ideas; what a pretty thing to base your business around. While you thought you were a big shot back in South Korea, you’re almost nothing more than Lee Taeyong’s co-designer—assistant here.

You feel drops of what you felt years ago trickling down your throat. Overshadowed. Powerless. Imposter. Something about New York makes you want to pull all your hair out. You wish you hadn’t been here in the first place, maybe then this would seem more of a fun trip than memories weighing you down. But then if you hadn’t been here, you might not have even started.

You hug yourself at the sudden downpour, clouds kind enough for it to be nothing more than showers but you’re soaked anyway. Kind, but still a little cruel. Running under the eaves of a store, you curse yourself for not bringing an umbrella the only day you needed it. You stand there for a while, just breathing.

Real life is never like movies, is it? Cameras lie. Pretty faces lie. Sometimes you end up stuck in New York rains without an umbrella or a friend to call or a lover to protect you. You end up getting an Uber, taking awfully long to arrive due to the traffic the rain had ensued and try your best to ignore the disgruntled driver mumbling about you wetting his seats.

You still don’t know how the goddamn shower works.

You manage to complete without either scorching your skin off or freezing it to Greenland and back—a feat much more successful than whatever you had going on for today. You slip into the absurdly soft mattress, pillows and covers swallowing you into a state of sleep.

You start the day almost pouring coffee onto Jaehyun’s spotless white shirt. And you might have were it not for immense self-restraint, and the fact that Taeyong’s eyes were trained on the two of you.

“So…are you two…a thing or something?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“No,” Jaehyun responds calmly while you sputter it out.

Taeyong apologizes, a laugh following. “You seem to have worked together before. Jaehyun, you never told me that.”

“I…I thought you knew,” he answers, leaning back against the tabletop.

“Ah, well,” Taeyong shrugs. “Thanks for helping me out with this, (name). Maybe- maybe we can draw some inspiration for the collection from outdoors.”

“Of course,” you say as you smile wide, trying hard not to break the coffee mug in your hand.

If you’re being honest, you had a gut feeling you’d be asked to help with Taeyong’s (apparently) infamous summer shoot. He walks into his studio every morning with hair in a disarray, talking to more people than he might enjoy and the entirety of New York weather against him. There’s only so much time a man can have and under pressure, he’s going to have to choose. It’s easy to feel sorry for someone like him.

This should be the stylist’s job. Jaehyun stands with his chin up as you adjust the fitting, smoothing out creases and making sure the cerulean shirt is pinned right, satin feeling cool and nice under your fingers. Sleeveless is back in trend this summer, and so are low-cuts.

“Careful there,” he says when you hand brushes a little lower, just below the full-grain leather belt.

You hope your face isn’t steaming from the rush of heat but you manage to limit your emotions to a sound of discomfort, remembering the horrendous accusation he’d thrown at you. “I don’t care about your dick, twit.”

Jaehyun laughs, bending a little to whisper. “I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“You look like you’re having a wonderful time making me uncomfortable.”

“You’re just so easy to work up.”

His dimples are getting on your nerves. You reach up to button his collar, perhaps a little too harsh because he chokes, an uncharacteristic sound leaving his mouth as he winces. You suppress a smile, glad you managed to do something about the look on his face.

The sunlight over this park feels like Christmas come early, with the way Taeyong is flitting from model to model and stylist to stylist with the intensity of a five year old after an ice-cream truck.

“Is he- Is he usually like this?” you ask, eyes on the makeup artist getting directions from Taeyong.

“I just assumed all of you are this way,” Jaehyun, responds looking at the same sight.

You roll your eyes. “We’re not all crazy.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little bit,” you correct yourself, watching Taeyong almost trip over someone’s bag in order to greet the magazine’s style director.

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes meeting yours for a moment before the two of you go about your own business.

You like magazine shoots for the most part. You never find a glass of water anywhere, but some intern or the other will definitely be there to fetch you Starbucks. There’s at least three people fussing over each model and at least two exasperated photographers trying very hard to snap clean shots. The stylist and designer look as though they might explode any minute, although the relief on their faces after it’s all over is something worth looking at. The skies are so bright and blue, you think, for a cosmopolis. The trees and shrubs lining the park are in a state of tranquility compared to the chaos it encircles.

Magazines might not be as important in an age of social media advertisement, almost part of nostalgia now—but maybe some of you are not yet willing to deny kids the thrill of reading a magazine under their blankets in the middle of the night. It often gave hope to little boys playing dress up and little girls sewing their own clothes.

You’d forgotten just how exhausting shooting with magazines is. The models must be having it worse but their masks don’t come off easy. If you had ever underestimated their job difficulty, it comes back to throttle you at full speed every time you’re at a shoot.

Looking good in front of a camera is pretty damn hard.

They don’t even get to keep the clothes, unless some asshole of a designer decides to pay them in apparel instead of actual money. Most models leave New York in debt. Men are paid even less than women. You’re surprised Jaehyun is as celebrated as he is—or the fact that he was clever enough of a businessman in launching his own high fashion-themed restaurant. You’ve heard he barely visits it, like a careless afterthought. But you’re not one to get carried away by sketchy articles on the internet. All you’ve needed are more reasons to hate him.

You sip the iced coffee, its effect pretty much worn out during humid afternoons. It’s time for a break, but no one’s willing to break momentum. You find yourself feeling a little awkward, as nothing more than a guest with creative advice, and so you sit under the comforting cool of the giant green umbrella at one of the tables. You could sink into your chair were it not so damn uncomfortable.

Jaehyun takes a seat right beside you to your surprise, offering you a box of diced mango before you fervently decline. You still think he’s an asshole. It doesn’t make any sense—why accuse you of unsaid affections and then flirt with you like he never said it? It’s not like you’re even friends, how ridiculous. There are quite a few jerks you’ve met in your life, but Jung Yoonoh really takes the cake.

“What?” you snap when his gaze gets on your nerves.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands defensively, eyes still on yours. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I enjoy the air conditioned suite Taeyong booked me more than this, yes.” You sigh, leaning back. “I don’t really have anything to do.”

“I’m assuming he booked you the luxury suite on the fifteenth floor,” he says, chuckling.

You furrow your eyebrows. It’s not impossible that Jaehyun knows Taeyong’s favorite suite to book for guests.

“The view’s pretty nice from there, right? Oh, and you must be enjoying the silence.”

“I actually like the outside sounds,” you defend. “It’s calming.”

“Not when you’re on the third floor,” he says, shoving a piece of mango into his mouth with a fork. “All you hear is middle aged men screaming.”

You rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin against your palm. The shade is separated from sunlight by a thin line against his chest, pale blue satin glimmering where the sun meets it. Jaehyun’s eyes shine a darker hue of honey under the shade, moving to the box in his hands occasionally before trailing back to the background noise again. Taeyong really does love pretty fits, but this might just be one of the most gorgeous pieces you’ve seen this summer (and you’ve already been through all the ready-to-wear lookbooks you possibly could). A thought passes you in a breeze, that maybe it's the model making it seem that way.

“You’re talkative today,” you note quietly, the sun harsher on your cheeks than before.

Jaehyun shrugs, hurrying to finish all the pieces. He suddenly pulls a face, one you don’t see very often in high fashion websites and Instagram pages. It’s almost cute.

“Sour.”

You find yourself laughing, a gentle influx of peace filling the inside your chest. You quickly recover, looking back up to see Jaehyun simply staring at you, breathing. He looks caught off-guard, no camera to warn him. You straighten, your cheeks flushing with heat.

“Is- Is something wrong?”

He immediately shakes his head, more to himself than you. There’s a pause before the two of you are happily distracted. The style director appears to be gesturing at him from the other side and Jaehyun responds with a curt wave.

“You’re doing two different concepts today?”

“Three, actually.”

You raise your eyebrows. Well, they’re definitely taking advantage of the good weather. They could just photoshop it, in your opinion, but authenticity is everything when it comes to magazines nowadays.

“Well, don’t let me hold you back,” you say, your tone dismissive. “Go get changed into whatever pretty shirt Taeyong has up next in his collection.”

“The next shoot doesn’t have a shirt,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

You almost choke on your coffee, blaming the heat for your weak state of mind. You’re just having one of those strange days—just that, nothing else.

You finish the rest of the coffee, cup resting in your hand till you find the energy to get up and find a trash can.

Jaehyun was right. This time the shoot’s a little too wet and a little too much skin for you to enjoy. The only thing added to Jaehyun above the waist are a dainty red scarf knotted over his neck and a small, flat hoop earring on his left ear. The velvet fingerless gloves, although you’re not very fond of them, complete a rather rugged yet soft look. You didn’t expect Taeyong to come up with something like that.

Jaehyun’s well-developed physique, while you’ve seen it in other shoots and online articles, is completely different when you’re a few feet away from it. The dark blue cargo pants, silken, are a signature style of Taeyong but the details don’t distract you easily enough. Funny, this is the first time you’re feeling somewhat flustered in a place full of half-naked models.

You suddenly think of reds and oranges, lilac shrubs and a hint of Burberry men’s perfume. In a way, it reminds you of the strums of the guitar your roommate used to play while you stayed up late, coming up with concepts. Cherishing, soothing—and special, just enough. The corner of your lips twitch and you take out your pocket sketchbook. It’s never too late to add a design to the collection, right? After all, you have secrets too. Maybe Taeyong was right about the outdoors for inspiration.

Something sets into motion, subtle but sharp.

The next time you walk into Taeyong’s studio, you feel the sun on your face better. Everything seems to be fitting into place, as you smooth through designs at a pace your student self would be jealous of. When Taeyong praises your work, you feel a rush of pride smearing the inside of your chest and you finally feel like everything’s not falling apart. It feels good. It feels like you’re someone.

The days go by in what seems like barely seconds—you know what they say about New York minutes. The mustard cloth draped over your desk to the cottage blue of your curtains, the colours around you change as quickly as the wind. Sometimes they’re abstract—and other times, well, they have more to do with a stranger’s eyes, or the swirls within a coffee cup. It’s the way in which transition occurs around you, that you often forget it moves something within you too.

You’ve put together some samples with Taeyong, most of them by yourself; the process of making is ever comforting, fabric even more so. You’ve sent the revised designs for production, feeling giddy about whatever is to come like it’s something new. (It shouldn’t be.)

You fucking hate how different this is. Seoul is nothing compared to New York. The anxiety is nearly ten times worse, the streets are far more attractive when it comes to inspiration and the figure of Jung Yoonoh is no longer as easy to ignore.

Even after the summer shoot’s over, Jaehyun often comes by to hang out at the studio, dressed in what you would call the simplest fucking thing you’d ever seen and still managing to look just as gorgeous. He blends in well with university students, often wearing the ugliest baseball cap you’ve ever seen, and the look of his face feels much, much worse than ever before. It’s at ease, smug even, but never failing to smile at you when you’re trying to focus. You don’t care how good of friends Taeyong and Jaehyun are—you want to tell him to leave.

But you just can’t bring yourself to. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do, but whatever New York has done to you, includes making you feel a different way about him. Sometimes you find yourself pressing your legs together harshly, stiffening at any proximity with him and a pool of warmth at the base of your stomach you’d rather not feel.

It’s embarrassing to even think about it—the fact that he makes you feel that way, so hot and bothered like it’s your first time. You blame your lack of going out these few months because after all, anyone could fall in love with runway faces. It doesn’t have to mean it’s him you want. You carry on doing what you’ve been doing for the most part of your career, your best to avoid him. There are more pressing matters, and your head might just implode if you keep on worrying about things (a man, of all) you need not.

Time passes even faster when all your thoughts revolve around the same thing.

One month. D-30. Whatever the hell you call time before the end of the world.

Your palms sweat a whole lot easier here. It’s a little weird, considering you don’t find much difference in humidity between Seoul and New York. Your heart often catches up in your throat too. Not a great feeling, your heart choking the breath out of you, but you’re used to it. You cope and you learn, that’s what it means to be human.

You pull your hand down before it reaches your teeth. The day ended in a meeting with Taeyong’s production team—everything’s running smoothly so you need not worry, he said.

Why are those the words that make you worry the most?

You check the time on your phone. 23:05 and a whole month to go. You better get some sleep for all the meetings you have scheduled tomorrow. You close your eyes and for a while, everything falls quiet.

You dream of New York Fashion Week. People come here to feel included. Everyone wants to be a part of something they don’t understand.

The models walk down the runway in increasingly uncomfortable outfits. You didn’t design any of them. Where are the ones you worked on? You can’t move from your seat, or turn your head from the runway, anything at all. Something’s wrong, everything’s wrong. You don’t belong here. Thunder strikes outside the venue and you wake up with a gasp caught in your throat, and the clock on the bedside table flashing 2:14.

You’ve had enough. You swear you’ve had enough.

You get up out of bed, pacing the giant bedroom, the empty spaces making you feel more and more miserable. The city twinkles with innumerous stars beyond your window, curtains half drawn so they can comfort you whenever you need—but these lights don’t shine for you, or anyone else. They shine for themselves. That’s what it means to be in New York again.

What time is it in Seoul? Could you call your mother? Joohyun? Everyone must be busy right now—you don’t know what to do. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so helpless. There’s a reason you’ve been avoiding New York for this long and now it’s come crashing down on you.

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You look down at your phone, the light hurting your eyes despite being set to the lowest brightness. You think a little, and then some more. There’s no one else you can call. Even if he’s busy charming all the other employees whenever you see him, even if half the world is in love with him, there’s no one else you can call. This time you don’t stop yourself.

You tap the call button beside the Jung Yoonoh saved neatly. Tapping your foot against the floor nervously, your mind goes blank for a few seconds or so. He answers when you’re just about to hang up, breath hitching in your throat at the sound of his voice.

“Hello? Hello? If this is a reporter—”

“It’s me, Jaehyun.”

The line goes quiet for a moment and your voice overlaps his before he can begin.

“I- I didn’t mean to call so late. Sorry…uh.”

You scrunch up your face at your own voice. This is not getting you anywhere.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, voice lower.

You fall silent, unable to answer without breaking down into tears. You did not call Jung Yoonoh for that.

“Yeah,” you choke out. “Fine. Completely fine. I just…”

You trail off, trying to get yourself to breathe.

“I’ll send you an address. Be there in an hour.”

You blink back tears, confusion adding to the burning pile of worries inside your head.

“What?”

“Address. I’ll text you. Be there. One hour.”

“I’m not stupid, Jaehyun,” you snap, strength refilling your voice. “Why?”

“I’m not answering questions, just be there.”

With that, the line goes flat and an embarrassing amount of ‘hello’s get you to realize that he hung up. A notification pops up a minute later and you’re too groggy to decipher it, logging it to Maps instead so you can follow. It’s fifteen minutes away, you realize with a sigh of relief, so you can at least present yourself within the given constraint.

You can’t grasp what you feel in the moment, the night air and warm streets beckoning you to leave the clamped apartment soaked in fear. You think this is unlike Jaehyun, what he’s doing, but you’re too shaken to care. You need some respite, even if it comes from somewhere you can’t picture.

“You…wanted to meet me at a Korean barbecue restaurant?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn red, as they often do when he doesn’t know how to respond to you.

“I-It’s not that I…Never mind,” he tries to explain, fidgeting with the cloth over his shoulder. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

We? You think, eyes scanning his face in confusion. If you want? Where’s the uncaring Jaehyun you’ve known, foreign eyes and impassive lips? He hardly looks the part he’s meant to play—a billboard face with a confident jawline and nothing more behind it. Outside of work—you don’t even know what else to call this—Jaehyun looks hardly intimidating, or abrasive. He seems different, gentle almost, although the dark circles under his eyes might have something to do with it. Maybe he’s too tired to say anything more and that’s it.

But he still came all the way here.

“Aren’t you a little…overdressed?”

There comes the remark you were hoping to not hear. You just wanted to look nice; you’d hardly call this overboard. The loose, mustard-colored chiffon shirt cinches at the waist, paired with your nicest (only not faded) pair of light blue jeans and shoes that haven’t seen the light of day since you arrived here. You barely ever design clothes for yourself anymore but you thought you looked good in this.

“No,” you defend quickly, feeling your face grow warm. “You’re underdressed.”

You say that, but he clearly looks good in anything he wears. Could you expect any less of a supermodel? He doesn’t seem to have dressed in as much a hurry as you had. Clad in a plain black T-shirt that’s half tucked into skinny jeans, he’s added his hideous baseball cap and a pair of navy blue shades which looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. You really think he shouldn’t be leaving his house without the help of a stylist.

“I…I just mean you don’t wear anything other than the same sweater and pants combination to work, so… please excuse my surprise.”

Jaehyun's eyes flicker over your figure before masking it with an awkward cough. You reach out and pull the shades over his head, the look bothering you more than anything else. He doesn’t respond to it, at least not in a way that’s obvious, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do—you fixing his hair and unquestionably awful sense of style.

“There’s a soju place a few blocks ahead. Or if you’re not into that, there’s a noodle shop just at the edge of K-town,” Jaehyun rambles on, not meeting your eye. “If you’re looking for something inexpensive—"

“You came all the way here to give me directions?” You raise an eyebrow. You might even be enjoying this, although your inner voice bites back at you, denying it.

Jaehyun shakes his head, the red in his ears pulsing back up. “No. I…I needed some fresh air.”

“You…have someplace to be then?”

Jaehyun might not realize it, but the answers he gives always have room for teasing. Aloof. Vague. Yet somehow sweet.

“And you’ll go alone? At this hour? No, I’ll accompany you,” he says out loud, trying to play off the sudden vocal inflection. You sigh. Boys will be boys, as they say. Even if they’re twenty-six.

You let him keep you company. Though the first few minutes are painfully quiet, neither of you knowing quite what to say without starting a disagreement, you continue your walk through a city that never sleeps. It’s awkward even, being side by side without you seething at his charming, (undoubtedly) fake smile. He feels real, for once, and you don’t know how to react. There seem to be some gold-tinted cracks appearing in your reality, slowly but surely, and you’re not very good at patching anything other than fabric.

“You know, it’s actually a little relieving to see Korean letters here,” you say, sighing. You never thought you’d be so corny, but it really does feel good being here.

Or is it him?

“Thanks,” you add quietly, hoping he doesn’t hear. No, maybe you do. You can’t tell at this point.

“I…I know what it’s like,” he says, so softly that it almost gets carried away by the wind. He clears his throat, an ‘ah’ escaping his lips as he stops abruptly.

“We…We missed the turn,” he declares, a little sheepish as he scratches the back of his head.

You look at him in disbelief. “Jaehyun, how long have you lived here?”

“Oh, I was born here actually,” he says, tilting his face to look at you, blunt sarcasm evident on it. “How many times have you lost your way to the convenience store in Seoul?”

“Literally zero times.”

Jaehyun puffs a cheek before going back to normal and turning a hundred and eighty degrees down the street.

“Hey, wait up!” you huff at his increased pace, half jogging to keep up.

You reach the acclaimed noodle shop, your breath barely within your lungs and swearing at Jaehyun who looks like he wasn’t bothered one bit. He reaches his hand out to help you and you swat it away, chest still heaving with your hands on your knees.

“Dickhead,” you hiss.

“I don’t think I deserved that,” he responds with a widening smile.

“Asshole,” you say, standing up straight to glare at him.

“What would Seoul say hearing their beloved designer swear like this?” Jaehyun looks almost amused, as if you hadn’t shared an awkward time together, like two teenagers who were forced to walk home together from the bus stop.

“They can go to hell,” you retort. “As can you.”

Jaehyun laughs, a strange sound to hear and you blink a few times, unsure of what to do. You wonder if it’s the night playing tricks or if Jaehyun really is an actual person, not the basket of preprocessed insults you were used to. The cracks are widening—you’re not sure if they’re meant to be patched.

Perhaps you were a little eager to enter someplace warm, but you feel immense relief in this little shop, despite the smell of chili paste and noodle soup wafting through the air. It’s a little empty; in fact, you two seem to be the only people there apart from some students at the other corner, but you sit there in your own bubble, talking with Jaehyun of all people about which singer is better. He laughs occasionally, still managing to catch you off-guard with how honest it sounds and you wonder for a moment, how nice this feels. For the first time in a month, your heartbeat seems to have settled at a normal rate.

“What?” you enounce, a little offended. “What’s so wrong about my love life?”

“You just- You just don’t seem that type,” he explains, his ears as red as the bowl.

“I don’t have time for commitments, Jaehyun,” you sigh. “It’s what happens when you’re good at your job.”

Jaehyun nods, something akin to agreement in his response.

“So, your, uh, what is it? Training camp? What’s that about?” you ask, in between blowing your food.

“You could really Google things once in a while, you know?” he replies, bringing his chopsticks close to his mouth.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not one of your creepy stalkers, Mr. Jung.”

“Nothing to do with that,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s for kids interested in fashion, modeling, photography—stuff.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I just sponsor them. You know how difficult it is to get noticed in…this industry,” he explains, like it’s not a big deal. Nothing ever seems to be a big deal to him.

You nod, unable to help the smile. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, but you’re sure now that you were mistaken. Just a little bit.

“I was lucky,” you mumble. “I can’t believe they saw those ugly embroidered patches and decided to sponsor me, oh my god. That sweater was hideous.”

Jaehyun laughs loudly. “They saw me cleaning outside my school and decided to pick me up and ship me straight to Paris.”

“Nothing’s worse than the first day.” You take another mouthful, the taste savoury and filling.

“You know, I’m pretty sure they photoshopped my ears out in the first magazine shoot I had.”

You laugh, leaning in a little closer. “Your first year was rough, huh?”

He hums, his eyes flickering from your nose to your lips. It makes you a little self-conscious, blood rushing to your cheeks at an unexpected pace. Who knew Jaehyun could have such an effect on you?

Your eyes flutter over his face once again.

He’s handsome. But it’s the sort of handsomeness that tells you, you don’t know much beyond it. You look back at your bowl, sobering up and completing the rest of the noodles.

It’s still midnight blue in the faraway sky as you walk down the streets. Most of the people you see out and about are those drunk off their faces from club hopping or a particularly enthusiastic group of tourists. The watermelon soju, while better with budae-jjigae and arguably the best soju flavor, somehow had little effect on you with the bitter aftertaste still settling in. The crowds in other places would make for great people-watching but you walk in a lonely street that calls for proximity. Beside you, Jaehyun sneezes, the sound of it making you jump on the quiet sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun,” you huff, wincing at the sound, “you sounded like a fucking tractor.”

Jaehyun laughs, looking down at the pavement. When he looks back at you, the circles underneath his eyes seem to have darkened and you wonder if yours are the same. Yours can’t possibly be as important as his, though, and you wonder if it’s appropriate to laugh at how dorky he looks.

You find yourself not wanting to walk back into the safety of your suite. Jaehyun has a look of calm across his features, drawing over the landscape around you. New York lights don’t faze him, they only reflect in his eyes.

The way his soft breaths fan out against his lips remind you that he is human, after all—he has a soul and body, thoughts and its beautiful intricacies. When he turns back to you, you feel those criminal feelings all over again, except this time it’s even louder. It feels so wrong, and yet you can’t help but think of the liberation that could come with his lips on yours.

You could swear out loud, all the colorful words ready at the tip of your tongue.

“Your collar’s…”

Jaehyun’s voice trails off, his hand moving to fix your flipped collar, and when the heat of his skin brushes your neck, you try to not think of where else his hands could be, his lips could be.

In fact, there’s a moment within where it’s perfectly reasonable for him to kiss you, the taste almost on your tongue. But Jaehyun moves away, an indecipherable look across his face.

“I should get going,” he says, “I have a- I have a shoot early tomorrow—today.”

You nod, cheeks coloring at your own unsaid thoughts. Just what have you done to yourself? Why is your skin searing, why does your stomach feel upside down and why were you so ready to give in to him? To Jaehyun? You’ve never felt want like this before, this need to press skin against skin in a manner so illicit.

You part with a short goodbye, the sudden loneliness in your path making you want to backtrack, ask if you can go somewhere else again—maybe there’s a club nearby so you can see him through a round of shots as you usually do. Maybe the bitter feelings will return then.

When you think of the words you exchanged over the course of so unusual a night—your former unforgiving words contradict you. You hate the realization but being so obscure in front of a camera doesn’t have to mean he’s pretentious. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe someday you’ll even admit it.

You feel a flash of heat in your face. You are not running to Jung Yoonoh—what an embarrassing thought. If the very core of your being isn’t repulsed by it, there’s something wrong with you.

There’s something definitely wrong with you, love.

You breathe sharply, trying to organize your thoughts. As if the paparazzi wouldn’t have a treat out of this meeting you had with him if they got to know. You’d better limit it to the only one.

You bite your nails out of force of habit. It’s not going to help. You know. But there’s hardly anything else to cool your nerves.

Front row tickets to New York Fashion Week—the most mortifying dream out of all the ones you’ve ever had. The way Taeyong fidgets, you want to believe he’s in the same boat as you—it makes you thankful even.

Even outside of New York, Lee Taeyong is known for booking out exclusively intimate spaces. There are some props for the pre-show photography, including inked sketches on giant vertical banners stuck to the walls and tables with a messy collection of coffee cans, pencils and a sewing machine. Diverse types of fabric roll off the table in long strips, gently lining the floor till they end midway to another table. It’s a mess—a mess you made look good.

You’d left that and the backstage behind now. All eyes are on the sparsely lit runway, your aspirations coating the air in a thick veil. Are you ready? You won’t know till the first model steps out and till you can elicit a response from the audience.

Jaehyun’s at another venue—career before friendship, or, heaven forbid, attraction. You’d seen the fitting, cape skirt doing daringly well with his long legs clad in black pants, and a classy vest over a ruffled white shirt. You hate seeing other designs before a show, but god, were you glad you’d visited Givenchy to meet Johnny.

But you’re relieved even, that Jaehyun isn’t here. You don’t have the strength to face him anyway, all your energy directed into this chasm of whatever you’d call six months of effort. You want to call yourself accomplished. You want to be proud of yourself.

So this time, you remember all twenty-six minutes of it.

God, they look so beautiful up there, when they’re being looked at, seen for what they are—you’ll never get over it. There’s still hardly much to remember, except this time you’re happy to do it all over again. Effort only exists if it’s acknowledged.

It settles in quite a while later, the weight of all you’d done. You could almost cry, but that’s better left to pillows and the unrelenting skies above a midnight-coated rooftop. This is your moment. For once, you’re anything but afraid.

Afterparties are still not your thing.

However, you had your nicest outfit picked out and Lee Taeyong’s fancy, themed afterparties are something notorious among your colleagues. You’ve heard designers tend to go all out, wearing the best things they’ve designed even if it makes them a little embarrassed to be wearing their own work.

You feel a sigh leave your lips as you finally find a place to sit, your earlier conversations leaving you drained of social energy. You don’t feel alien—it’s strange—and their compliments feel almost warm. The music playing over the speakers is something, you’re sure, from a 60’s American movie, and while it has its own strange allure, the champagne gives you a larger dose of relief.

In fact, if you’re not mistaken, it’s quite like the ballroom in Paris, although significantly smaller. Burgundy wallpaper and lit up crystals hanging in hexagonal shapes across the ceiling—it’d look lovely on a dress too.

Taeyong’s speech, of course, gives you a spike of anxiety with the sudden announcement of his label’s future, a brand now. He smiles on the small podium, everyone admiring his radiance when suddenly he gestures at you, the glass in your hand feeling hotter and hotter.

“…I couldn’t do this without the only designer I felt was up to this—the first designer to work under my brand, as of now…”

You try not to blush under all the pairs of eyes that turn to you.

“(name), thank you.”

Success feels good. Gratitude feels even better.

Everything feels natural, as if a dream gone right. You’re no longer afraid of the world you stepped into, or the accumulation of feelings that molded you into the person you are now. The confidence you so chased after as if it were morphine, you’re going to be keeping an eye on it before it can run away again.

There’s still one little problem to your night of triumph, though.

Jaehyun hasn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you entered, a conversation yet pending. You already know he looks good in the plainest of T-shirts, so it might be a no-brainer that he looks absolutely stunning in a suit. The crystals lining the lapels of his coat glimmer amidst the crowd he’s gathered. It’s hard to come in contact, however. He’s magnetic, almost formidable in the way he attracts attention, and you know it’s something that comes with being a man of few words.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” you ask, taking in Jaehyun’s figure on the veranda overlooking the garden. He sits on one of the mahogany chairs, swirling the glass of champagne with a look of indifference coating his eyes and lips.

“I am,” he says, turning to face you. “Needed a short break.”

“I suppose being the most attractive man in the room needs a break,” you say, taking a seat beside him.

A wry laugh leaves his lips, as he lays his eyes on you. “You don’t seem bothered by it though?”

“I believe that pretty is as pretty does,” you say, your lips twitching.

Jaehyun smiles, furrowing his eyebrows yet still. “You think multimillionaire companies are built on things like inner beauty?”

He’s right. What’s inside is beautiful—it’s too idealistic a phrase. You sigh, adjusting your sleeve. It’s a difficult life, walking the runway no one dares to step on.

I think you’d make that cut too, you want to tell him.

“You know the best thing I got told today?” you ask, diverting the stream of conversation. You think he’s a friend. Even if it could be the champagne talking. Even if you want something more than the innocence of friendship.

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Did Cristóbal Balenciaga’s ghost show up to compliment you?”

“No,” you emphasize, laughing at his pronunciation. “It was this girl. A student. Said she wrote an essay about me.”

Jaehyun hums, dimples marking his cheeks. “I didn’t know a student could get you so giddy.”

You laugh, looking down at your hands before resting your gaze on him again. He leans forward in his seat, strands of hair falling over his face from the rest and a contemplating look over his features. He looks much, much different from when you first saw him, and even handsomer, if that were possible. He’s grown up from the awkward boy you saw in the press release pictures of the Saint Laurent Fall Collection—he looks sharp and valiant on front covers, his shoulders broad and his eyes darling. Jaehyun is still unironically the most breathtaking man you’ve ever met. He might even be one of the sweetest, inside out.

You look to his lips, full as ever. Perhaps you have something to confess. Secrets aren’t meant to be kept so long.

“Jaehyun,” you call, bringing his attention before faltering. It’s not like you’re the only one fawning over his smile. You get up instead, excusing yourself. “I’ll see you inside I suppose.”

“You know I like you, right?”

You turn around. “What?”

Jaehyun gets up, brushing his suit and fixing the lapels. The gentle night haze and the contrasting calls of the brightly lit party inside brush over an effect you’ve never felt before. “I…I like you. It’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

You deny it, or rather, some repressed little emotion inside you denies it vehemently. “Jaehyun, really. I admit I was a complete asshole to you and- and...it was…kind of you to accompany me that night but—”

“Stop. Don’t- Don’t call that kind. You’re not seeing the full picture.”

You stand there, unsure of what to do as you feel your chest grow warmer. Jaehyun turns his head upwards, letting out an audible breath. You can see conflict on his face, the struggle of someone still mulling over the perfect words.

“I don’t hate you. I never really hated you even if I wanted to.”

You suppose it wouldn’t be the right time to say that you might have indulged in that.

“I did,” you confess. “I hated you for a very, very long time, Jaehyun.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking straight at you. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging—”

“Jaehyun, I don’t care about that,” you say, your voice rising, “You told me you felt suffocated in bow ties and laughed when I asked if you wanted to run away with me. I just ended up thinking you were a goddamn liar.”

“Fine,” he says quietly in his baritone timbre, sounds of the chatter from inside numbing away. “Then let me be honest.”

“When I met you, I thought there was someone like me doing just the same—so…suddenly in the midst of everything. Even if you were a complete asshole to me. You were still real.”

He phrases it delicately, lilting, as if that hasn’t been your whole purpose here. He’s only a breath away from you, but you don’t want to push him away this time. There’s a moment’s pause.

“Between work and myself, which is more important? For once, I thought I could answer that question.”

Your breaths are soft and shallow as they fall, trying to understand his words.

“And then you just fucking stopped. You stopped flying out and I’d barely see you outside of Seoul like you- like you gave up or something. I didn’t understand—what happened to you?”

Jaehyun looks at you with a hardened expression, ears turning red as if he hadn’t expected this outburst of truth. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. It’s not like him to open his mouth and let out words that are raw and honest; it makes you feel the weight even more. You were still kids that night. You’re not anymore.

“Jaehyun,” you whisper before reaching your hand out and placing it against his cheek.

It’s so hard to not take in the details. The prominence of the muscle by his mouth when he speaks, the fine lines by his nose which appear sporadically or the look of complete reverence in his eyes when he’s staring at you like this—everything those runway shots can’t possibly capture. Your eyes trail to his lips, your own drawn to it with a desire you don’t know how to comprehend—and don’t quite wish to, either.

You want to believe he made the first move but you give in so easy, it’s alarming. Your lips move against his in a rhythm new and frantic, his hands gripping you with full strength at the waist and you part your lips to allow a deeper kiss. Your hands are free to roam his perfectly styled hair, tousling it in a fashion that makes him groan, only to push you harder against the wall.

“I should’ve- I should’ve let you kiss me that night,” he mumbles against your lips. “Maybe I…I wouldn’t have made you hate me.”

“Maybe you should shut up and kiss me right now,” you respond, your tongue pressing against his, effectively doing the job.

It’s not difficult to see stars when his hips press against yours, his hand resting on one thigh to pull it up slightly. You feel the impact of it head-on, almost moaning out loud when his fingers press harder against the back of your thigh.

“Tell me- Tell me you want this,” he breathes out when he breaks the kiss.

You respond with reconnecting your lips, your tongue sliding against his in fervent affirmations. You’ve already forfeited your modesty, there’s no reason to stop.

You leave early, getting into the car you’d booked for the night. It would be far more embarrassing were it not for the separation between the front and backseats, when Jaehyun’s hands are up your clothes and his lips rough against your neck. The lip colour has smudged by the side of Jaehyun’s lips, a short giggle escaping you when you notice. It’s not enough to halt the kissing, or feeling each other up —something that feels long overdue. You try to keep your sounds to a minimum but Jaehyun seems to not care about things as worthless as shame, at least for the moment.

“Well, you’re about as graceful as a sea lion when you’re off the runway,” you hiss when Jaehyun’s teeth prick your skin.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he responds in a low tone, the rest of his retort pushed away by his lips against your mouth.

You don’t have time to take in the details of Jaehyun’s apartment because he’s already carrying you to the bed, your legs around his waist and continuing to kiss you as if making up for something. All those years, you could have been doing this. Maybe you do have some regrets.

The material of his dress shirt feels expensive but clothes are not what you need right now. His phone rings once but he drags a finger over it to reject the call, his mouth still pressing against your collarbone. The only sounds you hear are rugged breathing and you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you pull it over his shoulders. The city lights below you reach through the drawn curtains, all the unrelenting complicacies left behind in those faraway streets.

Jaehyun makes a sound of annoyance at the phone ringing yet again. He breaks apart from you, receiving the call while his fingers massage his temple.

“Hyung, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later—”

“I was just wondering where you disappeared and you don’t even grace me with a hello?” Johnny’s voice rings clear in the all too silent bedroom.

“Hyung—”

“Wait a minute.” There’s a pause within which Jaehyun seems to tense up. “Are you fucking? Like did you leave the party to get la—”

“Hyung. I’m hanging up.”

The coral pink spread over his ears is almost as pretty as the look of pure annoyance over his face.

“That—”

“Didn’t happen,” you complete, giggling. If someone were to tell you’d be seeing Jaehyun like this a few months ago, you wouldn’t know whether to be embarrassed or exhilarated.

You place your hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

Sex is barely ever beautiful—even if it’s Jung Yoonoh over you, planting kisses from your mouth to jaw, neck to chest and whispering sweet, delicious words against each part. He certainly knows how to use that tongue of his, better than you’d expect from a boy so pristine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s not beautiful, when it’s just like a slow dance—in shared solace and love out of time. You bite your lips to stop smiling too often for it to feel as serious and indifferent as all the other times. Sometimes you feel Jaehyun grinning into the crook of your neck, the giddiness of love taking over the movement of your hips against his. The perfect anatomy of his, paired with his candied words makes you think that maybe you do fit together.

Jaehyun pushes into you at a steady pace, your fingers digging into his back and over his shoulder blades only to draw out sounds more pleasing to your ears. You let someone else take charge for once, his praising whispers of ‘that’s my baby’ or ‘you just look so good’ far too teasing but he follows through, your body barely able to respond apart from shaking and shuddering till you reach your high.

The sound of skin against skin dies down well into the night and you get cleaned, still blissed out from making the summit of all your senses. It’s warm inside, despite turning the air conditioner on.

“Jaehyun,” you call, lowering yourself to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Hm?” He gives you a drowsy smile, arm under his head and hair sticking to his forehead funny.

“Did you really not hate me? Not even once?” You rest your cheek against your palm as you lie beside him.

Even under the dim lights, it’s not hard to spot the blush on him when he positively glows. Jaehyun reminds you of warm auburn and the touch of cool satin—it’s easy to make things, find inspiration in love.

“Oh my god, you were lying!” you accuse, sitting up straight. “There’s no way you didn’t hate me. I called your modeling as good as a coconut’s!”

“As you so love to remind me,” he mumbles.

There’s a brief moment before the two of you crack up, his deep laughter perfectly mismatched with yours. There’s hardly many sounds on the eighteenth floor, but maybe you’ve always been yearning for this privacy—this proximity in shared laughter and warm touches.

“No, I didn’t,” Jaehyun answers your question after it’s quiet once again. “I thought...I think you’re…”

Jaehyun trails off, his eyes flickering over your face before fixing on your lips as his own tug into a smile. He gulps. “I think we’d be in trouble if the paparazzi saw us throwing choice words at each other, don’t you think? You were barely out of school then.”

“Me?” You laugh. “You were thinking about me?”

“And a little bit about me.”

You fall asleep against Jaehyun’s chest with the certainty of kinder tomorrows, a thing he teaches you through whispers against the pillow and fingers playing with your hair. There’s something private in the way he holds your face, something delicate and homely running from his long fingers to his flushed knuckles and the rest of his hand as it presses against your cheek. It’s warm here, and safe, and maybe home is where the heart is, after all.

“Really? You’re not even a little bit sad I’m leaving?” you ask, placing your hand over your heart. “Who’s going to help you when you’re getting bullied in the workplace now?”

Doyoung huffs in annoyance, placing the box down beside the moving truck. “You’re the only one who bullies me in the workplace.”

You adjust the ugly baseball cap on your head, the one Jaehyun had pulled over your head in an attempt to stop you from complaining about his messy apartment. You hadn’t realized you’d worn it all the way to Seoul till the articles about your questionable choice of accessories had surfaced.

“Your boyfriend’s calling,” Doyoung says, making a face as he picks your phone up from the box near him. “I can’t even believe this. All those years of flirting and—”

You snatch it from him, glaring at him for the choice of words. He raises his hands defensively, rolling his eyes at your sudden movement.

“Are you sure you don’t want me flying to Seoul?”

“Unless you’re planning to work in a truck rental.”

You hear Jaehyun laugh on the other side of the line. Is it normal to have blood rush straight from your chest to your ears at the sound of laughter? You hope that doesn’t change.

You’d visited him a day before your flight. It hasn’t been all that long but Jaehyun certainly makes it out to be, just so he can use his cheesy one-liners. You try not to smile thinking about how he had flung his hair band out, immediately tousling his hair back into a pretty mess and struggling to keep a straight face when you’d visited out of the blue. Jaehyun wakes up at one in the afternoon when his schedule is empty and it had appalled you enough to help him out with basic chores before you left. (It didn’t end well. He kept putting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his arms around you while you did the dishes.)

“(name)? (name), are you daydreaming again?”

You sigh. “You can’t wait three more days, Jae? It’s, what, one in the morning there!”

“Do you want me saying something cheesy?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without waking up to your face.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, unable to grace him with a response. The dreamy languor in his voice is more than recognizable and if you’re not mistaken, he’s going to be saying something highly inappropriate.

“Do you know what dream I had last night?” he asks, the smile almost evident with how suggestive it sounds.

“Jaehyun, no,” you warn before lowering your voice. “I swear if it’s another dirty dream—”

“Come home and I’ll tell you all about it. With demonstrations.”

This time you can’t help the laughter, trying to mask it with a cough only to fail. You push the back of your hand against your cheek in order to soothe the involuntary blush. Your perfume smells just like him, and you realize suddenly why he’d gifted it to you.

“That definitely makes me want to leave faster,” you quip.

“I certainly hope so.”

It’s different now, especially if you remember your feelings just last February. Change feels easy for the first time in your life. You check off your list of items, counting the boxes as they’re lifted onto the truck. It took a good amount of thinking, and a bunch of fights before you could decide. New York isn’t so bad. Not when you have reason to be there. You’d like to call it love.

A list of things you do appreciate: Jung Yoonoh. Jaehyun. Whatever.

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feysandfeels · 3 years

Note

hi hello i’m here to kindly request that prythian met gala tier ranking pls……🥺👉👈

Hello beautiful little fae, thank you for your indulging ask

The categories are as follow:

Rihanna ft. Billie Poter: My people who understand the assignment and go the extra mile. They are here for the craftmanship of fashion and the intricacy of interpretation themes offer.

Timothée Chalamet: They are the exceptionally well dressed folk who are here for the subdued detail and the texture. They demand a keen eye from their audience but they always deliver something interesting.

Gigi Hadid: It's there, it's on theme, it is no doubt gorgeous but like. Could it be more? yes.

That riverdale girl, the brunette one: she went for the obvious choice and *sssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* yes you read susan sontag notes on camp and clearly called it a day.

The models: People who look good and somewhat get the theme. If they had to choose between looking good or being extra and on theme, they will choose to look good.

The Biebers: This is self explanatory... just look how they came to this year’s met gala. A boring disgrace. Why they continue to be invited is beyond me.

Now, onto business. Who is where?

Rihannas:

Helion: duh

Tarquin: He will show up and eat you all always on theme, always sexy, always fashionable.

Feysand: Rhysand is nothing if not extra and will love any opportunity to dress not only immaculately but will use his power to make everything more impactful. Feyre as seen in MAF and WAR will dress up for any occasion and take it seriously. Plus Rhysand has been going on and on about this so like the things we do for love.

Mor: are we surprised? do I need to explain it further? no? okay moving on. Think Blake Lively. A MET Ball darling. Helion lets her arrive in a golden chariot.

Timothée Chalamet:

Lucien Vanserra: Lucien owns this category. He is a man of details that demands intelligence of his audience, he's not going to spoon feed you why he is on theme.

Emerie: here is the thing on her day to day she is comfy but on this red carpet? with Mor going on and on and on about how cool and important the event it? Emerie is Zendaya.

Gwyn: A girl is a competitive bitch and she will get on that best dressed list or so help her god. She is also a huge nerd so she will research her themes and come up with really cool references. Again don't be dumb, connect the dots, do your research.

Azriel: I've always said that Az knows how to clean up nice and is a man of details one of the many reasons he and Lucien should be friends but whatever I guess. He will get the assignment and also be like omg weird but cool. Think Chadwick Boseman in Heavenly bodies.

Thesan: please as he would come up shabby, have you seen palace? man of detail and something unexpected.

Gigi Hadid:

Elain Archeron: a girl knows textures, patterns, materials, composition, elegant well dressed, always a flower motif that is actually an obscure reference to the theme.

Vivienne: Slowly but surely Vivienne is going up the ranks. It's actually wonderful how much she plays with the themes while always staying on brand with the Winter Court. A girl of nuance.

Eris: Babes I see you, but I'm going to need more than your promise of being good for it to impactful. Don't be afraid to be a little extra an not just pretty, play outside the role society has given you. Be more.

Lady of Autumn: Exquisite. The way this woman plays with headpieces is out of this world. Also she will do capes and layers and be mesmerizing. But I'm going to need a bit more from the dress itself.

Cassian: Years of going with Mor to this even will definitely leave him always wanting to play with the theme. But above all we must thank that. Whatever he wears will hug his ass deliciously and is more about subverting the tropes that have been associated with him. Once we showed up with well fitted trousers and a long flowing cape.

That riverdale girl:

Kallias: Boo I need more of you, I see the potential but step up your bread and don't be scared to go the extra mile.

Cresseida: Promises to show up better next year after seeing how Tarquin ate them all up. Like Kaia Gerber this year... I see you looking good, but you come from a family of fashion so like c'mon girl.

Myriam and Drakon: I mean yes thank you for coming but you honestly did the bare minimum.

The models:

Nesta Archeron: Does she look breathtaking? yes. Is the dress immaculate in craftmanship? fuck yeah. Does it fit her like a glove? no doubt. Is it on theme? no and she doesn't care because she wanted to wear this dress and who are you to tell her she's not going to.

Amren: A vision, an off theme slightly scary vision, but a vision. Clearly it's more about the statement jewellery with her. Her ring alone costs more than the entire evening and well what more could you ask? Will make an effort to be on theme if it matches the amazing necklace she plans to wear, but if not well... she is wearing a diamond piece that was said to part of the ancient king of this lost kingdom collection so like respect.

Varian: He has to match Amren because otherwise it will look odd in the pictures.

The Biebers:

Tamlin: a black tux? for the met? groundbreaking. Only gets invited because they need good flower arrangements and well, spring's flowers are immaculate so like it would have been rude to ask for the flowers and not invite him.

#FeysandfeelsAsks #I think this are most of the characters

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bebepac · 3 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday 04.25.21

Original Post: 4/25/21 at 12:54PM EST

I’ve been a little all over the place this week I know with me being more missing in action! I’ve hit a really busy spell again at work, technically it’s never “not busy,” and I’m also looking for a new job.

Good news I had my interview on Friday and I think it went really well. There are three positions for the department I want to go into as they have been given more clinical trials to work on.

I had my interviewer laughing and I think I asked very good questions about the organization. My questions when I was asked were:

* How does your organization ensure a healthy work/life balance for your employees?

* I know the job is currently remote right now, but when it’s not i’ll be going into the office three days a week and home two. How do you all strive to have a teamwork atmosphere in the office with staff?

* Is there room for advancement?

I’m hoping I did as well as I think I did.

As a reminder if you missed tags, and it seems like the fandom has been relatively collectively busy in their own lives across the board, here’s what I’ve posted in the past 7-10 days.

And Then... There Were Two (The Meet Chapter 1 : A Greek Meat Prequel)

Pop’s 🌎 World (Mia’s World Special: Pops POV)

What are you working on @dcbbw @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @sirbeepsalot

@sfb123 @ao719 @txemrn @darley1101 @jessiembruno and anyone else! Feel free to take me in your wips and six sentences sundays!

This is what I have going on:

Derby Girl

The Life of Riley Book 2: Chapter 4

The Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Status: Still in the writing process

Riley glared at him. “I’m not an animal Duke Ramsford.”

“That remains to be seen. If the Cordonian people do not fall in love with you, even though he could be Lady Riley he will not choose you. Love is not the only thing that matters here. It’s honestly not even a factor here. Prince Liam has a duty to his people to pick the most suitable woman to be at his side. So you, dear idealistic girl must learn to give the people what they want. The derby today will give you the opportunity to meet the press for the first time. This will set the tone of how the people will begin to approve of you or disapprove of you. The Queen is also important here as well.”

“I think the Queen might potentially be on my side.”

Bertrand laughed. “You don’t know The Queen.”

“I met with her and she wasn’t rude to me. She was actually helpful when you think about it. She told me to get a feel for the audience that will be watching me and dress for them. I think that’s helpful advice.”

“You’re right that is helpful advice.”

“You need to get ready. Head to the boutique and make sure you pick something suitable.”

Riley almost didn’t want to go to the boutique after what happened to her the last time.

However this time when she walked in she was greeted by a kind middle-aged woman with a genuinely welcoming smile.

“And you must be Lady Riley.”

“I am.” Riley still had her guard up her voice and body language tight and protecting herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh!”

“I know that the last time you were here, you didn’t have the greatest experience with the staff, and I apologize for that, but if there is anything you need I will be more than willing to assist.”

“Thank you so very much.”

Riley smiled.

“It’s no wonder….”

“It’s no wonder what?”

“Why he’s so enchanted with you. I was sworn to secrecy, but he couldn’t hide how he feels about you. Let me know if you need any help picking out something for him. You’re living your very own Cinderella story right now.”

The Double Date Mistake

The Meet: Chapter 2

The Book: TRR

Pairing: Liam x OC

Status: Still in the writing process

“And done. He has your number now Jili. Now fly my little birdies fly.”

She thought he would text right away but he didn’t. The whole way to Bebe’s apartment the twenty minute drive Jili’s phone was silent.

Bebe looked at Jili as she glanced at her phone. What the actual hell?

She texted Jilian.

“Bebe why the hell are you texting me? I’m sitting right next to you?”

“I was just making sure your phone was on.”

“I mean he’s still working Bebe. He can’t just drop everything and just start texting away.”

“The hell he can’t. What in the actual fuck is wrong with you bruh?” Bebe grumbled as she angrily typed on her phone.

“Wing Woman are you trying to crash this plane?”

“The mother hasn’t even taken off yet with you two trying to pilot it. I’m gonna need you to get your life together Jili.”

The driver pulled to a stop. “Damn I really wanted to see how this turned out.”

Bebe got out of the car in a huff.

“I’ll let you know.” Jili called out the window to her.

Ri-Liamo de Bergerac

Fast Forward Special: A birthday Fic:

The Book: TRH and Beyond

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Status: Still in the writing process

* not complaining here: but you guys love some fast forward! this would be the second time I’ve asked for a specific series pairing on a birthday fic and fast forward is what is mentioned. I miss it too. *

Riley raised her eyebrow at Maxwell. She saw him pacing nervously as he kept glancing in Taylor's direction. Taylor was completely oblivious as she had her nose buried in a book she'd gotten from the estate library.

Finally Maxwell had psyched himself up. He walked over to Taylor sitting in the lawn chair next to her.

"Hey Softie."

Taylor put down her book, as did Ellie as she was sharing the oversized lounge chair in the sun with Taylor. Both lifted their sunglasses to their hair.

"Lord Playlist?"

"So I was wondering if you want to have dinner tonight."

"Silly Uncle Maxwell, we eat dinner every night." Ellie confirmed matter of factly.

"What Riley Jr. said." Both Taylor and Ellie picked up their books again, sliding their glasses back to cover their eyes.

Riley laughed to herself. Oh my God Taylor she thought. She is absolutely adorably clueless. Liam laughed softly. He gently rubbed Riley's stomach.

"Aren't you glad we're married? We don't have to do that."

"You were never like that."

Liam blushed. "I felt like that when I talked to you the first time. I don't even remember what I said on the street to you. I was so dumbfounded by your beauty."

"You don't remember me being so awkward?"

Liam shook his head. "You… were perfect, is all I remember, My Love."

A light blush hit Max's cheeks.

"What I meant Softie, was you and me alone, away from the estate."

Taylor slowly lowered the book again.

"So like a date?"

"I mean date is a strong word, but it could be an accurate one. Two people dressed nicely eating food together at the same table. I mean I'm not opposed to the idea if you are."

Tagging the comments!

#six sentence sunday #cfwc sunday six #liam x riley #trr fanfic #trr fandom #trh fanfic #trh fandom #play choices #choices fic writers creations #fast forward #the meet #the life of riley #riley goes to cordonia

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hannawatchesesc · 4 years

Text

Kinda a (long) rant about this movie situation.

I have seen a lot of posts (mainly from States) saying that Europeans are way too sensitive about this Fire Saga what ever situation, that the movie should be taken with a sense of humour, and that people from States doesn't even care about our stupid competition (when joked that they made this movie because of jealousy.)

Please note that this isn't the end of the world, or the most pressing issue to be solved, and Eurovision fandom surely knows it. Still, it doesn't change the fact, that this movie wasn't the Eurovision representation we hoped for.

TL;DR in the end

So here me out.

I'm not even ashamed to say, that this Eurovision movie didn't spark a joy in me, and that I'm tired of people who don't understand Europe, and the worth of Eurovision for this continent.

Eurovision is one (1) single thing, that honestly unites Europe. The European Union consists 27 countries, and the whole continent 51. There are about 750 million people living here, and about 450 million in the Union. So obviously the cultural differences here are huge.

These 51 countries includes: one of the most powerful countries in the world, a dictatorship, few countries with worrying state of democracy. Poor countries, rich countries, welfare states, countries which have faced a devastating humanitarian crises and wars no longer than 30 years ago, old countries, and countries not older than 10 years.

Creating unified European identity is really hard, even within the Union. And we are always compared to other parts of the world as the European Union. Sure, it's a great comparison since the Union and the States are approximately same size in population, but this erases the fact that there are 27 independent nation states in the Union with their own norms, laws and leaders. Not to mention, that Europe ≠ European Union.

We don't have sports, politics, religions or even cultures, which could unify whole continet. So to be able to unite it once a year is a miracle, that shouldn't be belittled or say that it is useless.

Eurovision has a long, succesful history of doing this. First contest was held in 1956, to unify war torn continent. Lets not forget, Europe was devided ideologically and politically. Old enemies were suddenly friends, and old friends were now enemies. Many countries were in ruins both literally and figuratively. It's not a small thing if a song contest is able to do this barely a decade after a world war tore through whole Europe, and keeps doing so six decades later.

ESC might be silly and over the top, but it's our silly and over the top. It's one thing Europeans can discuss with each other and everyone can understand the concept. It's a safe platform for marginalized groups to show their art and communities in a very large and public place, and in countries that tries to deny those communities. It isn't only about the music, it's about the possibility to share our cultures as well as be as freely who we are, when not everyone has right to do so in their every day life. Eurovision isn't without a flaws, but it has shown it's commitment to human rights more than once in recent years.

Eurovision is also a few of those things, that is truly ours (and Australians, but you know.) We live in a world full of news about US. Past four years I don't remember a single day reading/watching our national news and not seeing news from across the pond.

Sure US politics have been kinda crazy lately, but I have a hunch, that most of people there cannot tell as much about a European country's (not UK) politics, as Europeans can about US politics. We read, write and post about problematic politics in the States constantly, and worry how their foreign policy desicions will affect our countries.

And it is not just about politics. We watch American movies, tv shows, read American books, eat American foods and follow American celebrities. We use US based platforms; US based companies collect and sell our data. To be able to understand (internet) culture we need to speak English and understand how the States works as a society.

We live in very US centric world right now, that is unavoidable, but I wish Americans would regonise that. There are many issues in US that are not relatable in European countries (example gun violence, or electoral colleges). We have own problems in our countries, and yet we still need to hear about and understand yours all the time, whether we wanted it or not.

Eurovision is one piece of culture that is just European. There is a reason why we don't want Americans to be involved. We don't really care if you don't care, we are going to make these jokes anyways, because we have to care so much about your problems and culture. This is our moment to atleast pretend that US doesn't matter. Once a year we can be in our own bubble without worrying if there is going to be nuclear war next week.

So sure, we are going to be salty and sensitive about this, but it is going to be a big of a deal for like 6 days max. We are going to return to post about BLM, and gun laws and Donald Trump. But I think we have a right to be salty. Some Americans (who don't even care about our stupid competition) made a movie about our thing, made some beginner level mistakes and used the most tired European/Eurovision stereotypes.

Will Farrell maybe great guy and Eurovision fan, but it isn't the same. I know they probably tried their best to make this fun and light, but it wasn't probably the best way to tell about Eurovision for wider audience.

Maybe, just maybe this could have been our movie to make, and our story to tell? There isn't that many European movies about Superbowl, is there?

TL;DR

Living in the US Centric world is really tiring sometimes as we need to learn and understand at least our own countries and US politics and cultures, and stress about said politics' effects on our countries and continent. Beside that, we have our neigbouring countries and European Union to worry about.

Eurovision is one thing that unifies Europe and its vastly different countries. It's okay not to understand it, but being disrespectful about it is just super rude. Europe is full of problematic shit and we know it, but Eurovision isn't one of them, so just leave it alone.

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers VANDEAD CARNIVAL ;; Ruki Route ー Chapter 2

ー The scene starts on the Carnival’s venue

Yui: Come to think of it...You said you don’t know what the ‘Queen of the Carnival’ is about either, right?

Ruki: Yes. I was aware of the existence of the Carnival itself, but never had I heard of there being a Queen.

Yui: You knew about the Carnival already? But you’ve never come here, right?

Ruki: It’s my first time visiting. However, I read about it in Eden in the past.

Yui: Eden?

Ruki: It’s the castle us siblings lived at during the time we had just been turned into Vampires. It is what we would call the place.

Amongst the literary collection at the castle, I found a book which had information on the Carnival and read it.

I believe the book mentioned that the Demon World’s Carnival is set up to resemble similar festivities in the human world.

Back then, I never even fathomed I would one day be able to enjoy it myself, of course...

I suppose you can never predict the future.

However, thinking back to it now, I am fairly certain nothing was written about a Queen.

That bothers me.

Yui: ( ...I’ve gotten a little anxious. I wonder what the Queen’s duty is? )

( I just hope I don’t get myself involved in anything strange or scary... )

Ruki: ...

Oi, Livestock. We’re gonna take a small break. I’m sure you’re exhausted too?

Yui: Eh? Why would you suddenly bring that up...?

Ruki: There’s a perfect shop over there. Let’s go.

ー Ruki walks away

Yui: Eh? Uhm, Ruki-kun!?

ー The scene shifts to Cafe ‘Tarte Tatin’

Waiter A: Welcome!

Yui: ( This is...a cafe? It looks normal from the outside... )

( But all the customers here are Vampires, right? It’s honestly kind of amazing... )

Ruki: Do you have any spare tables?

Waiter A: Yes, for two, right? Please wait one secーー Ah...

...Pardon my rudeness, dear customer. However, does that lady over there happen to be a human...?

Yui: ( He noticed...My scent should be suppressed by the drug though... )

Uhm, I...

Ruki: If I say yes, would that pose a problem?

Waiter A: I-I never claimed as much but...

Ruki: Then why ask that question?

Waiter A: U-Uhm...

Manager: ーー Pardon me, customer.

Is my waiter causing any trouble?

Ruki: Yes, he made a statement as if this place picks its customers, you see...I was hoping to inquire him about his true intentions.

Manager: ...Is the lady over there a human?

Yui: ( So they really do notice. I wonder if the medicine hasn’t taken full effect yet...? )

( Ruki-kun was so kind to tell me to enjoy myself too, but like this... )

Ruki: Let me tell you, she is no ordinary human.

She is special. One chosen by Karlheinz-sama, that is.

Waiter A: By Karlheinz-sama...!?

Manager: This human is...?

Ruki: If you reject her entrance, you are basically going against that man’s wishes too.

Manager: ...

...Prepare a table on the terrace.

Waiter A: Eh? ...Are you sure?

Manager: I shall permit it. ...They are very important customers after all.

Please excuse our rudeness, dear customers. We shall prepare everything right away, so please wait one second.

Ruki: Sure.

Yui: ( You know... )

Ruki: Why are you looking at me like that? If there’s something on your mind, tell me.

Yui: N-No...

( Ruki-kun is very reliable, it’s at times like these that I realize how lucky I am to have him on my side... )

Ruki: ...Yui. You should learn to be a little more assertive.

Yui: Assertive?

Ruki: You need to learn to voice your own opinion.

Nothing good comes from being too timid.

You are the chosen Eve. Have more confidence. Be proud.

If you stand there cowering, (1) it has a negative impact on me, the person by your side, as well.

Yui: ...Right. I’m sorry, Ruki-kun.

Ruki: Of course, I know that is simply who you are. Therefore, I’m not exactly blaming you or anything.

I do like that side of you too after all.

Yui: Eh...?

Waiter A: My apologies for the wait. I shall escort you to your seats.

Ruki: Let’s go.

The terrace is a VIP seat. Try and keep your head up high, so you seem fitting of sitting there. Understood?

*TIMESKIP*

Waiter A: Here’s your coffee, cafe au lait and tarte tatin.

*Thud*

Yui: Wah...Looks delicious! Take a look, Ruki-kun!

Ruki: Oi, don’t make too much of a fuss. Did I not tell you these seats are special? You’re embarrassing us.

Yui: Ah...Sorry.

Ruki: Remain calm when eating. Right now you are reminding me of Kou or Yuma.

Yui: Yes...Well then, I’ll have a bite.

*Cling*

Yui: Nn...Delicious!

Ruki: I see.

Yui: You won’t eat anything?

Ruki: No. Watching you eat something so sugary sweet is more than enough for me.

Yui: However, it actually isn’t too overly sweet, so won’t you try some as well?

We’re here together now anyway, so just one bite, okay?

Ruki: ...If you insist, I suppose I will. Give me some.

Yui: Yes! I’ll ask the waiter for a fork...

Ruki: No need. You are already holding one in your hand, no?

You can use that one.

Yui: B-But, then I’ll have to...

Ruki: What? You can’t...?

Yui: It’s not impossible but...

Ruki: ...You won’t claim it’s embarrassing, right?

You’ve already directly accepted my fangs with your body, yet this much is enough to make you feel shame?

If you don’t like the idea, you don’t have to share with me. I’m not that interested after all.

Yui: I do think it’s embarrassing, but I want you to be able to have a taste as well.

Ruki: Hmph...In that case...You know what to do, right?

Yui: ( Uu...I guess having him on your side can still cause trouble at times... )

*TIMESKIP*

ー They leave the cafe

Waiter A: Thank you very much for your visit!

Yui: That was so good! I’m glad we came.

Ruki: Yeah.

Yui: Say, Ruki-kun. Where are we headed next?

Ruki: Wherever you want. We are just killing time until it’s time after all.

*Clap clap clap*

Clown A: Gather around, everyone! A spectacular show is about to begin!

Everyone interested should head to Saint Nore Park right away! A fun time awaits ahead!

Yui: Saint Nore Park...? I wonder what kind of show they’re talking about?

Ruki: Want to go take a look if you’re curious? We still have time.

Yui: Yeah!

ー The scene shifts to Saint Nore Park’s venue

Yui: What a crowd...I guess the show will take place around here?

Ruki: Oi, Livestock, don’tーー

*Thud*

Yui: Ah...!

Female Vampire D: Watch your step! Be careful!

Yui: S-Sorry...

Ruki: ...Haah.

*Rustle*

Ruki: Don’t wander around without permission from your Master. Who do you think has to go through trouble if you were to get yourself lost?

Yui: Sorry...

Ruki: If you truly feel guilty, make sure to stick by my side from here on out. I don’t want to get into trouble either.

Yui: Y-Yeah...

( However, aren’t we a little too close right now...? )

ー The crowd cheers

Magician A: This concludes our marionette act.

We had some close calls with the threads getting entangled, but those kind of ‘small’ incidents are part of the act’s charm!

Yui: ( That’s not a laughing matter...! )

Magician A: Well then, let’s move to the next show time!

I need an assistant for this next act...So could I ask for a volunteer?

Yui: Fufu, this kind of stuff often happens, huh?

Ruki: Usually the assistant is decided upon beforehand though.

Yui: Oh come on...

Magician A: Hm...Let’s see...Ah!

Yui: ( ...Eh? Did our eyes meet just now? )

Magician A: The young lady over there. Would you be willing to help me out?

Yui: ( I knew it...! )

Ruki: ...Are you referring to her?

Magician A: Why of course! I just felt like this is fate.

I feel like my act will definitely succeed if she helps me out. Unlike the one from before.

Ruki: ...I’m sorry, but I can’t hand her over.

Magician A: Eeh? Please don’t say that...Say, young lady? How do you feel about this?

Yui: Me? I...

Selection

→ I want to give it a try

Yui: I guess I kind of want to...give it a shot.

Magician A: See? Did you hear that?

Ruki: ...You fool.

Yui: Eh...!?

( Is he upset...!? )

→ Ask Ruki-kun (☾)

Yui: Ruki-kun...What should I do?

Ruki: ...If you want to try it, you should.

Yui: Thenーー

Ruki: Which is what I’d love to say. But I cannot give you permission this time.

Yui: ( He seems really insistent about it... )

Is there a specific reason, Ruki-kun?

Ruki: ...You know very well that you’re surrounded by Vampires right now, don’t you?

Vampires don’t die so easily. Therefore, even if they make a small blunder, they can just cover it up as being part of the show.

If anything, I heard that sometimes they will mess up on purpose to get a stronger reaction from the audience. I assume that was the case in the previous act as well.

Even if it is something which could usually cost a person their life, for a Vampire who doesn’t die very easily, they can simply laugh it off.

However...You are different. If a mistake were to occur, you’d die.

How could I let you go through with this...knowing very well that is the case?

Yui: ( Come to think of it...Earlier everyone laughed when he said there was a close call as well. )

( If an incident were to happen again while I’m helping out... )

Ruki: Do you still want to give it a try after hearing all of this?

Yui: ...I don’t...

Ruki: Figured as much.

Magician A: Hello? Have you made up your mind?

Ruki: It was obvious from the very start. She can’t help. If you need someone to assist you, you’ll have to try your luck somewhere else.

Magician A: Not even a little? All she has to do is stand there.

Ruki: The answer is no.

Magician A: ...I suppose you leave me with no other choice then.

ー The magician pulls Yui his way

*Thud*

Yui: Ow...!

Ruki: ...Oi!

Magician A: Oh come on, it’ll be over in the blink of an eye.

Yui: ( This person is incredibly strong...! )

P-Please stop...!

Magician A: Don’t be scared. Even if a mishap occurs, we don’t die, do we?

Yui: ( He’s mistaking me for a Vampire!? Because my scent has faded due to the drug...!? )

Ruki: Oi! Let go of her right noーー!

*Thud*

Ruki: ...!? What are you two doing!?

Clown A: No, no...You shouldn’t interfere with the show!

Clown B: We know that you’re worried about her, but this is all for the sake of the Carnival, okay? Can’t you work with us for a bit?

Ruki: Cut the crap!! Kuh...!

Magician A: Well then, everyone! Please behold! What I would like to demonstrate on this lovely little lady isーー

A knife-throwing show!!

Yui: ( Knives...!? )

Magician A: There are three numbers written on the target behind her. I shall throw the knives towards those in order.

If I manage to hit all three without messing up...I would very much appreciate a grand applause from you all!

Yui: ( No way...The number behind me? They’re near the face...!? )

No! Ruki-kun...!

Ruki: Kuh...! Let me go...!

Clown A: Ah~ Yeah, yeah, stop moving!

Clown B: Don’t worry, it’ll only sting a little at worst.

Ruki: ...Only sting a little, you say...?

...Don’t be ridiculous!!

Magician A: Well thenーー Starting with the first one!

Yui: ...!!

ー She closes her eyes

Yui: ( Ruki-kun...! )

Ruki: ...Yui!!

*Thud*

ー She opens her eyes again

Magician A: ...Oh dear?

Clown A: Oh my! Such strength!

Clown B: There were two of us, but he still escaped our grip.

Ruki: ...Are you okay, Yui?

Yui: Ruki-kun...

( I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see what happened but...Ruki-kun saved me...? )

( ...The knife hit exactly the place I was standing up till now...!? )

( If Ruki-kun hadn’t come to my rescue, right now, I would have been...! )

...! Ow...!?

Ruki: Oi, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me, did the knife...!?

Yui: I’m okay...Seems like it only scraped my arm...But, it’s bleeding...

Spectator A: ...Hm? This scent...

Spectator B: A human! There’s a human here! But, this is...!

Spectator C: What a delicious fragrance! It’s coming from that young lady...!

Ruki: Che...Oi, press down onto your arm! We have to run!

ー The two of them run away

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Literally he says that she is ‘making her back round’, implying that she is standing somewhat leaning forward as if you are trying to make yourself small, with your head bowed downwards.

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 1

→ PROCEED WITH MAIN STORY [CHAPTER 3]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #1 [W/REIJI]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #2 [W/ KANATO]

→ SUB-SCENARIO #3 [W/ AZUSA]

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #ruki mukami #vandead carnival #diabolik lovers translation #vcrukichapter2

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makeste · 4 years

Note

Are there any headcanons that you would like to share? About anything you want.

anon in the absence of specific guidelines I have managed to make this post pretty much entirely about Bakugou. I apologize if you really wanted to know all of my headcanons about Kouda or something lol. but all joking aside he really is the character I think about the most and so probably like 80% of my headcanons are about him, including close to 100% of the headcanons I actually have a solid enough grip on to put into words. anyway here goes.

he does not know how to tie a tie. he was a rowdy little free range knee-scraping grass-staining run-don’t-walk child whose parents only ever managed to wrestle him into formal attire a handful of times for special occasions when he was younger, and then he went to a middle school that used gakuran-style uniforms so he never learned then, either. his dad offered to teach him when U.A. rolled around, but he was all, “fuck off dad, I know how to tie a stupid tie,” because by that time he had grown into a cocky little brat confident in his own skill and naive as to the reality checks of the world, and he genuinely believed with the conviction that only a fifteen-year-old can muster that when the time came he would just magically know how to do it. on the first day of school he got as far as draping the loose tie over his neck and holding one end in each hand before staring at the mirror and abruptly realizing the hole he’d dug himself into. and so rather than admit defeat, he just straight up decided not to wear it. which became a permanent life choice once he got to school and saw how badly Deku’s tie was tied and realized there was no way he could ever risk that kind of humiliation.

in a similar vein, I know there’s a popular fanon that because of his parents’ influence Katsuki has a good sense of fashion, but my own personal headcanon is that this could not be further from the truth lol. it’s not that he has a terrible sense of style, mind you; it’s just that he doesn’t care about it at all. he’s a nerdy jock who spends all his free time studying and lifting weights. this kid literally only wears one color, and that color just so happens to be the easiest possible color to coordinate. he owns like three pairs of shoes max. he wears his pants three sizes up and they drag so much that the hems are all frayed from him constantly stepping on them (literally canon, and one of my favorite details from chapter 218). he just doesn’t give a fuck, so long as the clothes are comfortable and don’t look stupid. he has about a million things he’s more concerned about than what he or anyone else is wearing. in fact I’m 90% sure that his mom still buys most of his clothes, and about 70% convinced he does not even know what size he is.

he’s good at household chores (because he’s good at everything), but hates doing them. aside from cooking, which he enjoys, he will bitch and whine nonstop if forced to do tedious-yet-necessary things like washing dishes and folding laundry. that said, he is a perfectionist, and he also has a lot of experience because his mom made him do chores all the time during the seven trillion times he was grounded while growing up (that’s his estimate, btw, so it may be slightly exaggerated. he was not an easy kid to raise. when your kid’s fuse is about a millimeter long and he has a tendency to literally blow up whenever he throws a fit, you end up with a lot of objects in your house that have been replaced at some point), so if you do actually manage to get him to do the chore, rest assured that chore is getting fucking DONE.

when he was very little he watched an Avengers Endgame-style All Might film where a bunch of bad guys attacked earth and various assorted heroes tried and failed to stop them. then at the climax of the film, All Might showed up and said “I am here”, and everyone got super pumped up and excited because they knew the heroes were going to win with All Might on their side. this scene remains Katsuki’s favorite scene in anything. not the fight -- just the moment where All Might shows up and grins and the audience knows right there and then that he’s going to win. this is the feeling that inspired his dream. he wants to be the one who shows up and everyone is like, “we’re good now; Katsuki is here.”

when he was six or seven he got into a big fight with an older boy over that scene because he said it was fake and that there was no way All Might could have beaten those guys in real life. Katsuki insisted he definitely would have because All Might never loses. the other boy replied that everyone loses sometimes. Katsuki kicked his ass and got suspended for a week.

ten years later, Katsuki watched All Might battle All for One at Kamino and realized two things. one, that the other boy was right and that anyone can lose. and two, that he, the one who had so proudly defended All Might back then, was going to end up being the reason why he finally lost.

for a long time afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to watch that movie again.

when he and Izuku were three years old their moms sent them out on a first errand (google Hajimete no Otsukai if you’re unfamiliar with this tradition, I promise you it is the cutest fucking thing you’ll ever see) to buy ingredients for katsudon. Izuku was full of bouncy childish enthusiasm and could rattle off the full shopping list of ingredients front to back, but when the moment finally came his confidence wilted as soon as their parents were out of sight. Katsuki also had a moment of panic when they first rounded the corner and he couldn’t see his house anymore, but rallied once Izuku burst into tears and he realized that he had to be the one to take charge. he proceeded to morph into an absurdly over-the-top caricature of his own mother for the duration of the errand, to the point where in addition to telling Izuku to stop crying he also ordered him to stand up straight and tuck in his shirt. the two of them went on to complete the errand flawlessly and their moms were PROUD AS FUCK and took a billion pictures. Izuku and Katsuki have only a few scattered memories of this milestone in the present day but it’s enough to send both of them absolutely reeling with embarrassment whenever they’re reminded of it.

he and his mom don’t often get along but sometimes they’ll bond over roasting a mutual target. they have watched many a trashy reality TV show together for this purpose. Masaru lives for these moments but never comments on them lest he spoil the rare moments of peace.

Katsuki is perfectly capable of using keigo (i.e. normal polite Japanese with no rude language/cursing), otherwise he would not be one of the top students in his ivy-league high school. code-switching is a thing guys! anyways his teachers are aware of this, because all of his essays and homework assignments are written normally. he merely chooses to go about his daily business acting like a wannabe yakuza stereotype because that’s just his personality, and he’s not about to start censoring himself and acting like some weird little goody two shoes robot person just to please people he mostly doesn’t give two shits about. but if you put a gun to his head and told him you’d pull the trigger if he said “fuck”, he would probably be all right; he’d just have to concentrate.

when he was little he went through a phase of collecting cicada shells and leaving them EVERYWHERE -- in the bathroom sink, on his mom’s pillow, you name it. Mitsuki often tells people this is when she started getting gray hairs. one time she opened a box of cereal and there was one in there and a little bit of her soul died that day.

he generally doesn’t care who calls him Kacchan. it doesn’t particularly bother him and it never occurred to him to pretend like it did just for appearance’s sake. also secretly for some reason the thought of Deku ever calling him anything else really bothers him. he’s not sure what it would mean if that ever happened, or what he would do.

all of his workouts are designed to strengthen his arms and back and shoulders because those are the parts of his body that take the most abuse from his quirk. other than that he avoids building up excess muscle anywhere else because the more weight he puts on the harder it is to fly around. for this reason he is never going to end up being a big bulky guy like All Might. one day Deku is going to surpass him in muscle, but he doesn’t care because he’ll still be a match for him in firepower and speed.

he’s one of those kids who will not so much as take a sip of alcohol until he’s twenty-five. partly because he’s experienced enough concussions that he doesn’t particularly want to give hangovers a try, and partly because he’s a control freak and honestly afraid of getting drunk and making an idiot of himself somehow. the rowdier members of class A try virtually every trick in their wheelhouse and then some to try and persuade him over the years, but not even the reverse psychology “aw, don’t worry, it’s okay if you’re... scared :)” thing works, because that’s only actually effective when he secretly wants to do the thing.

then one day he just wakes up and is all “you know what, I’m gonna try it”, and for the next few days his google history is basically just “how many drinks does it take to get drunk” and “how to avoid getting drunk” and “how to prevent hangovers.” somehow word gets out through the grapevine (he probably told Todoroki, who is the one person in class A you’d think wouldn’t be a big ol’ gossip but in fact IS) that Bakugou is finally going to get his drink on that weekend, and pretty much EVERYONE shows up at the izakaya that Friday night excited as FUCK.

Katsuki proceeds to drink a grand total of two beers over the span of several hours, and drinks like five glasses of water in between, and literally nothing happens to him at all except that Kaminari almost fights him out of frustration. the rest of class A never fully gets over their disappointment.

he actually knows like 90% of class 1-A’s names by this point. there are still a few people he doesn’t and will never know, though. twenty years from now Aoyama will still be “that weird fucking french kid” in his mind.

he had no idea who Eri was until the Christmas party. sometimes he’d hear the other kids talking about someone named Eri, and from context clues he somehow ended up thinking it was one of Aizawa’s cats. when Eri came to the party he had a brief moment of curiosity wondering if she was Sensei’s niece or something, and then he heard someone say her name and he was all “THAT’S ERI?!” and his entire worldview was briefly shaken up.

he pulled Kirishima aside to ask him and Kirishima basically gave him Eri’s whole entire life story which was way more than he actually wanted to know. he’s now kind of terrified of ever being in the same room as her for fear of having to interact with her because he’s pretty sure he’d do or say the wrong thing. most of the time being intimidating is something he strives for and puts a lot of effort into, including when he’s around kids (who are basically just smaller, sloppier adults in his mind), but he doesn’t want to be the guy who scared an abused kid, so he basically just hopes the others will have enough common sense not to ever go “oh hey you know who should totally interact with each other?? Eri and Bakugou!”

that being said, if circumstances ever arose which forced Katsuki to protect Eri, the two of them would totally bond and they would have a really sweet relationship in which Eri looked up to him just like she looks up to Deku and Mirio and the rest, and where Katsuki was constantly trying to be on his best behavior around her, like genuinely, sincerely trying, and kind of failing at it a lot but still being sweet in a gruff sort of restrained-disaster way.

...and after sitting there for a while trying to think of more I couldn’t come up with any so I guess that’s it! basically most of my headcanons are about how secretly boring Katsuki is. honestly if it weren’t for him having the vocabulary of a 52-year-old sailor whose foot was caught in a bear trap, he and Iida would probably be best friends.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha headcanons #don't think there're any spoilers here except for the detail about his pants in 219 lol #sorry if I have spoiled anyone for that #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post #oh whoops it was actually 218 my bad just edited #wait a second the christmas party is spoilers isn't it lol whoops #bnha spoilers #there we go

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scriptaed · 4 years

Text

his side, her side | 11:11 P.M.

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut;

pairing: reader x jungkook;

length: 4.3k;

synopsis: a collective snapshots in time shared between two, whose fates were undeniably intertwined and futures would never come to be.

a/n: alternatively: his side, her side pt. 11;

her side;

“What?!”

Your fists slam on the counter much more forceful than necessary when you hear the words Jeon Jungkook slip from Yezi’s lips but, luckily for you, the vibrations from the music blasting through the cramped club that had overfilled the capacity hours ago are enough to drown you out. Another large gulp of liquor downed under the influence of yet another wave of unsolicited sorrow, which had ironically arisen by the holy glass itself, submerges you in a somber state you had long sought for amidst what seemed to be a fragile girl wielding an unbreakable shield they called “strength.”

“I said,” your friend repeats as she leans in but nevertheless screams aloud, “isn’t that your coworker a-k-a diehard crush, Jeon Jungkook?!”

“No,” you groan, slapping her arm with a grotesque look on your face as you scream right back at her through your strained throat, “I meant I know what you said and, damn, are you trying to expose me to the entire world!”

Yezi only gives you an unimpressed frown of impertinence, “excuse me, but you’re the one who’s yelling right now!”

Rolling your eyes and succumbing to the scorching heat in your cheeks, your face collapses into the palms of your two hands that immediately begin rubbing circles into your temples. The toxins in your blood have your head throbbing and you almost feel as if your controller has been handed to an unknown being or, rather, substance.

“Ugh,” you mutter through gritted teeth, “I can’t believe he’s still following me around! Even on my very last day!”

“Following you?” your friend almost chokes on her water as she pokes a finger into your hollow head. “The alcohol must have really eroded whatever little was left in here, huh?”

“Then,” you sway your head much too quickly, for your entire body nearly tumbles off the stool before you caught yourself with a heavy step to the right, “explain how he always ends up at the same street, the same cafe, the same bar, and, and, and how he’s always at the same place at the same time as me, and how no matter how hard I try to avoid him, he’s always right there? Just waiting for me at the end of whatever independent paths we take?”

Yezi can only blink her eyes blankly at you. Her look is an ambiguous mix of concern, having witnessed a crazy lady babble on about the epitome of destiny, and a tinge of awe, a temporary moment of envy after being struck with a story seemingly straight out of a fairytale. Without a clear explanation to your nonsensical albeit pristinely truthful question, your friend finds herself in the same position as you had been just half a year ago: at a loss for words.

Clearing your throat to recover from your outburst, a moment you had internalized and failed to bury like you had so promised to yourself, you lean against the counter once again with a head that hangs low and a pair of eyes that wander across the room.

Despite your eternally intertwined future with the very man beholding your gaze and every ounce of your current attention, you had somehow managed to abandon the shared memories in the past months… or so you thought; because you here, having the false pretension of leaving what you denied to call anything but fleeting infatuation, yet feeling as though time had never passed at all.

Butterflies fluttering, heart pulsing, and an incessant sick twisting of insecurities shoved somewhere in the back of your conscience—you’re right there back in the pool where the start to your end was born.

“Did you tell him?”

“About what?”

“About you leaving the company.”

“Oh, no,” you simply mumble, eyes quickly flickering to the tabletop after spotting the familiar woman beside him. Still, curiosity gets the best of you when you can’t help but peak at the two, the female seemingly much more distressed and the male hanging his head low apologetically, before you, too, hang your head low in shame. “Sorry. You must be sick of hearing about him.”

“No, it’s fine,” Yezi’s voice softens as she places a comforting hand over yours. “You okay? About Jieun, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, chuckling, “it’s… it’s whatever. I got over it months ago.”

Your friend nods hesitantly, “...you think they’re fighting?

“...I don’t know. Not my business either way.”

Your words are like a self-inflicted attack. How shameful is it of you to speak from a feigned moral high ground? His business has never been your business—that is an unequivocal truth. So why is it that you feel the way you do? Prying, hurting, and, dare you admit it, somewhat rejoicing over the downfall of what had ended you and him.

And just as you down another glass of liquor, nearly collapsing backwards when you throw your head back, you catch Jieun pointing a finger—a somewhat accusatory albeit much softer than one thrown by a witchy nemesis—at you before she grabs her purse and runs out of the club in tears. Jungkook, on the other hand, remains still in his chair with lowered eyes fixated to the empty stool beside him, as though repaying whatever debt he owed to the ghost of a woman who had long left his side.

“Oh my God, did you just see—”

“—Lee Yeji!” someone shrills and you have to crane your neck to gander at the stranger who had just appeared out of thin air. The slight breeze of her beeline past you hits you seconds late—a recurring sign to you and your reproaching intake limit. “Is that you?!”

“Linzy!” your friend jumps to her feet and joins in on the stranger’s screams as well as small hops. “Oh my God, how long has it been?!”

“Where have you been all this time?!”

“Here in this boring city, duh,” Yezi bursts into a cackle. “How have you been?! You still hung over your ex?”

The lack of an introduction would have been painfully awkward for you as you stared at the fond reunion between two friends, but thanks to the alcohol stirring your mind that had floated elsewhere and the blood running through your heated system, it’s almost as if you’re just a member of audience, watching another crappy chick flick.

“First of all, I’ve moved onto another man. And second of all, rude,” the woman named Linzy throws her head back in a fit of laughter. Honestly, watching the hysteria between the two has you smiling against your rested hand; and if it weren’t for her averted attention to you, you probably wouldn’t have noticed until you quickly hid the ditzy smile on your face. “I’m sorry, is it okay if I borrow Yezi for a second? We haven’t talked in sooo long.”

“Oh no,” you quickly shake your head, gesturing them toward the dance floor, “go right ahead. I think I can do without her constant jabs at my nonexistent love life.”

“Oh my God,” Linzy gapes, “she does that to you, too?!”

“Hey, you two can be friends but not over a common dislike for me, okay?” Yezi warns with a wary finger before joining the two of you in a heap of laughter. Patting your shoulder and leaning in, your friend squeezes you lightly, “I’ll be right back in ten minutes, alright? Wait for me here. If something comes up and you have to leave, text me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, will do, mom” you shoo her away, “I’ll have you know I’m a grown ass adult. Now go and scream your head off.”

“What?” she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re a young adult who still can’t handle her alcohol?”

“I said,” you raise your voice in the midst of cackles, “go and scream your head off!”

Luckily for you, your friend whirls around and skips off to join the black silhouette of a sweaty crowd going at it on the dance floor before she could catch the proof of her aforementioned premonition; because only five minutes after averting your eyes from the empty stool beside you and downing another glass or two in a vain attempt to distract yourself from checking the presence of the boy across from you, a wave overtakes you and your lightheadedness takes a turn for the worse.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that brings out the irrational side of you or maybe your senses had truly been heightened or maybe you’re just imagining things, but you swear a pair of resilient, watchful eyes reciprocate your occasional peak to the other side—and even though you know it would be another step toward a ticking time bomb, you just wish you’re right.

You’re hoping for a miracle to happen, for him to come up to you, for you to muster enough courage to strike a conversation, or for fate to brush off your accursed wish to finally untangle your paths from his; but when your eyes peek upward once again, your heart sinks at the empty chair where he had once sat, swirling his glass with those boldly peering eyes of his. Sighing, one swivel in your seat and a slight sway too hard to the left, you nearly hurl yourself into the arms of the girl beside you only to find yourself in someone else’s.

A pair of sturdy hands twice the size of yours hold you steadily and it only takes you a glance to the hands on your left shoulder along with the familiar heftiness of his built chest against your back for you to know exactly whose hold you had allowed yourself into.

And for once, you’re thankful to the little antics pulled by fate itself.

“Hey,” he utters, peering down at you from above.

“Oh,” you manage to say, head leaning against his chest as you crane your neck to stare at the face that hovers above yours. “It’s Jungkook.”

The little crooked smile on his pressed lips have you flashing the goofiest grin at him—and you know it’s the goofiest of all your grins, but you’re helpless under the sway of his magnetic presence.

“Still can’t handle liquor, I see.”

“Shut up,” you laugh much more than elicited, “are you saying you can drink now? After, what, six months?”

The boy shrugs smugly, “maybe. I’m a grown ass adult now.”

“You? An adult?” you can’t help but laugh at the bewildered grin of disbelief plastered across his face. Something about the high of the liquor and the constant stream of background noise that drowns you out has your words slipping from your lips with utter ease. For once, you’re neither bashful nor wary of how you carry yourself in front of him. It’s refreshing albeit all the more worrying when you consider all that you’ve left buried away from him. “So? What’re you doing here, grown ass adult Jeon Jungkook?”

The smile on his face fades as he mutters, “nothing, really.”

“Really?” you quirk a brow. “Where’s your girlfriend, Jieun?”

“...she’s not my girlfriend,” he responds flatly, “...anymore.”

“Oh,” you can only utter in shock, speaking exactly what flashes across your mind, “fuck, I’m screwed.”

Jungkook frowns with knitted brows, “what?”

“I meant,” you quickly assert, realizing your errs, “I meant I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yeah,” he smirks, scoffing at you impudently. “You shouldn’t have.”

A comfortable silence befalls the two of you in the midst of rowdy hundreds—well, until yet another word slips your mind… in addition to your lips.

“...heartbreaker.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The widened grin of mischief that stretches from ear to ear has you mirroring that goofy grin of him as you can’t help but become enraptured by the facial profiles of the charming man just several inches from you. If this were sober you, you would have been much more distant, emotionally and physically; but the sway of the night has you completely under its control.

Plus, you’ve given away all your last fucks long ago when you decided to aspire for a job in another city nearby. Maybe this is your last chance to finally get rid of what had left your chest heavy so long ago.

“Well, I’m just going to grab my friend before I pass—oh shit,” you curse as you nearly tumble to the floor, hands sprawled out and hair forming curtains around your lowly hanging head just as he catches you and brings you back to your feet. Stumbling over your heels, your hands grasp tightly onto his as you try to shake the locks of hair out of your shrouded vision. “Sorry, I mean, thanks—” you laugh “—for saving me from eating shit.”

“Holy fuck,” the boy remarks, chuckling worriedly, “you’re a mess. Go home.”

“I’ll have you know,” you emphasize, sing-songing at this point, “that I am—” you point a finger against his chest and his eyes flicker in amusement over your jab “—going home, just need to… find my friend.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“There,” you throw a hand off into the space somewhere toward the floor.

“Where the fuck is ‘there?’”

“There!”

Jungkook frowns, “where??”

“I said,” you’re basically whining as you jump up and down while holding him for stability and, luckily, he holds you even tighter, “there!!”

“Holy shit,” he shakes his head, furrowing his brows and laughing in disbelief, “fuck this, I’ll take you home.”

“Shut up, nope,” you adamantly shake your head, trying to toss his hands to the side only to nearly trip over your own feet once again.

To your rescue, once again, Jungkook throws your right arm over his shoulders with one firm hand and another much gentler, chivalrous hand over to your left waist, careful not to invade your personal space. Laughing at how ironic the night has turned out to be, somehow ending up in the arms and closer than ever to the man you had sworn to have gotten over less than an hour ago, you give into the force of gravity and fate as your head rests helplessly against his chest.

“Just, just,” you struggle to remember what you wanted to say, “just admit you want to use this as an… an excuse to bring me home.”

The boy only chuckles under his breath as he leads you out of the doors and a blast of fresh, night air refreshes your complexion, “whatever gets you home safe.”

“Ah,” you sigh, a puff of white escaping into the air just as he waves a hand out to tail a cab, “I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he arches a brow.

“That,” you say in a fit of frustration over your lack of constraint but continue nonetheless, knowing well just how long this night will haunt you for the sleepless nights ahead, “when you act all gentlemanlike with me...”

“Is that a bad thing…?”

“Yes!” you exclaim just as a cab halts by the sidewalk. “I hate how you treat me so well!”

“The fuck,” he utters under his breath, holding you steady in one hand and opening the door to the cab with another, “fine, get in by yourself, then.”

Caught off guard by the loss of his firm hold, you hesitate, suddenly gripping onto his hands tighter than ever as you take a step down the sidewalk, “wait—”

“—that’s what I thought,” he quips before suddenly picking you up into his arms, your legs dangling freely in the air without the burden of your weight, and gently placing you down into the middle backseat. Your head is spinning at this point from the spur of events and from literally being swept off the feet. You would have been foolish to deny the weight in your chest that settles when you realize your whimsical night has come to end when, to your surprise, the boy gets into the seat right beside you. With a loud huff and a slam of the now closed door, Jungkook speaks, “Providence Street, please.”

He still remembers where you live.

Gaping at him in the full darkness of the backseat with the countless golden streetlights that pass by like flickering beacons of warmth, a fleeting albeit numerous opportunity to gaze at the apple of your eye in its full glory, and gulping when you notice him staring right back at you with those twinkling, unreadable eyes of his, you finally acknowledge that you really couldn’t care less if he catches you staring… which he does.

And it’s that this moment, this unconquerable, fleeting, otherworldly moment of an unbreakable high as your head shuffles to the side along with waves of the bumpy ride and your eyes spot the arrival of that one magical hour, one magical minute, 11:11, that an epiphany dawns upon you.

Something will inevitably ensue tonight and, whatever it may be, whether you confess or not, you just wish you could finally let bygones be bygones, as the two of you should have been in the first place.

his side;

If there’s one thing this man did not expect from a night that has thus far been nothing but dread, it would be crossing paths with the rare one who could etch stars into his skies out of nothing.

“What?” Jungkook can’t help but crack a crooked grin at the goofiest grin adorning his star’s’ beet red cheeks.

“You’re doing it again!” she hollers into the front of the cab rather than the subject at hand.

“Doing what?”

“It. You’re doing…” she pumps a fist at her chest twice, “things again!”

“You’ve...” Jungkook pauses, looking her up and down with concern overshadowed by bemuse because, well, look at her, he chuckles to himself, so gauche in her own adorable attempts at daintiness, “...lost it.”

“I honestly think I have,” she laughs with a hand to what he figures must be an overwhelming lightheadedness.

There must be something about the heat in her cheeks that run down her bare neck and along the dress straps that had slipped from her collarbones, something about the first recognition of a level vulnerability that she had never bared to him before, because even he could peer at her and her unreachable high that is cloud nine, all whilst beside her. Ice-thawing and sun-basking, he could only watch in admiration as a magic stronger than any drink spurs her forward; and he could tell it would take her little to nothing to muster the courage to just jump and fall…

…and when she leans in to whisper, he has an inkling of tonight’s impending stain.

“Do you wanna hear a secret?”

Quirking a brow at her, he remarks, “only if it actually makes sense.”

“Okay,” she giggles before quickly adding, “you’re really not dating her anymore, right?”

“...no?” Jungkook answers, confused. “Why—”

“—cause I won’t tell you if you are!” she exclaims playfully, throwing her hands out into the air. She continues on her babbling before he could even react. “Oh, and I’m not doing this because I want to take advantage of your breakup. Oops, was that too much too soon? Well, I’m only telling you because I want to get over it. Don’t act on it, okay?”

“The fuck?” he utters with a raised brow, softly chuckling. “Uh, on second thought, I think I’ll pass—”

“—promise me you believe me when I say I don’t feel this way anymore!”

Having never seen a more childlike side to a rather dependable colleague he once knew, Jungkook can’t help but laugh in disbelief, “feel what way?!”

She smiles heavy-lidded at the sheer confusion plastered across his frown, seemingly coming in and out of consciousness. It’s a smile that could only come from a dreamer doing everything they wished they had done yet could never come to have done; and when he locks gazes with hers, it’s almost as if the two had drifted elsewhere from their bodies and are now merely watching themselves in the scene before the grand confession of a romcom through the fourth wall.

With a finger wagging at him, beckoning for him to lean forward, which he does reluctantly, he can’t quite believe what slips from her lips.

“You’re so good looking.”

...and when the two of them had registered her words, neither of them budge. Jungkook remains still, ears next to his lips and showing the most evident falter in his usual apathetic demeanor through the way at which his ears redden with each passing second. Slapping a hand against his chest, she pushes him back into his seat and chimes cheerfully, “like sooooooooo good looking! Don’t tell them I said this, but every girl at work thinks you’re handsome and I hate it cause it’s. so. true.”

“You’re,” the boy scoffs in disbelief, blinking blankly at you because: one, he had never heard of such rumors and two, he had never seen her speak so brazenly, “you’re going crazy.”

“I am and what?” she challenges, slapping his chest again as he sits there blinking helplessly, “It’s your fault you look like this!”

“What even—”

“—and what about that kiss?!” she throws her hands up again. “Why did you even kiss me if you were going to date someone else later? Huh?!”

He never thought the day would come for her to mention that kiss… especially not tonight.

“And why are you always so nice to me?”

He chuckles at her less than threatening lashing, “am I supposed to be mean to you?”

“Well,” she scoffs in disbelief, “why are you literally everywhere I go then? You stalking me or something?”

“This is fucking hysterical,” Jungkook cracks a lopsided grin of mischief, pulling a phone out of his pocket. Throwing a peace sign at the camera, he pans the camera between him and the star of the night. “It’s January 11, 2020. A sober Jeon Jungkook checking in and, here, we have a messed up Y/N. Say hi—”

“—I am not messed up!” she interjects, pointing an accusing finger at the camera. “The only reason I’m messed up is because of you! And you know what’s even worse?”

“What could possibly be worse than you waking up to watch this horrific video?”

Flailing her arms, she exclaims in a huff of frustration, “you don’t even know how badly you messed me up, Jungkook!”

He raises a brow, raising the phone to get a better angle of the two of you. He doesn’t know why but his grip tightens. “Yeah?”

“You know,” she begins, flopping her hands into the air again.

“What now?” he chuckles, completely bemused as he watches your drunken state through his phone screen; and through his peripherals, he could catch the utterly enraptured grin of his in the corner of his screen and he just knew: he would be watching this special little clip over and over. “Just wait ‘til you watch this video—“

but her voice comes in a loud frustrated huff, a final remark cooked up in for relentlessly long years of a sheep, forgiving herself for losing sights of her captor

“—I really liked you, Jeon Jungkook!”

He freezes.

Silence befalls the cab.

But, like she always does, she never stops to wait for him.

“I mean, I really,” she emphasizes adamantly, as if he had failed to hear her when it’s anything but, “reaaaaaaaally liked you!”

Head rolling back against the headrest as the cab comes to a stop at the red light, she closes her eyes as she persists on her self-heist and blurts out frustratingly, “but you didn’t even know! And if you did, you didn’t even seem to fucking care!”

The boy wishes he could speak. Hell, he even curses at himself for staying still the way he does now… but, what should he even say? After pining for many months, falling, acknowledging, despairing and getting over the star he had always thought to be out of reach only to discover she had been within a drink, a night, a confession’s reach, how should he feel?

What good would it do to now recognize a love line that could have been but never came to be for the two?

Lowering his phone and stopping the recording, a bittersweet upturn of one corner of his lips lingers just as his thumb does over “delete.”

And after all the fond memories the two had shared within the span of a year, the gatekeeper figures maybe, for the girl’s sake, he would be the sole witness to all evidence of tonight.

“Hellooo?” she cranes her neck to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Did you hear me? I said I like—I mean, liked—you.”

“I heard you,” he presses a finger against the spot between her brows, scrunching his nose by her breath that reeks of alcohol as his tap has her head tipping onto her left shoulder. The girl only groans in protest because, apparently, she lacks the energy to defy him physically. Gazing at her from afar, a wave of adoration overwhelms him and he can’t help but chuckle under his breath. Discarding himself of his jacket, he drapes it over her bare shoulders. The boy leans in closer with one hand placed to her cheek, gently lulling her back to the right until her head lies comfortably in the crook of his left shoulder; and when he speaks, he speaks lowly but clearly, “I just wish you had told me earlier.”

The rest of the car ride proceeds in silence but never had there been more words than all that had been said tonight.

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parrishh · 3 years

Note

Pynch and "I adore you" any thoughts? XD I Need some FLUFF right now ugh

okay but like, honestly, i don't think this happens too often. i think "i saved your life because i love you" was such a big deal because maybe neither one of them hears it as much as they'd like. but, at the same time, i think they both know when the other really needs to hear it. i was trying to think of an example of when that might happen, and i ended up just writing it. i know that's not what you were asking for but i haven't felt ~inspired~ to write for a while so i had to roll with it lol. here you go, a super quick "i adore you" one shot, audience of one:

It was common knowledge that Ronan Lynch was a shit.

Everyone and their mother knew it. If Adam opened the Aglionby yearbook to a random page, closed his eyes, and pointed, there was about a ninety-five percent chance the person he landed on would have some story to share in which Ronan Lynch was, in fact, being a shit. The night-shift clerk at the Singer’s Falls Sunoco, the one where Ronan bought his Slim Jims and tiny bottles of 5-Hour Energy, would have several stories. Even Ronan’s dentist would likely have stories, assuming Ronan ever listened when Declan told him his It’s time for your annual cleaning! postcard had arrived and he had to go soon, please. He had great teeth, so probably.

But the thing about Ronan being a shit was that there were levels to it. There wasn’t just Shit, period. There was I actively dislike you and want you to know it Shit. There was I secretly don’t dislike you and don’t want you to know it Shit, I don’t even know you but I’m having a bad day Shit, and If I don’t hurt you first, you’ll hurt me Shit. There was even a unique brand of Shit reserved solely for Declan.

Being close with Ronan meant either being the recipient of or personally witnessing most of these types of Shit at some point or another, but with that came the ability to differentiate between them. Adam, who knew Ronan better than anyone knew Ronan and was also sometimes pretty shitty himself, was intimately familiar with the varying degrees of Shit. He also knew that Ronan had been through more terrible crap in his eighteen years of life than most people would go through, ever, so even though the point of the Shit was to push people away, Adam pushed back. He talked to Ronan. He asked questions, or he listened, or he accepted, without argument, the times that Ronan didn’t want to talk at all, and all of those things meant that he had learned, or was at least in the process of learning, what Ronan needed and when he needed it.

Which is why, when they got back to the Barns one night and Ronan kicked the boots off his feet with a little too much force before stomping into the living room, alone, Adam thought about the news Gansey had shared in the booth at Nino’s and knew, right away, what kind of Shit this was.

Ronan had responded to the revelation of Gansey’s year-long road trip by shoving an entire slice of pizza in his mouth, so that by the time he’d finished chewing, the awkward silence would make Blue too antsy and she’d start excitedly chattering about the way redwoods seemed to stretch up forever if you stood at the foot of them, or so she’d read. So that when Gansey hesitantly slid glossy pamphlets and itineraries across the table, Ronan could shrug and waggle his grease-soaked fingers in the air, forcing Gansey to take the papers back and stack them, protectively, in his lap. It all worked. Ronan made everyone so uncomfortable that he didn’t have to say or do anything at all, and he didn’t. No snarky remarks or rude jokes all night. Just tense shoulders and silence.

This was bad, Adam knew. He sighed, slipping out of his sneakers and leaving them neatly by the door. He retrieved Ronan’s shoes from halfway down the hallway and stacked them next to his own, his heart heavy in his chest. This was Everyone I love leaves me Shit, and it was bad. It was really, really bad.

“Ronan?” he called, socked feet soft against the wood floor as he rounded the corner into the living room.

The back of Ronan’s head was visible over the top of the couch he was slumped on. He had turned the TV on but left the volume too low to hear. The Simpsons flickered across the screen, technicolor mouths moving silently, no subtitles. Ronan was staring at the screen intently, trying to read animated lips or making up his own dialogue or else maybe, likely, looking at the moving pictures without taking anything in at all.

“Hey,” Adam said softly. There wasn’t really enough space for a whole other person to squeeze between Ronan and the arm of the couch, but he did anyway, not bothering to wait for a response. He drew his knees up, Ronan’s hip digging painfully into his own, and wiggled his left foot under Ronan’s calf. Ronan was warm against his side and Adam leaned into him even though there wasn’t any room to.

For a few minutes, neither of them moved or spoke or did anything. Adam ignored the uncomfortable way his shoulder blade jabbed into the couch and watched Bart Simpson emphatically say nothing and tried very hard not to peek at Ronan out of the corner of his eye. Ronan was still quietly absorbed in Ronan-thoughts, but he didn’t move away. They were pressed so tightly together Adam could feel each one of Ronan’s too-quick breaths in the rise and fall of Ronan’s upper arm against his own.

Adam knew Ronan. He knew that Ronan hadn’t said anything at Nino’s because he loved Gansey, and he knew that Ronan hadn’t shied away because he loved Adam, and he knew that both of those things combined meant Ronan would talk. That Ronan wanted to talk, so long as he got a minute to sort through the minefield of his feelings. So Adam, his heart a little lighter, was patient. He watched Bart write lines on a chalkboard and he hated the Simpsons and he didn’t say a word.

“We can turn it up, you know,” Ronan muttered, finally, but he didn’t so much as twitch a finger towards the remote he’d haphazardly tossed onto the other side of the sofa.

Adam’s chest fluttered. “I have just about zero interest in actively watching The Simpsons.” He twisted his head. Ronan was still staring pointedly at the TV, Marge’s tall, electric blue hair reflected brightly in the cornflower blue of his eyes. “I think the fact that I can’t hear it might actually be making it better.”

This got a brief flash of a smile out of Ronan, but then he grimaced, wriggling his hips away from Adam. “Your bony ass fucking hurts, man-” he kept wriggling some more “-and don’t talk shit about The Simpsons.” His fingers lingered at the hem of Adam’s flannel shirt, and he didn’t move the leg that Adam’s foot was still wedged under, and Adam loved him so much it hurt, which was why he pushed him. Why he was always going to push him.

“He’s not leaving forever,” Adam whispered, trailing a knuckle across Ronan’s cheek.

Ronan looped his finger through Adam’s and brought them both to his lips, his long exhale slow and warm. His voice, when he spoke, was low and uncharacteristically quiet. “I know I was being a dick. I know that.” He closed his eyes and opened them again, let Adam’s hand drop, fidgeted in his seat. “But everything I wanted to say wasn’t nice, so I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t do that to him. He looked too...too happy, and, and-”

“Alive?” Adam offered, getting it. Really getting it, more than Ronan could guess. It had been months since Gansey had died and come back, and Adam still, every time he looked at him, saw the way he’d crumpled to the asphalt. It was etched into the back of his eyelids like a lithograph, or maybe more like some sort of old, 1920s-style animation. Like Steamboat Willie. A tragic short film, admit one.

Or two. Ronan looked up sharply and nodded once, quick. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he stopped, ground his teeth, and said, instead, “So, yeah, if he wants to go all Where’s Waldo with Sargent and Henry fucking Cheng, he should do that.”

“Ronan-”

“You’ll be in Boston. Matthew and Declan will be in D.C. Gansey will be in Timbuk-fuckin’-tu, but it’s great. It’s swell. I’ll be here every Friday night playing goddamn Scrabble with Opal. Five points for L-O-S-E-R.”

“Ronan,” Adam repeated. “Not one of us is planning on being away from you for like, the rest of time. We’re just...doing things. Because people do things, Ronan, but we’re all going to come back. And we’ll all be calling you, all the time, probably.” He pulled on Ronan’s earlobe, fingers curled against Ronan’s jaw. “You’ll be picking up collect from Timbuk-fuckin’-tu. Gansey will see a dung beetle or some shit and he’ll want to tell you all about it.”

“Yeah, but-” Ronan paused to gnaw on his wristbands, avoiding Adam’s gaze and staring at the TV again. There was some sort of pharmaceutical commercial on. A mom and her two-and-a-half kids and a golden retriever were all running jolly circles around a rainbow sprinkler while adverse side-effects ticked against the sky. “You guys will see and do exciting new shit every day. I’ll just be watching the cows sleep and telling Opal not to eat laundry detergent.”

“You could literally stare at a blank wall twenty-four hours a day and we’d still be happy just to hear your voice,” Adam told him and meant it. He leaned across Ronan, fumbled for the remote, and hit the power button. Now the only light in the room was the faint, dusky moonlight through the tall windows, and it splattered purple across Ronan’s forehead. They blinked at each other, the house somehow quieter even though the TV had been muted anyway.

“The Simpsons,” Ronan protested weakly, just to be difficult, and Adam clutched at his hand.

“Fuck the Simpsons,” he said solemnly. “Ronan, Gansey adores you. I adore you. You’re stuck with us, I promise.”

Ronan continued to stare, his eyes unnaturally wide in the dark, then tilted forward, burying his face in the side of Adam’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered there, muffled against Adam’s skin.

Okay didn’t sound fully convinced, but it didn’t sound like a fight either, so Adam just looped his arms around Ronan and hummed “I love you” into his ear. Ronan lifted his head and kissed him, long but sweet, chaste but searing, and, even though he was a shit, Adam loved him so much it hurt, and it was good. It was really, really good.

#answered #w writes things #pynch #trc #anon

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drazzilder · 3 years

Text

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder

Chapter 32: The Offer

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, it’s the moment we have been waiting for: an interview with Hellboy!”

The audience cheers and claps as the camera pans out.

“Good morning, it’s nice to be here.”

“Hellboy, I’m just going to get right to it: what’s it like having a demon inside of you?”

“Well, at first it was really rough but once you get to know him, he pretty chill. He did try to take over my body but after we got to know each other we became friends. I don’t know what I would do without him.”

“So, your saying he isn’t evil?”

“I wouldn’t put myself under that category.”

“Oh! Good morning, Zaheer! About (Y/N), what’s it like being inside of him?”

“I’m not really sure how to answer that. I guess it’s like a room that I can change as I want and I can influence (Y/N) but other than that, not much really. I do enjoy being with him and I’m proud of him.”

“Interesting. What about that new ability where you can come outside of Hellboy?”

“It’s nothing new but it takes a lot of energy to use, that’s why I’m staying in right now.”

“That’s alright. Now… the viewing audience really wants to know one thing, what is it like dating Endeavor!?” The audience makes a collective ‘oooooOOOOoooo!!’ In excitement at this question.

“Well, no one has ever made me feel the way he does. I really do love him. I never thought I would ever find happiness, let alone from the number 2 hero. We do have our ups and downs but we always make sure to communicate and never go to bed angry.”

“That sounds sweet, and is it true you meet at the crossing bombing?”

“Yes, I passed out after I stopped the bomb and he saved me. Since then, my life has only gotten better.” The audience awws.

“When did you start dating?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Oh, come on, tell me. You can tell me anything. I already know everything about you.”

“Wait, what?” You look up then see what’s wrong. The woman has been replaced with the smiling man. You stand up in shock and try to walk back but are stopped by a wall that appeared behind you. The audience is gone, it’s just you two now.

“I know your power. I created you, raised you.”

“YOU TORTURED ME FOR YEARS! How is that raising me?!”

“I gave you power, showed you your true potential.”

“You took everything from me! You Bastard!”

“I didn’t take anything from you that you needed. Family just holds you back.”

“But I love Enji, I love the children.”

“And they fear you. They don’t love you; they only want to think they love you so you don’t kill them. He knows how many you killed, how many lives you took. Just imagine if his children find out who you really are.”

“SHUT UP! Just shut up!!!” You begin to go on your knees, clenching your head to drown out his voice.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Enji starts shaking you to try to wake you from your nightmare. Not even his quirk is able to appease the dark visions. You are startled awake and see Enji’s face, inches from yours with concern all over it. He sees your eyes are glowing red and you try to speak but you cover your mouth and bolt to the bathroom. You open the toilet and start violently vomiting a glowing red liquid. “Damn it.” is all you say while getting sick.

“(Y/N), which one was it this time?” Enji says coming to the room with a bottle of water and a sympathetic look on his face.

“The interview….” you say between gags, gasping for breath. You manage to take a few sips of water from the bottle and you slump down against the tub, staring at the floor.

“Are you ok?”

“I think so…”

“I don’t think you are. This is the fourth time this month. Did your therapist say anything about this?” Coming to your side, he gently lifts you to your feet.

“He didn’t say much.”

“What do you think?”

“Zaheer says it might be a sign of trouble…. maybe something my mind is trying to warn me about.” You say as Enji lowers you to sit on the bed.

“Do you think he is out there looking for you.”

“I really hope he isn’t. I don’t know if I can handle losing you.”

“I’m never going to let anyone take you. Neither is Zaheer. Can we try to go back to bed? I don’t like seeing you like this and I don’t want you to be too tired going to UA in the morning.”

“Ok, just please do one thing for me.”

“Hmmm?” Enji wonders tilting his head.

You hug him tight and start to tear up a bit. He doesn’t have to think hard to realize what you are asking. He wraps his large arms around you and starts to heat up and whispers “Prominence Burn.” You sink into his embrace and calm down enough to fall asleep in arms. He just sighs and places you in bed and goes to bed himself.

In the morning, you are walking to AU. You are 36 and Enji will be turning 45 this year. It’s April now, a year before Shoto should be attending the school. Enji really is pushing the school to accept him but that’s not why you are going there today. Nezu asked to talk to both of you, but he didn’t say why. Enji says that’s just how he is normally but it still worries you what he is going to do.

As you enter the school grounds, students begin to stare with varying emotions on their faces. You don’t know which of you is causing it: the number 2 hero, the giant red demon, or you. Either way, it’s funny seeing the crowds of students in the hallways parting to let you move past. You see Midnight and she can’t help herself and hug you. She is the reason Enji was able to finally show his feelings for you, so you’re always happy to appease any of her actions. It takes a few minutes to get to the private office of Nezu, where you find him drinking tea patiently waiting for you.

(Y/N): “Sorry to keep you waiting, Enji thought he remembered where your office was.

E: “It was over 20 years ago, I thought I remembered. I do apologize for tardiness.”

N: “Don’t worry about it. I was just sitting here enjoying some tea. Would you like a cup?”

(Y/N): “As nice as that sounds, I just want to get straight to the point of why you called us here. I know it is not about Shoto, he can’t attend till next year.”

N: “Always so forward with you.”

Z: “He learned that from me.”

N: “Well then, I’ll just right to it. I have a proposal for you Hellboy. I wanted you to become a tutor.”

E: “I don’t mean to be rude to (Y/N) but he has no experience in this.”

N: “Let me explain. He has the ability to control people and their quirks.”

Z: “What does that have to do with tutoring?”

N: “Some of our students have a hard time reaching their true potential. Sometimes its mental, sometimes physical. When I saw you control Shoto at the festival and break him free of the demon’s control, I had an idea. What if you used that power to help students control their quirks?”

(Y/N): “I never thought of that. Honestly, I just did it in the moment, I didn’t even know I could control someone so completely. I thought it was only because of the spiritual energetic of the day. I can still do it but I need to make physical contact to gain that much control.”

E: “I don’t know about this. (Y/N) loses control sometimes and I have to be there to stop it.”

Z: “I can stop it too, but we need Enji’s quirk to stop him if things get too intense. Not even Eraser Head can’t stop him.”

N: “I have prepared all of the necessary steps to make this happen. I even have a room that can replicated the heat from Endeavor’s quirk to calm you down if needed.”

(Y/N): “I don’t know.”

N: “Why don’t we try a test run today. Try with one of the teachers. You have a connection with Midnight already, why not try with her.”

E: “I would feel more comfortable about that.”

(Y/N): “I’ll try, but if I don’t like this, I’m not doing it, got it?”

N: “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

After Nezu finishes the rest of his tea, you all head to a training room. Midnight meets you there and you both sit in the center of the room while the others stand against the wall. After a few moments, you both close your eyes and hold hands. After what feels like forever for Enji, Midnight’s eyes open. Her one eye is replaced with one of your black and red ones.

(Y/N): “I’m good.” You say from inside of Midnight

E: “Ok, that makes me uncomfortable.”

N: “Excellent. Try using her quirk. You can try it on Zaheer”

Z: “I didn’t agree to this.”

N: “We need a test subject and you’re the best one right now. Normally her quirk never works on you so maybe (Y/N) can make it work.”

(Y/N): “I don’t want to hurt her but I will try. Enji be ready if something goes wrong”

E: “Right” he says as his hands catch fire.

That moment you begin to pull at. Midnight’s suit to reveal some of her skin. A pink cloud starts to form from her skin and starts to pool around Zaheer’s face. He doesn’t look phased as he sneezes. That’s when you try to use her quirk more and start to push it. Blood starts to come from her nose as your concentration reaches its limit. The cloud starts to become more intense when Zaheer starts to look different. He starts to wobble a bit then suddenly hits the ground. You relinquish your hold on Midnight and return fully to your body. You rush to Zaheer who starts to come to as you put a hand to his face.

(Y/N): “Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to make you hit the floor that hard.”

Z: “It’s alright. I know you were doing it for a reason and it did work.”

M: “Gosh, the energy flowing through me felt great, made me feel all warm and tingly!”

(Y/N): “I’m sorry I pushed your body that far.”

M: “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’m glad it worked.”

E: “Do you think this is a good idea to push students that hard. It might be too much.”

N: “With some tweaking we should be able to make it less of a burden on students’ bodies.”

(Y/N): “Can you at least give me a few days to think about it.”

N: “Just let me know your answer by the end of the week.”

E: “Thank you. We will be going now. You must be busy running the school.”

N: “You’re right about that, I have another meeting in a few minutes. Thank you for coming.”

All three of you leave and walk down the street together. Your patrol doesn’t technically start for another hour but you might as well get started now.

“What was it like inside of Midnight.” Enji asked with concern in his voice.

“It was strange, not crazy but strange. Not because it was her but being inside of another body, or at least control it. I can see and feel everything she does. I can read some of her thoughts but only what’s happening at the moment. It kind of feels like I’m dreaming.”

Z: “It sounds like the first time I was with you. But the more I fused with you, the more natural it felt and I could access your memories.”

E: “I don’t know if I like that. Does that mean the more you control someone, the more you possess them?”

(Y/N): “When you say it like that, I really don’t want to do this. I just like what I am doing now. The problem is that I think it is a good idea to help people. I don’t think doing one or two times with student is a bad thing but if I did it multiple times, I can see problems happening.”

E: “Let’s just think about it for the rest of the week, ok? I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable or puts others at risk.”

(Y/N): “Ok, now that that settled, can we go get something to eat. I can here Zaheer’s stomach from over here.”

Z: “Sorry, breakfast just wasn’t enough today.”

E: “You two are going to break the bank with how much you eat.”

You all laugh as you go save the day again. Nothing much happens the rest of the day but it feels good to help people. You still keep that offer in the back of your head as the day goes on, questioning if it is something that you should do.

Next Chapter

#A Hellish Encounter #endeavor x male reader #enji todoroki #endeavor #endeavor fluff #endeavor stan #endeavor mha #enji x y/n #enji x reader #mha enji #my hero academia enji

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Fred x Reader - Break

Omg can I request baking with Fred Weasley? Sneaking into the kitchens at hogwarts on a night time with him and just baking. Fred being annoying (but cute) and eating the food before it’s ready. Having mini food fights. The whole shebang. Ps I love you and your stuff, it’s kept me going through my dark moments and I would like to say thank you. You helped me without even knowing or meaning to and you’re my angel x

A/N: I just want to say you are so amazing and strong and you pushed through your dark times with your own strength and I am proud of you but I am so happy that I have been able to make those moments easier on you or that I was able to help in some way, keep going strong sweet pea! xoxo Message me if you ever need anything!

With the news of Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban, everyone was on edge. Yet it didn’t seem as severe as the heavy feeling that the dementors brought as they patrolled the school grounds, their tattered cloaks hiding their gruesome appearance but not helping to remove the depressing air they spread with them.

You had been especially withdrawn lately. Your surroundings affected your mood more than you wanted to admit but Fred was tuned into your emotions, even the slightest change and he knew. You hadn’t ever been in a relationship before where your significant other could notice such small differences in your demeanor. It was a challenge at first, you’d been unwilling to lean on Fred, worrying that he would grow tired of you.

Fred was stubborn though and had stuck by you, getting you to trust him to a point where you could confide in him without worrying that he would be bothered. Once you had reached that point you realized it took a weight off of your shoulders, sharing your burdens and stresses with Fred. He did the same and you both held each other up with no complaint.

Today was a particularly hard day and Fred could tell by the way you sighed every so often, scribbling in your notebook just to break up the monotony of the day and the waves of your ever changing emotions.

“Hello my sweet girl,�� Fred said gently, kissing your cheek as you lifted your legs from their spot on the couch as he automatically slid underneath, hands hooking beneath your thighs as he tugged you closer. Tossing your notes to the side you wrapped your arms around his neck as you made yourself comfortable against him, face nuzzled against the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Hello my silly boy,” You said back, a small smile appearing if only for a moment.

“You doing alright?” He asked, hand skating up and down your back in an easy rhythm that had your eyes feeling heavy as you let the pressure and stress of the day melt.

“‘Course, Freddie,” You mumbled, your breath warm on his neck as you spoke. “I’ve just been so drained. I don’t have a reason to be upset really I”m just not feeling my best. Everything is so tense nowadays, I can’t go to class without students whispering about Black’s escape and how he is going to gut some kid or go after Harry. It’s hard to focus when there seems to be so much chaos everywhere. And quite honestly, I hate those dementors, they’re creepy,”

Fred gave an exaggerated shiver. “I have to agree with you there love, they aren’t going to be winning any pageants or awards for hospitality and warmth any time soon.” You let out a giggle and Fred was proud of himself. “But hey, you’re safe here, we all are. You know Dumbledore won’t let anything happen to us.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, nodding your agreement. You trusted Dumbledore and the staff, your teachers were able and your headmaster was legendary. You couldn’t help but feel like darker times were ahead however and it had put you in a funk you couldn’t kick even if Fred’s words gave you comfort.

Some time later, after falling in and out of a nap, Fred shook you, standing as he lifted you with him. Suddenly being in the air startled you and you squealed, clinging to your boyfriend. “Come on, I have an idea,”

You groaned, “I don’t want detention again,” You whined as Fred carried you out of the common room. “But it doesn’t seem i have a choice,” You figured as Fred kept an arm steady underneath your knees, the other around your midsection as you kept your arms around his neck.

“Have you no faith in me?” Fred teased, pinching your thigh lightheartedly.

You laughed and rolled your eyes as he continued to walk. To say you were surprised when he let you go after arriving in the kitchens was accurate. You didn’t think there had been a single occasion in all your time together where he had whisked you away to the kitchens. You were surprised because it was empty at this time of night. Fred didn’t like empty, it meant there was no audience.

You gave him a quizzical look and he grinned, giving you a chaste kiss as he began to rummage through the cabinets and drawers. “We,” He declared as he lifted a canister of flour hi into the air, “Are going to make cupcakes,”

You couldn’t help but feel appreciation for Fred right then. Cupcakes were your favorite, and baking was a nice release for you. You hadn’t expected him to know you needed something like this.

However, you weren’t sure what you expected of your jokester of a significant other. “If you keep up with that we won’t have enough batter to bake more than one cupcake!” You scolded as he tossed a scoop of the chocolate batter in to the air, trying to see if he could catch the sweet mass before it made a mess. Needless to say, he had only succeeded in making himself a mess.

You paused from where you were filling a tin with cupcake wrappers to grab your boyfriend by his tie, holding him in place. “Scourgify,” You muttered, tapping your wand playfully against his nose as the batter disappeared from his sticky fingers and mouth.

“You’re the sweetest thing in this room,” He smiled as he grabbed your hips before you could return to baking. You rolled your eyes but accepted his kiss eagerly.

“That would be you,” You decided after tasting him. If it was anything to go by, these cupcakes were going to be scrumptious. Fred winked but settled down a bit. You wished it would have lasted.

You had successfully baked the cupcakes and set them out to cool without any more shenanigans but the waiting bored your boyfriend. You were content to sit and wait but he was full of an energy that had never seemed to leave him, no matter the situation. Knowing he could hold his faith even in difficult times helped you as well.

Fred asked to do the frosting so he could do something with his hands and you had thought that it wouldn’t end up disastrously. You had been wrong. Fred had made the frosting and it had been perfect, because of this he couldn’t stop sneaking spoonfuls. Sweets were his weakness. You lightly scolded him again and in retaliation he had told you to lighten up, swiping a glob of frosting across your cheek and down your jaw.

You gaped at him and he laughed, eyes wide with excitement as you jumped up from your seat, hand dipping into the frosting as you chased him around as he laughed. You couldn’t keep up. Fred paused and you ran straight for him but at the last moment he dodged, arms wrapping around you and pulling your back against his chest, making sure your hands were pressed hard against your side so you couldn’t get him back. “Weren’t you just trying to clean me up?” He teased.

“There is no hope of that Weasley,” You giggled. You wondered how Molly had kept up with him as a child. She was an amazing mother but it was a miracle she hadn’t tired out so easily. Fred was definitely the kind of boy to track mud into the house at least once a day or cause some catastrophic mess.

“How rude of you Y/L/N,” He pouted back pulled you even closer against him, a flash of hair appearing in your peripheral and then you squealed as he licked the frosting from your cheek.

“You are so disgusting!” You squirmed as he cackled, chest shaking with each wave of amusement that kept him laughing.

“You were being mean!” He defended but forgot to keep his guard as you turned in his arm, schooling your expression as you brought your hand up, smearing the frosting on Fred’s face as it colored his forehead down to his chin. He went cross eyed, frowning at the frosting that was now apparent between his eyes.

You weren’t sure how long you two danced around the kitchen, trying to get your revenge against one another as you laughed, pulling each other close to tease before running from one another to gather more frosting. You didnt stop until you stuck your hand in the bowl and it came back nearly clean. You had used up all of your frosting.

Fred watched as you burst into laughter, your hair stuck in wild directions as some of the frosting had dried. He was sure he looked just as crazy. “We used it all up!” You laughed, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. It wasn’t so funny but you needed this, you needed to forget about everything for a while and now the stress was melting, being let out by your hysteric giggles.

Fred joined in on the laughter as he wet a hand towel at the sink, dragging it through your crunchy strands of hair as you settled your hands on his narrow hips to steady yourself. “I don’t think my hair is the issue here Fred,” You mentioned as you let out another final laugh, gesturing to the frosting smeared all over your face.

“I was just saving that for later,” He said, lips as pink as his cheeks brushing against yours, tongue darting out to collect the remnants of your confection there. You smiled fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed his lips over yours before making a path to your cheek. Fred made an exaggerated smacking noise as he placed his lips against your cheek but your laughter died in your throat when he continued his path down to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there.

“I’m starting to think this was your plan all along,” You tried not to sound breathless but it seemed you were doing a very bad job as your boyfriend smirked against your pulse that had spiked.

“Caught me red handed, detective,” He mumbled.

After Fred was satisfied he grabbed your hips and set you up on the counter in one easy motion. “It was nice, seeing you smile so much,” He admitted as he washed your fingers and face with a hand towel. The both of you could easily clean up but you didnt want your carefree time to end quite yet and you had a suspicion Fred felt the same.

“I can’t help myself when I’m with you,” You said, kissing his nose as he beamed back at you. “Thank you for this, I needed it, a break from everything I mean. You are the most amazing boyfriend a girl could ever hope to have,”

“I know,” Fred teased but his gaze was tender as he took your words to heart. “I’m my best when I’m with you,”

You hopped down from the counter and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “We’re the best together,” You mumbled, a shyness to your words Fred found too cute for his own good. You might just be the death of him.

“I love you,” Fred declared as he gave you a quick squeeze. “But I don’t love cupcakes without frosting, lets try once more? I promise I wont ruin it this time,” He grinned, sticking out his pinkie finger in an oath to not touch the frosting until it was on a cupcake, on it’s way to his mouth.

“You’re lucky that frosting is what makes a cupcake good otherwise I’d just go to bed right now,” You said but there was no real threat. You’d stay up all night long if it meant you got to relax with Fred. You’d needed this and you needed Fred. You had meant what you said, you were the best with him. Only he could bring you away from the edge of a mental breakdown.

That night you were completely content as you and Fred switched into pajamas, meeting back in your common room to snack on the cupcakes you had worked far too hard on.

“Thanks Freddie,” You said once more kissing him as he pulled you against him. You were too tired to get up and go to your dorm but you knew Fred would take care of you.

“Any time my sweet girl,” Fred smiled as you drifted off in his arms, relaxed for the first time in too long.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred x reader #ask #fluff #request #anon #anon ask #I ALMOST DIDN'T SAVE THIS #ASK ME IF I ALMOST SCREAMED

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gustafsnightangel · 3 years

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 31 Pt 2

The room erupted and Sildie was stunned, it was never supposed to be her. She looked at Gustaf and then Oliver.

“Sildie.” Gustaf’s quiet call of her name snapping her out of her shock. Everyone was on their feet as he stood and held out a hand to help her stand. “Breathe love, let the lawyer shine though.” He said quickly as he hugged her.

“Shit.” She breathed. “Fucking shit.” She muttered looking at him. Gustaf grinned as he heard the irritation in her voice. That tone of ’for fuck sake really?’ He watched his courtroom lawyer get a grip and knew she’d be fine until she sat down again.

She slammed the tears down, now was not the time to lose her shit. She took her award from Oliver, the weight of it in her hands oddly comforting.

“It’s not often you catch me without a legal pad full of notes for closing arguments but it seems Oliver has the upper hand tonight.” She smiled and the entire room laughed and took their seats. “And although I’m not one for skewing holes in defense counsel cases, I do tend to like roasting them over an open fire.”

Opposing counsel included Gustaf thought with a grin and glanced at Lucas remembering the day she wiped the floor with him.

She was going to have to dig deep and wing it. She focused on Gustaf, the calm in her storm. He subtly pointed at his heart and mouthed two words that made it easier. ’From here’, from her heart.

“I never considered myself a recipient when the Bar Association approached me to help create it. In all honesty, had Oliver told me I’d be receiving it I probably wouldn’t have turned up tonight.” She chuckled, the light chuckle from those in the audience that knew her made her smile. “My brother was a bright light. Full of life and love, an untapped soul of compassion that ran deep. Oliver had it right, he was ruthless in the courtroom as most of us can attest, but the one thing he would never waiver on was his humanity. We are all human he would say, and we all deserve respect and compassion, no matter our lot in life, no matter our station, no matter our past doings. Always innocent before proven guilty.” She looked at Gustaf to ground herself and took a breath. “Dana was my brothers better half.” She said sarcastically. “Literally.” She chuckled and the laughter rippled. “Dana was an old soul, her kindness unfathomable, her compassion for families, especially children, incredibly strong. Her mission in life was to mend as many families as possible, to help them reconcile or resolve their differences with as little disruption to the children’s lives as she could accomplish.” She looked at Gustaf his gaze hadn’t left hers, his love giving her the strength she needed. “The loss of two beautiful souls has left its mark on us all. The void they left behind can never be filled. I miss them.” She said simply. “I miss their laughter, their strength, their compassion, their counsel. But most of all I miss what they gave to the world, what they gave to their children, honesty, commitment, respect, love.” She choked on the last word and the room was silent. She had almost lost it.

“I’m honored to have been chosen to receive this prestigious award. I only hope I can continue to be worthy of it, to strive to be a better attorney, a better person. Thank you.”

As the room erupted in applause again she stepped away and sat back down as Oliver continued with the program.

“Breathe love.” He murmured. “Breathe and relax, it’s done.” He rested his arm along the back of the chair again and held her other hand in his lap, his thumb caressing the inside of her wrist, her hands were shaking violently.

She was a wreck on the inside, that hot prickle under her skin trying to gain the upper hand, on the outside the lawyer reigned supreme. Gustaf kissed her temple and stayed close, grounding her, making sure she knew she was safe, that she was loved. Oliver finished up and the band started, classic jazz and Christmas carols.

“Your boss has great taste in music.” He chuckled. “Come dance with me love.” He said gently. He didn’t want to push or rush her, but he wanted to get her alone, hold her close, and have her anxiety drop to a more manageable level.

“Sure.” She breathed, that tell tale wheeze starting to make its way out as she forced in oxygen. He helped her stand.

“Sildie?” Gustaf and Sildie turned to Lucas, hand in hand with his date.

“Not now.” Gustaf said flatly. He turned his back on them, using himself as a shield, and led her to the dance floor, pulling her in close. “I’m sorry, that was rude, but you need a moment to collect yourself.” He said gruffly.

“Thank you.” She sighed, and rested her head against his and closed her eyes. “I can’t deal with him yet, with anyone.” She’d never been more grateful to have him close to her, than right at this moment.

“That’s it love, relax. I’ve got you.” He murmured and danced her around the room, the movement and closeness leveling out her breathing. Occupying her mind with steps so she didn’t crush Gustaf’s toes helped. After the third song he felt her body yield, felt the calm settle over her again.

“I’m proud of you.” He said gently. “So very proud of you.” He kissed her temple, the slower song allowing them to dance cheek to cheek.

“I never wanted that damn award.” She chuckled. “It seemed a little silly for them to give it to me seeing as though I helped create it.”

“I don’t mean about that, though it’s very fitting and well deserved.” He said honestly. “I’m proud of you for coming here tonight, for saying what you needed to say to honor your brother. For being so damn strong. You’re incredible Sildie, don’t let anyone tell you different.” He kissed her, that slow loving kiss that blanked her mind. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She kissed him. “And thanks. I don’t think I would have made it through without you.”

“Together love, you and me. I think we make a pretty good team.” His smile was the one that made those crows feet at his eyes crinkle. She brushed her thumb over it.

“I’m so in love with you.” She kissed him, slow and sinful not giving a flying fuck who saw them. He loved her, why should she hide it? They were going to stare at them anyway.

“When would be a respectable time to leave so I can peel you out of this stunning dress and do wicked things to you?” He growled as he spun them, wondering if they could get back to the table to collect their things and disappear before Lucas caught up with her.

“A few more songs, I like this.” She said softly. “Being in your arms.” Her smile widening into a laugh as he dipped her.

“Fuck me you’re beautiful.” He murmured at her ear as he danced with her. “We can stay for however long you want, it’s all you love.” He wouldn’t let his ex get in the way of her happiness and right now this was making her happy, he’d deal with the other shit later.

His mind chewed over it as he danced. Hadn’t he spent enough time letting that bitch worm her way under his skin? Hadn’t he just spent months purging her from his life, his soul, his apartment? If you have then why the fuck are you letting her get under your skin now, that annoying voice in his head quipped. Don’t give her what she wants, that voice shouted, don’t let her see how much it hurts you, it’s what she wants, she wants a reaction. You promised Sildie to fight for her, for your relationship with her, well pony up. Don’t let Ana get between what you have with Sildie, again. He had to admit, that nagging little voice in his head had a point.

True to his word at the beginning of the evening, he danced for most of the night with her, keeping the rest of the room at bay. The music had slowed, her feet were starting to hurt but she was happy and relieved it was done. As the last song of the night started he kissed her, seductive, longing. As it ended he dipped her low and planted a kiss at the base of her throat, that peal of laughter making him smile.

Once upright they walked to the table and said their goodbyes. It looked as though Lucas had long since gone. Good, Gustaf thought, as he took a relieved breath. She didn’t need his crap tonight.

“Hang here I’ll get our coats.” He said softly and kissed her neck as she continued to talk with Elsa and Oliver. Her gentle squeeze of his hand telling him she was ok.

“Sildie, finally.” Lucas said with a smile as he brought his date over, he looked happy, happier than she’d seen him in ages. “I thought you’d never stop dancing.” He grinned.

“Hello Lucas.” Her tone cordial. She would not embarrass herself or the firm by making a scene. She would keep it all business. “It was good music.” She shrugged with a smile, trying to keep it light.

“I wanted to introduce you.” He said pointing at the blond by his side.

Then it clicked as she studied the woman up close, it was the smug smirk, the same one in the photo, the photo he burned along with the notebook. Oh fucking fuck, she thought, here we go, shit was about to get real.

“This is...”

“Ana.” She said keeping her voice even, plastering a polite knowing smile across her face. She would not play into their sick game, whatever the hell it was, and she would not jump to conclusions. There was something not quite right here, she could smell it.

“You two know each other?” Lucas looked at Ana, then Sildie, and she saw the genuine confusion on his face.

Ana hadn’t told him, interesting, she thought. What else hadn’t she told him, what else had she twisted around to paint Gustaf in an ugly light?

“Mutual friend.” Sildie said locking eyes with the woman that had caused her sweet man so much grief, so much pain. “Never had the pleasure of actually meeting in person.” Her tight smile fixed on her face as she saw the panic in Ana’s, the woman had visibly paled.

Yes, Sildie thought, you’re terrified I’m going to link you and Gustaf and your entire little facade with Lucas is going to crumble right before your eyes.

“Oh.” Lucas said a little surprised. “Mutual friend of mine or yours?” Lucas smiled, still clueless.

Sildie weighed her options and kept her eyes fixed on Ana. She saw the silent plea in the woman’s eyes for her not to voice that connection. No, Sildie thought, no you don’t get to play Lucas like this. He maybe an asshole sometimes but deep down he’s a good guy and doesn’t deserve the same fate as Gustaf at your hands.

“My mutual friend actually, Gustaf.” She said gently and looked at Lucas. The poor guy looked as if he’d been slapped in the face with a speeding freight train. He looked to Ana with bewilderment, those eyes searching for an explanation, and Sildie prepared herself for the cluster fuck that was about to unfold. The guy had to know what he was getting into with Ana. Oh the irony, she thought bitterly.

“They were together for a few years and split last year I believe.” She said simply. She didn’t want to drag out Gustaf’s dirty laundry and shove it in Lucas’s face but she’d give him the cliff notes if pushed.

“Oh, you exaggerate, it was nothing more than a quick fling.” Ana passed off nonchalantly, that saccharine sweet tone grating on Sildie’s every nerve, her glare death incarnate.

“No.” Sildie said calmly, she knew the game Ana was playing and wouldn’t partake. “No exaggeration. You dated him for three years.” The facts, facts and truth always triumphed over lies and deceit.

“You’re mistaken.” Ana growled between clenched teeth.

“No, I’m not mistaken about anything, Ana. I’m well aware of who and what you are.” She said calmly, poor Lucas was hanging on every word out of Sildie’s mouth. They’d known each other for a long time, almost 25 years. Lucas knew she didn’t bullshit or exaggerate anything, in or out of the courtroom. “The lies, the deceit, the pain you caused his sister, his brother, the phantom miscarriage, your own drug use, and the attempt at destroying his sobriety and his career.” She continued as she saw the realization hit home for Lucas, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “Yes, I know exactly who and what you are, Ana.” She said evenly and then looked at Lucas. “Is she the reason you think he’s no good for me?” She asked gently, the guy looked ready to crumble. Or is it because you’re jealous and still in love with me, she thought?

“He’ll cheat on you. Keep things from you.”Ana said coldly and all Sildie could do was smile as she started to play the victim of an unhappy relationship, each word from her lips embellished to suit the situation and her own twisted version of the truth. “He’s screws around when he’s on set. He’ll be done with you at some point and move on to the next just like he did with me. He’s a drunk and an addict.”

“He’s a former addict, and his sobriety is still intact, regardless of your attempts to alter the fact.” Sildie snapped, her courtroom lawyer mode well and truly engaged, she would defend her man. Gustaf had given her no reason to doubt his sobriety or his former drug use, he’d been open and honest with her about it right from the beginning.

“You haven’t answered my question Lucas.” She stated, her tone equally abrupt, her eyes still on Ana.

“He’s not good for you.” Lucas choked, his world was falling down around his ears.

“That’s still not answering the question. Is she the reason?” She asked pointing at Ana. He looked at her blankly, not sure who to believe or what to say.

“So you’ll take her word over the truth? That’s not like you Lucas.” She shook her head, she couldn’t believe it. Was he going to throw away everything he believed in over this vindictive, conniving bitch? It wasn’t easy to fool Lucas, there was a reason her brother got along so well with him, both were ruthless in the courtroom, facts and truth, always. “You know when you’re being fed bullshit. Open your eyes Lucas she’s playing you, just like she played Gustaf.”

Gustaf came back to find her in a heated conversation with Lucas, Ana at his side, that smug smirk on her face. He calmed the sudden urge to walk up and wipe that smirk off her face with his fist. “That won’t solve anything.” He muttered under his breath. “Although it would feel really good for the few seconds, right before you landed your ass in jail.” He sighed to himself.

Sildie’s body language alone told him she was well beyond pissed. “Just fucking perfect.” He muttered and his long strides ate up the floor as he surged toward her.

She saw him approach and knew she had maybe five seconds to step between both men before Gustaf lost his shit, she knew that look, lethal fury. She shook her head subtly, he had no clue what was going on or what he was walking into the middle of, and she would protect him at all costs.

He saw her shake her head and slowed, he’d promised to let her handle Lucas. That of course had changed once Ana became involved, but he gave her the floor. As he got closer he could hear their conversation, content to stay far enough behind Lucas to hear what was going on and close enough to kick his ass if necessary. He wasn’t blind drunk but he was under the influence.

“He’s not right for you.” He snapped again. “Or for the kids. Your brother...”

“For the record, in case you didn’t hear me the first time we discussed this, my relationship with Gustaf is none of your god damn business, that stipulation hasn’t changed. And you are not my brother so stop trying to assume the role.” Her tone flat. She locked eyes with him. “And pay attention because this is the absolute last time I tell you. Don’t you fucking dare bring the kids into this.” She snarled. “They are not, nor will they ever be your concern.”

Lucas blanched at her tone, he’d stepped over a line and he knew it. Even Gustaf took a small step toward them hearing that tone, wondering if he was going to have to restrain Sildie. Never bring the kids into it idiot, that was just asking for it. You may as well declare open fucking season on your ass.

“Let me make it perfectly clear to you. I don’t love you Lucas, I never have. That’s not ever going to change despite what you tell me regarding Gustaf and you need to find peace with it.” She was ready to unleash if he kept pushing her. “You need to move on.”

“It is my business when he’s deceiving you.” He seethed and she could see the pain in his eyes, she’d seen it mirrored in Gustaf’s.

“He’s deceiving me? I think you need to look a little closer to home.” She said glaring at Ana. Gustaf frowned, what the fuck did she mean by that?

“He’s an addict Sildie.” Lucas spat.

“Form...”

“I’m a former addict.” Gustaf said flatly cutting her off as he stepped to Sildie’s side. Taking her hand in his, he placed himself solidly between her and Lucas. Enough he thought, she’s taken enough shit from this guy. “And my sobriety is none of your damn business.” He added, his tone dangerous.

“Hello lover.” Ana smirked.

Gustaf, to his credit just glared at her, didn’t even utter her name. He wanted to, he wanted to rage at her for being anywhere near Sildie, but held his tongue. She wasn’t worth the effort, she wasn’t worth Sildie, because that’s the price he’d pay if he retaliated.

“Lov...” Lucas choked, looking at Ana eyes disbelieving. Her quip had been to her own detriment, confirmation that sent the poor guy into a tailspin. Sildie watched something inside Lucas snap.

“You asshole.” Lucas looked from Gustaf to Ana. “He’s the one that...” Ana played him like a fiddle and nodded, her face that of the wounded girlfriend. He looked back to Gustaf.

“So you finished fucking her up and moved on to the next one. I won’t stand by and watch you do the same to Sildie? No fucking way.” Lucas spat, suddenly turning on Gustaf drilling a finger into his chest as if this was somehow all his fault.

“Lucas!” Sildie snapped harshly, her tone telling him to get a grip as he looked at her. Ice cold fury nothing short of murderous looked back, she was beyond livid. Ana was playing him and there was nothing she could do to make him see sense.

Gustaf looked down at the finger still pressed against his chest. “You’re going to want to remove that finger before I do, permanently.” His tone was dangerously calm. Gustaf had a few inches on the guy and pounded a bag regularly, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of kicking his ass into next week. Lucas was one step away of finding out Gustaf’s absolute threshold for bullshit and invasion of his personal space. Gustaf knew the guys head was conflicted, scrambled by whatever this conversation had dragged to the surface kicking and screaming, he was also half full of alcohol, which was why he kept as calm as he did.

“You don’t deserve her, she deserves better. Not some fucking junkie who goes screwing everything in his path.” He snarled again and pushed that finger in a little harder before removing it. It wasn’t the worst Gustaf had been accused of. Sildie knew what he was before they met and Gustaf knew what he’d lose if he ever relapsed. She also knew the truth. Gustaf saw the heart wrenching pain in his eyes, the guy had just had his world turned upside down and shaken violently, he knew that feeling well.

“What Sildie deserves Lucas, is to be respected enough to make her own decisions, her own choices.” He said calmly, cutting Sildie off before she could unleash. He held out her coat so she could slip her arms in. He needed to get them out of here before he did something he’d regret and Sildie decided to redecorate the floor in crimson.

“An observation? A word of advice? You can do better.” He said nodding his chin toward Ana, the bitch just smiled that smug smile as if this was exactly what she’d planned. “You’re a good man Lucas, she doesn’t deserve you.” His tone had Lucas snapping his eyes to his and Gustaf let him see it, the grief that bitch had caused him, he let Lucas see it all.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have children to get home to and a babysitter to relieve.” He didn’t give Lucas or Ana an opportunity to respond, Sildie snatched her bag up and left.

There was more to this conversation he hadn’t heard and wouldn’t give Ana the satisfaction of being part of her game any longer than he already had been. They’d been pawns in her sick little charade with Lucas and he felt for the guy. He kept his body between Lucas and Sildie and steered her toward the door.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly as he turned the key in the ignition. “I know you said you’d handle it, but my sobriety is no ones business but ours and I do not expect you to have to fight or stand up for me, ever.” He spat, he was furious. Not at Sildie but at the entire fucking situation. “Especially when Ana is pulling the fucking strings.”

“I’m sorry that you had to.” She said quietly. “I’m sorry she was there, I didn’t know.” She took a calming breath as he pulled away from the hotel lobby, she was almost in tears. It wasn’t the confrontation, or the fact Ana had been there, it was what it would do to Gustaf, what it was already doing to him. She knew this could spiral him and he’d come too far to let it claim him again so soon.

“Hey.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles as he drove them home. “I had a great night, I’m not going to let that confrontation ruin it. You know my history, the shit with Ana, you know of my sobriety, staying clean, that’s all that matters to me love.” He was not going to let Ana in, she was just a name and he was past all that, he had to be.

“But you shouldn’t have to defend your sobriety to anyone either.” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or seethe. “It’s none of their damn business.” She picked at her dress suddenly wishing she’d never gone tonight.

“No it’s not, but I’ll defend it, especially when it’s being thrown in your face or used as a manipulative tool. We know the truth, that’s all that matters to me love.” He kissed her fingers and held them there. He’d keep reassuring her, himself. He wouldn’t let this get to the point it did last time.

“Did you know it was her when Lucas sat down?” She asked and then snorted a chuckle at how absurd her question sounded. “Of course you knew you’re not fucking blind.” She muttered. She felt stupid she had been so caught up in her own head she hadn’t picked up on his emotional swing.

“I knew.” He said quietly, kissing her fingers as he pulled up at a stop light.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Her tone injured.

“Sildie, you had enough going on tonight and you needed me to help get you through, you were my focus, and to be honest she’s just a name.” He kissed her fingers again as the light turned green. “Sure I was shocked to begin with. But then saw it for what it was, nothing but manipulation and vindictiveness. I don’t know what his motives were. To maybe get me to take a swing, shove some proof in your face to show you that I’m the asshole he was trying to make me out to be. I don’t know. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, I just knew it would have sent you spiraling and you didn’t need a panic attack on top of everything else tonight. I didn’t want to turn it into a big deal.”

“He didn’t know.” She said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t know about the connection until I told him.” She sighed. Squeezing his hand she gave him the recount of the conversation before he’d been close enough to overhear it.

“Well shit.” He blew out a breath. “Now I feel like the asshole.” His huff making her smile. “I thought he already knew until I saw his reaction, I wondered how authentic it was.”

“Authentic as it gets, and I’m sorry I had to drag it all up and tell him, but he needed to know what she is. Lucas is a good guy, he doesn’t deserve to be fucked over by her.” She felt like she’d betrayed him, his pain, his grief, airing his dirty laundry for all to see. “It wasn’t my story to tell and I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok love, I’m glad you told him. Asshole or not he doesn’t deserve what she’ll do to him.” He murmured as he pulled into the garage. “Already has done to him.”

“My only fucking regret is I wasn’t there to see her face when you slapped her with the hard truth. It gives me such a petty satisfaction that it sort of blew up in her face.”

He pulled up next to the minivan and turned the key, the car falling silent.

“Look at me.” He said gently, his fingers stroking her jaw asking, pleading. “I let her get between us once.” He started when her gaze locked with his. “I’m not letting it happen a second time.” He leaned across the center console and kissed her sweetly. “Did it piss me off? Sure it did, but there’s no point in me getting worked up over it and dragging it back into our life, back between what we have together.” He kissed her, lingering to nip her bottom lip. “I’m so in love with you.” He murmured, kissing her deeply.

“I love you too.”

He helped her out of the car, pressing her against it gently.

“Let it be done. Put it in the blip column for the evening.” He shrugged. She breathed out and looked at him.

“You’re really ok?” She asked gently, her finger trailing his scruff.

“I’m just fine love. I was more concerned for you.” He kissed her tenderly. “Still am. I never wanted her or any part of her to touch you.” He wasn’t just talking physically.

“She gets off on it, the pure satisfaction of playing with people’s emotions, their lives.” She said disgustedly, it made her feel ill.

“And she was high.” Gustaf murmured softly, kissing her brow.

“I wondered, but couldn’t be sure.” She watched him carefully, she was devastated Ana had been shoved in his face.

“Does or has Lucas used? Apart from alcohol?” He asked carefully.

“Not that I know of. And it’s none of my business.” She shook her head. She couldn’t go poking into his life when she’d unequivocally told him to butt out of her own.

“No, not our business, but just be careful when you’re around him.” He kissed her temple and lingered. “Especially if he continues to be with Ana. She’s a junkie Sildie, she’s into the heavy shit, or at least she was. She’ll try to bring him down with her to her level.” She nodded and his kiss was tender. “Just be careful.”

“Always love.”

“Now.” He breathed out. “Can we get back to the wonderful evening we were having? Where we’re were dancing and kissing? I remember lots of kissing.” He murmured and kissed her temple, lingering to breathe her in. “Let it be done.” His sigh shuddered as he let it all go. He didn’t want to take it any of it upstairs until he could get alone with the bag. He had some shit to deal with but it wasn’t as all consuming as before, he needed to get it right in his head.

“It has been a wonderful night.” She said softly. “And yes, let it be done. You’re right, we can’t let her get between us again.” She looked at those Viking blue eyes. “Can we go to our room?” Her voice sultry as she ran a blood red nail across his bottom lip. “I don’t think there’s been enough kissing.”

“We can.” He growled and devoured her mouth. “Come with me kitten.” He took her hand and led her to the elevator, his hands diving under her coat as soon as the elevator doors closed. He needed to feel that body he’d itched to touch all night.

***********

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction #shattered lives

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lineffability · 5 years

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for whatever we lose

[In-Canon ‘Human’!A/C] based on this post words: 3.3k setting: post tv show ending summary: With the Apocalypse averted and their respective sides tricked, Aziraphale and Crowley can finally be left to their own (de)vices--only, you can’t trick God, and she always has the last word. So they forget who they were. And they forget each other. It’s all ineffable from here on out.

; For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) it's always ourselves we find in the sea - e.e. cummings

PROLOGUE

Aziraphale was dreaming. This was odd, as he was not asleep.

Aziraphale. What have you done?

Had he possessed a body, in this dream, Aziraphale would have licked his lips and cleared his dry throat. Instead A Million Eyes were wide open, and he couldn’t tell if they were his or Hers, and he couldn’t Think either, because it was all drowned out. It had been a long, long time since She had spoken to him. Six thousand years to be exact, that day in Eden when she had inquired about his Sword and he had lied to Her face. Which, in retrospect, she had known. And forgiven.

But he had betrayed Her again. And this time, oh, he wasn’t sure--

You have to make it up to me, Aziraphale. You have to pay a price.

“Oh I-- I will! I will! I promise, I--”

Remember.

Then he woke up.

__________________________________________________

PART I // for whatever we lose

He woke up in his bed. It was half past eight, and he had to open the bookstore at nine (well, technically, anyways) which gave him just under half an hour to get up and ready and have breakfast. That did not leave him enough time for scrambled eggs and fresh orange juice, a realization that very much displeased him. Aziraphale whined and rolled out of bed.

Fading memories of a rather odd dream haunted him, but as he slipped out from under the covers they slid off him as water slides off ducks.

Barefoot, he trod into his kitchen, put on the kettle and got dressed as he waited for the water to boil. As he always did. He made scrambled eggs anyways, and fixed his bow tie and brushed his teeth and took the flight of stairs down into his shop half an hour late, opened the store half an hour later still, and sat and hoped no one would enter through the doors. He read a book, and started another one, made himself a cup of cocoa in the afternoon and glowered at the rare occasional customers until, unnerved, they left.

As he always did.

Until one day, an hour before (official) closing time, a tall, dark man entered his store.

“Oh, I am afraid that we will be closing in half an hour,” Aziraphale started, but did not continue as the man came towards him in big strides. He had a slightly odd way of walking, Aziraphale decided, as if he might slide off the face of the earth sideways if he wasn’t careful. Sashaying, one might call it.

“Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale did not immediately respond, as he was deep in thought, staring at the stranger’s face. His eyes were concealed behind sunglasses despite the cloudy weather, but the rest of his features were sharp: a thin nose, a pointy chin, pronounced cheekbones and spiky ginger hair. He was sure the man was a stranger, was sure he’d never seen him before in his life (because he would have remembered him, if he had), but there was something about his face and posture that reminded him of someone, nonetheless.

Who? He could not remember. It must have been a long time ago.

“Mr. A. Z. Fell?”

“Oh! Yes, that would be me.” Aziraphale smiled a welcoming smile, which even surprised himself. Of course, he was warm and welcoming to everybody in general, but in the bookshop, somehow, he more closely resembled a dragon guarding his hoard.

The stranger slightly cocked his hand to one side. “What’s the A. Z. stand for?”

“Pardon? Oh, the sign, right. That’s my name. I mean, of course, the sign has been there for generations. It just happens to also fit my initials. Er.”

The man raised a brow, behind dark sunglasses that he still had not taken off, until he continued.

“Aziraphale Zachariah Fell. That’s my name.”

Right. That was his name. For a moment there, he had confused even himself. He wondered if he was getting old. Because for just a second, it truly had felt as if he had not known. Not known about the sign that his ancestors had fixed to the outside of the store, not known what the initials of his own name stood for. This weird feeling, the feeling he had not been able to shake off all week, took a hold of him yet again. He touched the bridge of his nose, but remembered he was not wearing his reading glasses. He must have misplaced them.

For a moment Aziraphale feared that the stranger would burst into laughter. But he contained himself, asking instead, not without mirth: “Aziraphale?”

“Oh, my parents were…very religious.” He gave him a crooked, apologetic grin.

A look spread across the lanky man’s face that Aziraphale could only describe as surprised delight; wrinkles appeared around his eyes and it almost made Aziraphale blush, though he wondered what had prompted this reaction--surely not his old-fashioned name. (It had been that, but much more so it had been the look on his face, a helpless sort of amusement that Crowley couldn’t help but find endearing.)

“I mostly go by Raphael, though. To friends, I mean,” he added after a moment, feeling awfully stupid. (Aziraphale, he’d decided a long time ago, didn’t quite suit him.)

“I see,” Crowley replied, a smile still playing around his lips. “Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth as if to reply, but for the life of him could not think of any adequate reply. Who was this man, anyways? He had sauntered right into his shop and right up to him and somehow Aziraphale had told him about his parents’ religious beliefs without even knowing his name. Or anything else, really.

“So, you are…?”

“Ah.” As if he had been waiting for this moment, the man straightened and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. He might as well have been presenting to an entire audience. “Anthony J. Crowley, merchant of various goods, at your service.”

So this was what was going on, was it? Merchant. Aziraphale squinted imperceptibly. A book buyer. Nasty lot. Always after his pristine first editions, his life’s work--well, really, not just his. Most were inherited, though he had acquired the one or other treasure, in his lifetime… Feeling rather emboldened, Aziraphale decided to pay back what had been dealt to him. “So, what does the J stand for?”

“I’d rather hoped you’d ask about the ‘merchant of various goods’ part, honestly.” The man paused, but received no reaction. “No? Oh, alright. It’s really just ‘J’. Anthony Jay Crowley.”

“Well, now we’ve got that sorted out,” Aziraphale said with an amount of delight that seemed just a little too angelic to be entirely nice, “I am very afraid to inform you, my dear Mr. Crowley, that I don’t sell any books. If that is why you are here.”

Crowley stared at him behind his sunglasses, perplexed. “You own a bookstore.”

“Well. Yes. I mean--” He paused. I don’t like selling my books, he wanted to say. I love them too much. It feels like selling a part of myself. I’d much prefer to keep them all, if that were possible. Instead he said, “I prefer to sell them to individual buyers.” Because they only buy individual books. Singular.

“Why?”

“I just do.” He clasped his hands in front of his belly and sealed his lips tightly shut. Determined, he stood there, like a mother bear ready to protect her children.

Crowley, apparently, sensed that he was about to jog headfirst into a stone wall. His shoulders slumped. But he was not yet a man defeated. Aziraphale stayed on his toes. “Alright, alright. Cool stuff. No worries. But then, I assume...you buy them?”

Aziraphale’s face brightened. “Indeed!”

“You collect them?”

“You could say that.” Aziraphale’s chest grew various sizes, his aura positively shining. “I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert. My interest particularly lies with books of prophecy and, uh, Bibles with printing errors…oh, and Oscar Wilde!”

“Oscar Wilde,” Crowley repeated, pensively, before cocking his head. “Printing errors?”

“Oh, yes! For instance, there is the Adultery Bible, in which--”

Suddenly Crowley moved in closer, cutting him short. He lowered his voice as he spoke again, his face close enough that Aziraphale could make out the contours of his eyes through the shades. (Really, there was no need for that, they were alone in the store.)

“I might happen to be… in possession of one of those books you take such an interest in.”

“What? But, how-- Might I ask, who do you work for?”

“Oh, I work for myself.” Crowley straightened. “And if you want to ask where I get my goods from, you’d do better not to. Let’s call them Of Unknown Origin. Capiche?”

A moment of silence.

“So… are you interested?”

Another beat, during which Aziraphale tried to convince himself that he was not actually considering his offer. Of course he wasn’t. He gasped.

“Absolutely not! How-- Why-- I’m, I’m shocked!”

Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale was sure that, behind his sunglasses, he was rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I get it. You’re boring. Should’ve known the moment I walked in here. One of the Good Ones.” His tone turned mocking at the last words, upper lip curling.

“Now that’s just awfully rude; there is no need for such behaviour.”

“Whatever.” The man called Crowley lifted a hand, already turning. Then he stopped in his tracks, shoulders slumping, and a groan escaped his lips. For a second Aziraphale was confused, but then he registered the source of his newest discontentment: It was raining.

It had started to rain heavily, and water was splashing off the streets and running into the gutters. One step outside and you’d be soaking wet. Crowley cursed under his breath even as he began walking towards the door.

“Ciao.” He gave a little wave.

“Wait!”

“Oh?” Crowley turned, but was unprepared for what awaited him. There he stood, the round little man with hair as white as a cloud, and was extending his arm towards him--holding an umbrella. Crowley gaped at the thing.

“Take it. It’s raining.”

“I-- Yes, I can see that, it’s raining, yeah, wet stuff, seen it before,” he brambled, still incredulous. Haltingly, he took it. Wedged it under his arm. Opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it. Closed it. Opened it again. “Well, thanks, see you around,” he mumbled, just above a whisper, and then he was out the door, under the umbrella, making for his car as if the devil was on his heels.

He drove through the pouring rain as Queen blasted from his speakers. Really, he wasn’t in the mood. Should’ve checked the CD beforehand. This strange encounter did not quite leave him alone, and he replayed it in his head countless times. The white umbrella lay discarded on the front seat. He took it with him, up into his flat, where he immediately turned on the TV and failed to pay even a minute of attention to the things happening on the screen.

Books weren’t even his usual trade. It had been a spontaneous thing, a thought he’d had ever since he’d found that book in his flat a few days ago. The Nice And Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter. He could for the life of him not remember how he had come into its possession. It must have happened ages ago, some collateral damage from one job or the other, and he’d misplaced it, and only now stumbled upon it again. Either way, it looked like it was worth a good sum of money, so asking questions about its provenance seemed unwise, as long as he could sell it.

Just his luck that the bookshop he’d happened upon and decided to enter on a whim--it had looked promising, all antique and, well, booky--had turned out to be bad luck. And yet…

And yet, he couldn’t get that stupid face out of his mind. Those piercing blue eyes that had went from Soft to Fierce in a heartbeat, the hand that had offered up protection against the rain when he had done nothing to deserve it, nothing at all. Well--he’d have to return the umbrella, at least.

After all, the shop was promising. It was stuffed to the top with books that smelled of Age and Money, the kind of books without cover but with gold lettering. Sometimes a little temptation was all Good People needed to turn into Not Quite As Good People, after all.

With this thought in mind Crowley fell asleep, on his couch, with the TV still blaring in the background.

He woke up where he had fallen asleep. Grimacing, he straightened his neck and stretched out his limbs. A glance at his phone told him he had fifteen minutes to get ready, which was all he needed. He got up, turned on his stereo (one clap), changed into fresh clothes while somehow simultaneously brushing his teeth, and was out the door--but not without mindfully turning off the music (two claps). As he always did.

Crowley had dreamt again, and he was sure it was a dream that he’d had before, just recently, but the only thing he could remember from it was the word Demon, and now that gave him no clue whatsoever.

By the time he got into his Bentley he was holding a steaming cup of coffee, which he managed to drink without spilling a drop while speeding through busy London streets. He’d forgotten the umbrella, so he could not go back to the bookshop. That’s what he told himself, anyways. He also ‘forgot’ it the day after. And on Friday. On Saturday, after having thoroughly watered and terrorized his plants, he finally grabbed the white umbrella and stormed out the door.

He almost kicked a lamp post when he arrived at the shop and saw the Closed sign on the door. He drew his head back and glared at the sky. Then he looked at the door again, at the handwritten sign with the office hours, and the sound that escaped him almost sounded like a hiss.

“You’re supposed to be open, bastard,” he growled to himself, wondering why he was so upset, and then the door suddenly opened and he found himself face to face with the enigmatic Mr. Fell.

“Mr. Crowley?” Surprise was written all over his face. He pointed to the sign on the door. “We’re closed.”

Crowley glowered. “You’re supposed to be open. Look.” Frantically, he pointed at the door, as if it was not the man’s very own shop door, with his very own sign in his very own handwriting.

“I do take my liberties,” Aziraphale simply said, lifting his chin. “I was just on my way to get scones.”

“Scones?”

“I was feeling awfully peckish. So I thought, what is one more hour of opening the shop against the promise of fresh scones?” He beamed, and his eyes dropped to the umbrella that Crowley was clenching so hard his knuckles were turning red. “Oh! My umbrella!”

“Came here to return it,” Crowley pressed out between his teeth.

“That is awfully kind of you, Mr. Crowley. Thank you.”

“It is yours, so…” Crowley shrugged. “You’re really closing the shop for scones? I’ve never gotten their appeal.”

“You must not have tried the scones of the nice little bakery down the street, then! They just opened, but I must say they really make the most lovely, buttery-- why, let me tempt you to one, then!”

Crowley almost fell backwards into the pavement. This man had to be the most trusting, naive and genuinely nice person he had ever met, and it was almost driving him insane. He stared at him, and couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I mean, well, not tempt, exactly.” Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Invite?”

So they had scones, and coffee, and a glass of Chardonnay. It came so natural that they both wondered why they felt as if they had known each other for a long time, when in fact it had only been a few days since their first meeting.

Only when he was back home in his empty flat, feeding his pet snake, did he remember that his objective had been to tempt the shop owner with his shady book selling deal. Instead, he had somehow ended up being the tempted one. Crowley huffed. Well--he guessed he’d have to go back.

There was no bell above Aziraphale’s door. This was because a bell alerted you to entering customers, and Aziraphale did not want to be alerted. In his best case scenario, the would-be-customers had already left the shop by the time he came round to the front. So as he rounded the corner to the front of his shop with a cup of tea in his hand he was not prepared for the person lounging (really, there was no better word for it) on his desk.

“Hi, A.Z. Fell.” Crowley grinned, hopping off the desk and circling round to him. “Fine morning to acquire some books, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Crowley, I’ve told you before, I am not--”

“Not even…” He produced a book, nicely bound in protective cloth. “The Nice And Accurate-- oi!”

Aziraphale had taken the book right out of Crowley’s hand, staring at it as if he’d discovered the Holy Grail. “I’ve seen this before,” he whispered to himself as he retrieved the book and lay a shaking hand on its cover. Then, “No, no, I haven’t. I can’t have. I must have…” His head shot up. “Where did you get this?!”

“I told you, I don’t disclose--”

“Crowley!” Surprised, Crowley lifted his hands. Aziraphale looked exasperated, and then, as he realized how he’d addressed him, scandalized. “Oh, I’m sorry! It’s just, this book, it’s... It’s rare.”

“I imagined.”

“No. You really don’t. When I say it’s rare, I mean it is… unique, possibly.”

“Shouldn’t tell me that, if I’m the one selling it, should you?”

Aziraphale froze. His eyes grew wide, and he was on the verge of swearing.

“Tell you what.” Crowley leaned in, voice soft. “The price stays the same--if I can interest you in acquiring more interesting books in the future. And in not asking too many questions. Trust me, don’t. That’s never worked out well for anyone.”

“I…” Aziraphale hesitated. “No, I can’t. You’re.. you’re a criminal! Aren’t you?”

“Ehhh, definitions. It’s just a hobby, let’s say. Besides, what are you, an angel?” Crowley lifted his hands to his sides, waving them through the air as if mimicking a wing beat.

Aziraphale felt very torn, because, yes, a part of him did feel--well not like an angel, certainly, but still like a Good Person. On the other hand, this was not hurting anyone, was it? And this book--as well as any other rare books--they would be in good hands, with him. If he thought about it like that...

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

“What, yes? You are an angel?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I will buy the book. I will agree to your condition.”

“What.” It sounded more like a squeezy little wot, the sound he made. Then Crowley smiled, widely, incredulously, almost thrilled. “I knew there was a spark in you, angel!” He took off his sunglasses, revealing startlingly bright eyes. (Like honey, Aziraphale briefly thought, averting his thoughts from the morally ambiguous deal he was about to strike. I like honey.) Crowley offered up a hand, and Aziraphale took it. They shook on their unspoken arrangement with a firm grip--lingering just a moment too long, averting their gaze just a second too late.

The wheels of fate, expertly jammed, began to grind down on the crow bar holding them in place.

[to be continued]

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my writing #inefficable #my omens #i cannot belive i wrote this all in one go #god i hope it's not too messy #didnt have much time for editing bc i have to SLEEP #but wanted to give you this now #FWWL #for whatever we lose

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livingbecauseofwriting · 4 years

Text

Life’s Too Short

Hello loves! So i’ve never really done anything like this (except like 3 horrible short stories I put on Wattpad like 5 years ago), but I really hope you enjoy. Please like and share and comment what you think.

Me and my sister are doing a writing exchange where each month we draw 2 short dialogue prompts and a character and write a story and give it to each other at the end of the month. We just started this so this is the first story.

I posted something about it and someone responded saying they’d want to read it so here you go. Anyway Imma shut up, but If you like it and would like for me to continue posting each month’s story and possibly opening up requests and stuff to write regularly please let me know!

This month’s prompts were:

“Don’t think about anything, just tell me you love me and hold me tighter” and “What are you doing up?”

I got Grayson Dolan.

Word Count: 8487

Warnings: life threatening event but I don’t want to give it away.... and cursing if that needs a warning

(Tumblr fucked up the formatting when I pasted it in here so if it looks weird I’m sorry I tried to fix it)

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Bright golden rays cut through the curtains as the sun set high into the new day’s sky. The sunlight spread cross your modern style bed and illuminates you and your husband’s bodies. You were facing each other with your legs tangled together under your pure white comforter. The bright light spreads across your face and you groan softly as you come into a conscience state. Grayson smiles softly at your utter look of annoyance at the signaling of the new day that has brought you out of your slumber. Grayson has always been a morning person, while you are not, and would sleep until the late hours of the day if given the chance. Because of this, Grayson is usually a wake a good hour or two before you in the mornings and gets up, always careful not to wake you, to start his rigorous work days. Today, however, Grayson had a day off, something that had become increasingly rare in your lives, and so he opted to stay in bed and just admire the heavenly women that he gets to wake up to every morning.

He chuckles as you slowly shift in the bed in an attempt to block the sun from your eyes. He reaches a hand up and gently moves some of your messy bed hair behind your ear and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Good morning babe” He whispers, his voice still groggy and scratchy from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and you look up at him with both a look of love and annoyance.

“It would be a good morning if the sun wasn’t being so rude.” You pout and bury your head in Gray’s bare shoulder as he pulls you closer and presses another kiss to your hair.

You lie like this for a second until you suddenly become very aware of his presence as well as what time it probably is, seeing as the sun is shining so bright and he’s usually up and working at the crack of dawn. You pull your head away from him abruptly and look at him with a very confused look on your face.

“Why are you still here? You’re usually deep into your work and filming with E by this time of the day?”

When the twins started their online presence on Vine back in 2013, the rose to fame rather quickly. It was something neither of them expected. The videos they made were just of them having fun and being their own idiot selves and it turned into a massive following. When they moved onto YouTube in 2015 that following only grew. Now with well over 18 million subscribers, filming every day, marketing meetings, promo meetings, gaining sponsorships, creating video ideas, and finding new creative ways to reach an even bigger audience, the twins were busier now more than ever.

“Usually yes, but we did a lot of work this week and got ahead. So, we earned ourselves a day off.” Grayson explained softly as he continued gently caressing your hair as he studied every feature of your tired, yet beautiful face. It’s been just over 4 years since you two met, and every day he was still completely in awe that he got to wake up with this life, with you beside him. How’d he get you? I mean he honestly just couldn’t understand, how he possibly got this beautiful woman beside him? Every day when he saw you sleeping beside him, he silently thanked God for that day, that day that started everything for you two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Back story ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Grayson met after you moved to California for an internship in your senior year of college. You had quickly discovered a coffee shop perfectly placed right between your apartment and work that became your favorite place to study and get work done. Coincidently, this was Grayson’s favorite coffee shop and he had been a regular since He and Ethan moved to Cali years prior.

After constantly seeing you in the café time after time, Grayson became curious. You were this mysterious girl who showed up out of nowhere and took over his coffee spot, even the workers were beginning to get closer to you and knew you better than they knew him, and he had been going there MUCH longer. However, he just couldn’t get up the courage to question the beautiful girl that made his day just a little bit better whenever he saw you there sipping your hot chai tea with almond milk and concentrating intensely on god knows what you had to work on that week.

However, the day came when he had no choice. You had only been at the shop a short while before you get an emergency call from work making you hastily gather your things and rush out the door at exactly the same time Gray was trying to enter causing you to slam into each other. Your hot chai went everywhere, mostly on you and your computer.

“SHIT!” You yelled looking down at your clothes and your probably now ruined computer. You quickly looked up at Grayson who looked just as stunned as you as Ethan completely lost his mind, laughing his ass off behind him.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been looking where I was going. I’m sorry. I just- oh my god this is probably ruined... and oh my god, are you wearing a Gucci shirt that I just ruined because of my clumsy ass self…” Your muttered so quickly that it practically came out as one sentence.

Grayson’s expression softened as he noticed how stressed and petrified you looked.

“It’s ok. I mean yes, it is, but it’s fine. I can just steal my brother’s, he has the same one.”

Grayson smiled. “Oh, shoot here let me get you some napkins” He said immediately after, rushing inside and grabbing a giant stack of napkins off the counter and bringing them over to you.

You smiled hesitantly still shocked and stressed and took the napkins from him and began to attempt to wipe the chai off your clothes, computer, and books.

“You look like you’re in a hurry, can I help you with something? Do you need a ride... or new clothes?” Gray asked chuckling a bit. You looked up giving him a look that you clearly didn’t find this funny as you continued to wipe your belongings.

“Um thank you, but I really do have to go. I’m so sorry again. Um, you come in a lot. Maybe I can make it up to you next time... I’m really sorry.” You responded quickly still in almost a single sentence. Before Grayson could even comprehend what you said or even mutter an “ok” you were halfway down the street rushing to your work emergency.

To say Grayson was stunned would be an understatement. He really didn’t care that you spilled hot chai all over him, no, he was mainly shock at how everything went down. This girl he’s been wanting to talk to for weeks and THAT is your first interaction. It was like something straight out of a movie. Grayson collected himself and punched Ethan’s arm as he made fun of Grayson’s flushed expression. He wondered if he’d see her again, and if he did what it would be like now that the ice had been broken.

He was disappointed when he didn’t see you in the café the following day, but figured either you were entirely too embarrassed to show your face around here anytime soon or you were busy sorting out your computer problem, either way, he desperately wanted, no, NEEDED to see you again.

That’s why his heart nearly stopped when he walked into the café three days later and saw you sitting there, your back facing him so you didn’t see him as you intensely poured over your books and typed away on what looked like to be a different computer but not necessarily a new one. He couldn’t resist the smile that spread across his lips and he silently thanked God that Ethan was too lazy to get out of bed and opted out of coming to pick up their coffee with him.

Grayson noticed you weren’t sporting your usual hot cup of chai and hastily went to the counter and ordered Ethan and his usual along with your chai tea order which he had picked up on after watching you order it every single time you came in. When the drinks were done he carefully made his way to your table. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing but he knew there was no turning back, he was already in motion.

Grayson reached you and you still hadn’t noticed him as you were so focused on your work and had your earbuds playing soft music in your head. He cleared his throat gently and placed the chai tea on a clear spot of the table in front of you making you jump slightly as you quickly yanked out your earbuds and looked up. You smiled as a noticeable heated blush spread across your face.

“Oh, uh, hey sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. I uh got you your drink. I noticed you didn’t have one today and I thought I’d get you one to say, ‘sorry I got in your way the other day.” Grayson said awkwardly desperate to explain himself without looking weird or creepy as he rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged softly.

You smiled brightly and shook your head softly. “Please don’t apologize. It really wasn’t your fault. I need to watch where I’m going, but thank you this is very sweet.” You took a sip of the chai not sure what to expect that he had ordered you, but as soon as the drink passed your lips you looked up at him surprised. “Char tea with almond milk and an extra shot...How’d you know? Are you stalking me?”

Grayson’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, “Nononono, I uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re here at the same time a lot and I’ve just noticed you get the same thing every time and honestly it’s not that hard to remember.” He said chuckling nervously.

You smiled at his quickness to defend himself. “I was kidding. Thank you though. I love this.” You took another sip and there was a bit of an awkward silence for a second before he gestured to the computer you were using and questioned, “You got a new one? I hope the other one didn’t mess up too bad. I know you probably had a lot of work saved on there.”

You nodded and placed the cup down sighing. “Not a new one just a loaner from a friend. I can’t get mine to turn on and I can’t afford a new one which is fine except I can’t retrieve any of my work from my computer so I basically have to start all over from scratch.”

Grayson nodded in understanding and cringed sympathetically at your pain. “I know your pain. My entire work exists in my computer but my brother’s very clumsy and has messed up one or two. So yeah I know a guy who’s been able to fix some of mine and if he can’t fix it he can at least retrieve the data from it. I can hook you up if you’d like.”

Grayson swore his heart stopped as he watched your eyes widen and a look of utter disbelief and amazement, but most of all relief, wash over you. It was adorable. “Really!?! That would be absolutely amazing. Oh my god you’re literally saving me so much time and work.”

Grayson smiled and nodded just glad he could help but also hoping this gave him an in or at least an excuse to spend some time outside of this small café with you. “Yeah of course. Actually, he lives just down the street from me. I can talk to him when I get home and see when he’s available.”

“That would be perfect. Here let me give you my number so you can contact me.” You said picking up a pen and ripping a small piece of paper from a page in your notebook. You quickly scribbled down your number trying to make sure it was readable as Grayson stared at you, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he couldn’t believe it. You handed him the number and he took it tentatively, like it was the most valuable item on the planet, and honestly at the moment in his world, it was. Grayson starred at the number and quickly realized he didn’t even know your name.

“Thank you, but um, what name should I use for the contact, I don’t think I ever caught it.” You smiled surprised at his words and chuckled softly as you leaned back in your seat.

“You managed to remember my coffee order but never picked up on my name?” You questioned smirking at him watching in amusement as his face went completely red.

“I mean… now that I’m thinking about it, yeah. I’ve always just kind of referred to you as the ‘chai tea girl’… I mean not that I’m talking about you often but like the few times it came up with other people that’s what we called you.” Grayson said rambling nervously as his face went even more red. You chuckled and shook your head softly.

“I’m just giving you a hard time… I’m Y/N, but I’d hate to mess up what you already know me as, so please continue referring to me as “chai tea girl’ if you must.” You laughed softly at your words and Grayson’s heart melted. Your laugh was like music to his ears, it’s something he could see himself listening to everyday. These thoughts were nuts to him. He barely knew you, yet at the same time he feels like he’s known you his whole life, it was like nothing he’s ever experienced.

“Y/N...? I like that name, it’s really pretty.” Grayson responded softly smirking making you blush. “I’m Grayson…”

“Yeah I know. And your brother is Ethan? You guys are a bit bigger than I think you’re giving yourself credit for. My sister really likes you and I’ve seen a few videos through her. You’re funny, and unique from every other YouTuber. I like that. Originality.”

Grayson smiled and nodded softly, proud of his brother and his work. “Thanks that means a lot. We work really hard to create good content that’s original to us so I’m really glad you like it. We do a lot of crazy stuff, shit happens, things break, that’s why I know this guy. He’s fix many computers and cameras for us and retrieved a lot of content we thought we lost. He’s good, he’ll for sure be able to help you.”

“That’s awesome. I hope so, I can’t lose all that.” You said sighing in relief. You were so intrigued by Grayson. Sure, he was hot af, but there was something else. The guy standing in front of you was so different from the guy everyone watched on YouTube and something inside of you was begging to find out more about this real, authentic version of Grayson Dolan.

The conversation eventually died out as Ethan spammed Grayson with texts asking where the hell his coffee was and you had to get back to work anyway but you left each other feeling like you were floating and neither of you could stop smiling.

Grayson texted you later after talking to his friend and you agreed to meet at his place the next day. It took his friend all of 5 minutes to fix your laptop and retrieve all your work. You were so relieved and in the rush of gratefulness to Grayson and his friend, and with all the time you suddenly had on your hands now that you didn’t have to do all that work over again, you and Grayson agreed to go out, somewhere other than the coffee shop.

The next night Grayson took you on one of the most unique and fun dates ever. What you thought was going to just be dinner turned into a picnic on top of a cliff under the stars and breaking into an old theater and performing for each other, just complete nonsense. You continued to an amusement park where Grayson of course won a stuffed t-rex with giant eyes after watching you freak out about how cute it was. You explored the city and later found yourself at a beach to watch the sun rise. Everything about the night was perfect. It was a night pulled straight out of a movie and neither of you could comprehend it, but that night was just the start.

Soon you and Grayson were seeing each other at least every week (outside of the café) and then once a week turned into three times a week until it got to the point that you were practically living with the boys. They started including you in bits and pieces of their videos and soon their whole fan base knew you. You and Grayson dated for two years before he finally asked you to marry him. Everyone knew you were meant to be together and it was just a matter of time, so it was no surprise when you finally sported that diamond ring on your finger.

It was quiet and intimate. Grayson rented out the whole coffee shop that started it all. The place was filled with fairy lights and all the tables were moved and the floor was covered with pillows and blankets and Grayson made sure you had all the chai tea you wanted. A screen was projected on the wall and once you were settled in it began playing starting with the Disney intro to fake you out, but quickly turned into a slideshow movie about you containing all sorts of pictures of you, you and Grayson, your friends and you all together, and a bunch of videos, some which you had no idea they were filming.

When the movie finished you had tears in your eyes, just seeing all these memories, you couldn’t believe this was your life. You turned to hug and kiss Grayson but he was down on one knee holding an opened velvet box with a beautiful, simple diamond ring inside. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice him get up before but there he was. It was incredibly cheesy but that’s just who he is. He already had tears in his eyes not even having said anything yet.

“Y/N…if that video isn’t testimony enough to the impact you’ve had in my life, then let me tell you. Babe I have no idea where I would be without you. From the moment I saw you, sitting in this coffee shop working your ass off on whatever project you had due that week and drinking that damn chai tea, my heart knew it needed you and I don’t care how fucking cheesy that sounds, it’s true. Everything happens for a reason, and when you ran into me two years ago, destroyed your laptop and ruined my favorite Gucci shirt, it was fate. That was the beginning of something so beautiful and nothing else mattered. Our love is once in a lifetime, and I’m so glad it exists in ours. I would fight for you and find you in any lifetime, and I want to spend the rest of this one with you by my side. So please God, will you marry me already?” Grayson chuckled and smiled as tears streamed down his cheeks.

“It’s about damn time!” You laughed crouching down to his level and flinging yourself into his arms. “I love you so much you fucking asshole. Of course I’ll marry you.” You giggled pulling away, cupping his cheeks in your hands and wiping his tears with your thumbs before pulling his lips to yours. You both smiled uncontrollably into the kiss and pulled away leaning your foreheads against each other. Grayson looked down and placed the ring on your finger before pulling you in for another long hug.

You guys decided to keep the engagement quiet for a while, only telling family and friends, just wanting to enjoy this special time to yourselves for a bit before letting the whole world know. When you did finally tell his fans you two made a short little video about it and both made Instagram posts shortly after the video went up. You got married a little over a year later and it was everything you could have asked for and more. The rest is history.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~End of Back Story~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You smiled, beaming brightly at his words. “Really!?! Oh my god it’s been so long.”

“Yes really.” Grayson chuckled softly at your excitement. He knew you needed this, you both did. You barely ever saw each other now-a-days. Grayson almost never had a day off and your days were usually spent apart, not seeing each other until you both fell into bed at night, and at that point it was much too late and you were both too tired to do anything together. “I was thinking we could go out, spend the day together doing the things we don’t normally get to do.”

You smiled wider and nodded in agreement before leaning in and pressing an excited kiss to his lips. You two sat like that for a second, just holding each other, enjoying each other’s presence before you gently pushed yourself up, Grayson soon following, and stretched your arms out, squinting at the harsh daylight pouring through the big floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding your room.

The twins had bought a compound with two houses on it overlooking LA with a beautiful view of the city and the beach. The twins always knew they wouldn’t able to live apart, but when Grayson and you got married and Ethan was sure to follow with a fiancé of his own eventually, the old house was getting too crowded. When the twins created this property with their house literally only 20 feet apart connected by a glass tunnel/hallway, it was an absolute dream come true for them. It was very modern and green. The whole house contained big windows for lots of sunlight to come in. There were plants everywhere, but placed perfectly to create a beautiful aesthetic. The floors were all wood and most surfaces throughout the house were all made of stone or marble. The house generally contained an all-white or grey color scheme with pops of color here and there and everything was very open. It was everything you imagined a famous California house to look like.

You pulled yourself out of bed and wrapped your silk robe around you and went to make your way to the kitchen before Grayson stopped you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your neck gently.

“Let’s eat out today love. No working in any way, let’s just enjoy this.”

You smiled and closed your eyes softly as his lips and hot breath grazed your skin as he spoke. You turned in his arms wrapping your arms around his neck and nodded kissing his softly. “Sounds lovely. I guess I’ll just get dressed then.” You two pulled apart and made your way to your separate closets. You picked a pair of black and white checkered slacks with a light blue sweater with your black vans. After you got dressed you went to the connected master bathroom and applied a small bit of makeup and pulled your long hair into messy bun. You walked out just as Grayson finished pulling on his shoes. He was wearing black ripped jeans and a white t-shirt with black and red strips and a pair of red vans. Damn did he look hot.

You smiled as he took your hand and led you out of the bedroom, grabbing his keys as he made his way to the car. He opened the door for you like the gentleman that his is and you jokingly curtsied to him in response as you both giggled softly. Grayson climbed into the driver’s side of his custom vintage 1960s teal Bronco and backed out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel while the other held yours in his lap. Neither of you knew where you were going or even had a plan but you knew it was going to be a perfect day no matter where you were.

Grayson drove slowly through downtown LA so that you both could scan the different shops and cafes to find a place to eat. You pointed out a small breakfast/brunch place on the corner and Grayson quickly found a parking spot and pulled in. Once again Grayson rushed over to your side and opened the door for you offering his hand, which you gladly took, as you stepped out of the vehicle and made your way into the corner café. It was a cute little place and had a modernized retro look, defiantly very California.

Once you and Gray were inside you were seated and ordered rather quickly as in the car you both had mutually expressed a craving for pancakes that needed to be satisfied ASAP. You made light conversation about what you wanted to do with the rest of the day, which neither of you had any opinions for and opted to just let whatever happens happen. When your food arrived, you couldn’t help but snap a pic of Gray, I mean you were both influencers now and had to please your audience and you knew this would make the fans drool… for the pancakes of course

@HeyItsY/N: Hey there good looking ;) …. Oh and @graysondolan is here too

After you both devoured some of the best pancakes you’ve ever had, you paid and made your back to the car. You hesitated as Gray opened the door for you.

“Why don’t we just walk. See what we see.” You said shrugging lightly. Gray smiled shutting the door without question and locking the car again. He grabbed your hand and you two set off down the street not really sure what you were doing or where you were going.

The day end up leading to places you wouldn’t have imagined. You and gray found a hidden park where you eventually brought food and had a picnic type lunch. You shopped around a bit at the different vintage shops around downtown LA. You bought a lot of thrifted vintage clothes and some new vinyls for the custom player Gray built. Of course, Gray had to go to the Gucci store and Louis Vuitton where you bought clothes he defiantly didn’t need but you didn’t mind because he looked hella good. You and Gray were walking along a sidewalk that had an open view of the mountains and valleys of California. It was beautiful and even though you weren’t speaking or doing much, you couldn’t have been happier than that moment. You wish you could stay here forever.

It was only about 3 o’clock and you and Gray were just getting started, still having big plans for the day. You were making your way back to the car to travel to some other nearby destination when Gray’s phone rang. He groaned and grabbed his phone out of his pocket and pressing answer before moving it to his ear.

“Hello? … Yeah… No, I’m out with Y/N … Why, we have the day off? … Can we do this tomorrow? … Are you sure? Ok ok calm down ... we’ll head over now. See you soon.”

Grayson sighed hanging up the phone and turned around to look at you. You could tell from little bit of the conversation that you had heard that your day-off was cancled, but you knew there was nothing you could do and you could tell Grayson wasn’t happy either.

“I’m sorry love, they need me to go to the warehouse and discuss some business shit I don’t even know. I’m sorry, I know you were looking forward to having this whole day. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You sighed and nodded softly taking Grayson’s hand. “Gray its ok. There’s nothing we can do. Plus, we’ve already done so much more than we usually get too and that’s all I could ask for. This day has been amazing. Let’s go, they’ll be mad if you make them wait.” You said and kissed him softly before hopping into the car to head to the twin’s business warehouse.

The twins had bought a small warehouse/business building that they transformed into their work center. They used this to take care of business meetings, storage for their merch and a secondary filming location for shit they couldn’t film at the house.

When you arrived at the office Grayson headed straight to the meeting room but not before leaving you with few soft kisses to hold onto as you waited in the small lounge area for him to return.

You became restless as you moved around the lounge trying to get comfortable as Gray had been in this meeting for over an hour now. You jumped a little as you heard a door slam and Gray came from around the corner looking mad but his face melting into sadness as soon as he saw you. He sighed and grabbed your hand ignoring your questioning as he led you out to the car.

The car ride home was silent and you anxiously starred out the window as your mind swirled with the possibilities of what had gone on in that meeting. When you pulled up to the house Grayson took a few moments, deep in thought, before pressing his lips to the back of your hand and getting out of the car, you following closely behind. You could tell whatever had happened in there was bothering him and he was torn over it and it killed you to not know, to not be able to help, but you didn’t want to push him.

A couple of very quiet hours of walking on eggshells around Gray went by before he entered your bedroom and signed softly as he sat down next to you. You looked up at him from your laptop stopping whatever the hell you were doing to keep yourself from going crazy from the tension and silence. You shut your laptop and look at him waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you. You’re probably really confused, I just needed to figure it out myself because I know you’re going to be upset.” Gray says softly looking down as he intertwined his fingers with yours. You shift and move close to him now even more curious. Gray sighs rubbing his eyes as he figures out how to form the words to tell you what he needed to tell you. “The team has set up a bit of a radio/venue tour for me and E. It was a last-minute thing, everything fell into place, and they couldn’t pass it up. They didn’t even talk to us about it until today… They need us to leave in 2 days for London to kick it off. They said it’d probably last about 3 to 4 months.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and take a second processing his words. “Can they even do that? I mean it’s your channel you get to make these decisions. You could say no if you wanted.” You barely saw Gray as it is and you live together, hell you’re married, but this would just drive a wedge between you two since you wouldn’t be able to go with him having your own job and life to take care of here in LA. You didn’t have the freedom like he did to just up and leave for 4 months.

Gray shook his head and looked at you. “I know I know. We can…to an extent. But these guys have really helped us out and this is a really great opportunity for me and E. We’d be able to reach a bigger audience and it’d be really good for the channel-”

“Wait, you’ve been walking around all day moping your ass off for something that you WANT to happen… can’t you see that this is a horrible idea? Why can’t you just say no? Why are you letting these people control you and your lively hood?” You question pulling away from him.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you because I knew you’d react like this which quite frankly is a little selfish… This is a really good opportunity for us and it hurts that you don’t support that!” Gray said raising his voice a bit. You opened your mouth and stood up from the bed looking at him in disbelief.

“I’m being selfish?! Oh ok, I’m sorry that I don’t want to be away from my HUSBAND who I barely get to see EVEN THOUGH WE LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE!”

“Oh my God. I’m sorry I’m working every fucking day to make sure that we can support ourselves, that we can afford this house, that you don’t have to work as many hours as a normal human being. I’m so fucking sorry for being the fucking back bone of this relationship.”

You had no idea how you guys had gotten to this point but there was no turning back now, everything was coming out and there was no stopping either of you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You have probably the easiest job in the world! People would kill to have your life. You’re ‘work’ is doing dumb shit with your brother every day and posting it online! But I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize doing something you love was such a burden, I didn’t know I was such a fucking burden! …And just to be clear, YOU asked me to stop working all together, I decided to keep it to part-time so that everything didn’t fall on you, but apparently that means nothing to you! I’m sorry for fucking caring about you”

You exchanged a few more choice and heated words back and forth for a while. You couldn’t believe he had the nerve to call you selfish when he’s the one up and leaving for the sake of “getting more followers” when the man has 18 million fans already. Gray opened his mouth to speak again but you couldn’t stand this anymore.

“Grey I think you should go stay with Ethan. Obviously, we’re not going to get anywhere with this except just hurting each other more. I need space to think and I can’t do that with you here.” Your voice cracked a bit and at this point tears had been streaming down your cheeks for a while. Gray closed his mouth and just nodded. You were both too tired to continue with a conversation that was going nowhere. Gray stood up and left the room without say anything and made his way to E’s place, which was technically the same house just a different part, but it didn’t matter, it was far enough for you to not feel like you were suffocating anymore.

You sat down on the bed processing what had just gone down before letting a few more tears fall from your eyes as you screamed into your pillow. As clique as it sounded, it really works.

You were exhausted and didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep until you woke up the next morning from the sun rudely shining in your face once again. You instinctively reached over to Gray’s side of the bed only to be met with an empty cold spot as memories of last night’s events replayed in your head. You didn’t want to get up, knowing the house was going to feel cold and empty, like it was swallowing you whole without his presence in it, but you also knew you couldn’t stand to speak to him yet, it would only end in more fighting. The argument was stupid to begin with but it turned into something serious as you both continued to share hidden feelings that got magnified out of proportion. You didn’t know what this meant for you especially with Gray leaving, but you had no choice but to just wait and find out.

In the past 2 days, the only sight you saw of Gray was him quickly coming into the house to gather some of his things to pack in his bags. You still hadn’t spoken. You were both stubborn as hell and it defiantly didn’t help the situation. So that night you laid down yet again in the cold, deprived of his warmth and presence.

When you woke up the next morning, you weren’t really sure what had come over you but you just knew you needed to see him. You practically ran over to Ethan’s side of the house and didn’t even knock as you burst through the door. Your heart raced and you gently called Gray’s name but was met with silence. The house was empty. E’s bags were gone and so were Gray’s. He was just gone, without even saying goodbye. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks and you stood there in silence. You were sad and angry but you weren’t sure what feeling was more dominate. You couldn’t believe he’d leave like that and you were heartbroken you had missed him.

The next couple of days were a whirlwind of emotions. You had tried to call Gray a few times only to be met with his voicemail. You always made some excuse as to why he wasn’t picking up but you knew he was most likely just ignoring you. Why was he so damn stubborn? You listened to the radio shows they were on and you could swear he heard the pain in his voice, but he was so good at laughing it off that it was invisible to everyone else, but you heard it.

It had been over three weeks since you and Gray had last spoke, which was the night of the fight. You had managed to get a hold of Ethan who sounded so desperate to help you guys but then he’d say things like “oh we have bad reception here” or “Gray’s busy” and you knew he was just trying to be a good brother and saying what Gray told him to say.

You were driving home from work listening to the boy’s latest broadcast. You scoffed a little as the interviewer brought up their relationships and questioned how all was going, what the future held for their family, etc. Grayson covered it up with “Oh it’s really great. We’re really good. Happy.” It was a lie. The audience had no idea. The listeners would have no idea. No one had any idea what your reality was. Everyone saw these celebrities and their families as perfect people, absolute couple goals if you will, they saw the love and beauty, they saw the pictures you meticulously chose to post, they saw what you wanted them to see. They didn’t see the pain, or the long nights, the fights, or the going to bed without your husband by your side, they didn’t see the struggles.

You were deep in your thoughts that the next few moments were all a blur. It was about 7 o’clock, already dark out and you drove carefully, LA was a mad house at this hour, especially since it was Friday night. You proceed forward when your light turns green yet within moments your car is jolted to the side. The loud horn blared in the background, it sounded so distant, so faint. It took a moment for you to realize you were on your side. Your head pounded and your vision was blurry. You could faintly make out people yelling trying to talk to you and your mind screamed to just say something to them but your body failed. The red and blue flashing lights streaming through your shattered windshield was the last thing you remembered before everything faded into black, a piercing ringing in your ears before complete silence.

When you woke up, it wasn’t to the usual rude sunlight you were used to pouring through your window. No, rather, the room was very dark, an annoying beeping filled your ears, and you felt a heaviness weighing down your arm. It took a few seconds for you to actually collect yourself. Your throat felt like the fucking desert, your right arm was in a cast and sling, and your body felt like it had been hit with a ton of bricks. You shifted and looked over to see Gray holding your hand, his head rested on your arm as he slept. You moved your hand softly and nudged him.

“Gray… Gray… Grayson fucking Dolan wake up.” You managed to croak out before Gray finally shot up, his expression a bit disoriented before lighting up at the sight of you awake. He didn’t even hesitate as he pulled you into a hug, gripping you softly, scared he’d hurt your damaged body even further.

“Oh my god…Y/N… I’m so sorry... I’m so so sorry. Baby I thought-” Gray started to ramble before you cut him off, gently shushing him.

“Just shut up please.… Don’t think about anything. Just tell me you love me and hold me tighter.” You whispered softly as you held back tears. You vaguely remembered what happened but in this moment, you chose not to.

“I love you, I do… I love you so fucking much and I could never say it enough.” Gray whispered back, fighting his own tears. You and Grayson just held each other for a while before a nurse finally came in.

“Oh, you’re awake. Thank God. We were getting a bit worried.” She said and she walked over to your bed and poured you a glass of water. Gray sat back in his seat but kept holding your hand in one of his while he held the cup up for you with the other so you could drink from the straw. The nurse asked some basic questions and checked your vitals before looking at you seriously. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

You sighed laying your head back and closed your eyes. Everything was a blur. “I was in an accident, that’s obvious. I remember sitting at the light listening to Gray on the radio. I remember driving forward when I got the green light. I remember the horn, it was loud but everything seemed to happen in slow motion so to me it sounded far away and distorted and then a jerk. I remember it was blurry but I could see my windshield shattered, I-I could see blood on my hands and I could feel it dripping down my face. I remember the sirens and the police lights and then nothing and now I’m here.” You concluded taking a deep breath and opening your eyes. Gray wiped a stray tear from his cheek and sniffled softly trying to cover up his crying. The nurse nodded and took some notes.

“That’s good you remember. Yes, you were in an accident. It was a drunk driver. He ran the red and t-boned you. Your car flipped three times. You broke your right arm and three ribs. You twisted your leg bad but it’s not broken or anything. You hit your head bad and have a few stitches and a severe concussion and you’ve been unconscious for the past three days.” The nurse said gently trying to fill you in without scaring you. You nodded softly and thanked her before she left.

You turned to Grayson and squeezed his hand. “Hey. It’s ok. I’m ok. Please don’t cry.” Grayson chuckled and shook his head wiping his eyes again. “Damn I thought I covered it up… You know me too well.”

The next couple of days were spent trying to get your strength back. It was a bit more than a week before you were able to go home. The doctors just wanted to make sure you had no neuro damage because you were out for so long. You had a brace on your leg to help but you could walk… kind of… that is when Grayson actually let you. At home Grayson waited on you hand and foot and made sure you were ALWAYS comfortable.

It had been about a week and you convinced Gray to let you have some bit of freedom. Grayson finally stopped sleeping on the couch as you convinced him he wasn’t going to crush you or hurt you.

You stirred in your sleep and reached over to pull Grayson’s warm body closer to your freezing one, but you were met with his empty cold pillow. You furrowed your eyebrows as you opened your eyes. You checked your phone for the time, 2:35am. Shit.

You groaned softly as you pushed yourself up, your whole body still aching and screaming at you to lie down again but you needed to go find your husband. You threw on your robe and slowly made your way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen/living room area. The house was dark except for a single lamp dimly lighting the sofa area. You watched as Grayson sat on the couch wearing only his plaid pajama pants, starting at the black TV in from of him. When you made your way to him you gently placed your hand on his shoulder, careful not to scare him. He looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot and you could tell, even in the poor lightly, that he’d been crying.

“Gray? Love? What are you doing up?” You questioned as you sat beside him wrapping your arm around his shoulder. He opened his mouth to respond but simply shook his head as he buried his face in the palm of his hands, soft cries escaping his lips. You pulled him close and just held him letting him calm down.

“Gray baby what’s wrong?” You questioned gently as his cries subsided. He lifted his head to look at you and pulled you close to him.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry...”

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for”

“Yes, I do…I fucked up… I made you believe you were worthless to me, that you were selfish and then I just left… I’m a terrible husband... I mean who the fuck leaves his wife in the middle of an argument like that and goes half way across the whole damn world refusing to even talk to her on the phone. I’m so fucked.” Gray speaks, voice cracking softly ever so often. This is the first either of you had spoken about the fight. In light of everything that happened you had thought you would just move on, but it was clear it was still a crushing reality.

“And I… I could have lost you Y/N…You could have died and the last thing I would have said to you would have been something so crushing, telling you you’re a burden, making you believe I hated you…I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself…” Gray whispers looking down at the ground ashamed. You sighed wiping away tears from your cheeks before cupping his cheeks in your hands and making him look at you.

“I didn’t die. I right here. I’m ok. We were lucky. If anything we should be looking at this as a second chance. We’re not finished. Our story isn’t over. I still have so much love to give you. I’m not finished with you Grayson Dolan. There’s so many adventures we still need to on, I still haven’t given you a baby yet, or taught you how to actually cook a damn meal. Yeah, you may be an ass sometimes, but you’re mine, so don’t you think for a minute I would die on you without kissing you one last time, or reminding you that your fans love me more than you...” You giggled sniffling softly at the joke. When you and Gray went public with your relationship the fans were so supportive and loving that Gray was constantly saying that they loved you more than him, so it became a running joke between everyone. It may be the Dolan Twin’s channel, but you were the star.

Grayson shook his head chuckling and kissed you softly. “I love you so much Y/N Dolan. You are the most caring selfless person I know and I have no idea how you can love me, but I thank God every day that you do.” Grayson smiled before kissing you passionately. You both cuddled on the couch for a while, neither of you tired anymore, just feeling content in each other’s presences.

The next day Grayson sat down with Ethan and their team and made sure the rest of the tour was canceled. Grayson and Ethan agreed they wanted more control over their work and had their managers and marketing team back off and those who didn’t were fired. After business was done, Gray and E sat down in front of the camera and made a video to the fans. They explained what had happened over the last few weeks and really opened up about their lives. They let the fans know that they would be taking a short break to focus on their family and when they came back they would start making content that they actually loved, and it would be on their own time and not just for the sake of feeling obligated to post. As the video came to a close Grayson talked to the camera about how important this was to them and how they hoped the fans could support this because this is how it should have been a long time ago.

“So that’s that. It’s been rough, but we’re figuring it out. If these past couple of weeks have taught me anything it’s that life’s too short to be worried about this kind of stuff or to be mad at people. You need to focus on the now, on this moment. Hug the people close to you and tell them you love them, because you never know when they’ll be gone. I’m lucky to be given a second chance to love unconditionally and uncontrollably. I wish I would have realized that sooner but I’m so grateful I have now. Life’s too short not to love. And please know we love you guys and we’re so grateful for all the continued support through everything. You guys are unreal. Thank you for everything… Until next time. Peace.”

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