#but i do feel like they are overly centered in the discussion at the moment given the lack of recognition of deltarune's themes so far

[duskwingmoth]

"Your choices don't matter."

This is and will continue to be the most-misunderstood line in the game. Even now in June 2023 with ample evidence, many players seem to believe that Deltarune is a game that disregards player agency and their decisions, despite the Player still being the single most powerful entity in its universe.

The confusion is understandable, as I do believe it's an intentional red herring, and certainly with regards to the outcome of Chapter 1's events it holds largely true. Nonetheless, people seem to overlook the fact that Ralsei, mere minutes later, has this to say:

"I believe your choices are important, too!"

The importance and implication of both lines together goes overlooked, likely because the latter doesn't happen with nearly as much fanfare as Susie's explosive introduction. But the parallel framing gives the game away, as does the dichotomy in Susie and Ralsei's reaction to your role as the "leader" of the Lancer Fan Club.

What Deltarune is telling you with these lines is that whatever Chapters 3 through 7 hold, a defining aspect of the RPG formula is going to be heavily scrutinized and deconstructed, just like player/game morality, repeat playthroughs, and player character agency were in Undertale.

In RPGs, be they western or eastern in origin and influence, a largely unchallenged assumption is baked into their design. You, the Player, will be the final word on any decision that the Party makes, whether it be a party of one or 100 characters. What Kain, Rosa, Rydia, Edge, and every other party member in Final Fantasy IV want out of their lives is irrelevant, and their thoughts and feelings on the next course of action even moreso; they all default to Cecil's decisions, and Cecil can do nothing without you. Therefore, Cecil is entrusting the events of the game to the player that controls him in the overworld and in the battle scene. They will all be in your final party lineup, whether they like it or not.

Later versions of Final Fantasy IV will take this even further, allowing you to subvert the exit of other party members from your control once the finale is ready to commence. Cid, Yang, Palom & Porom, and Edward no longer have the security of irrelevance to convalesce, heal from their wounds and sacrifices and traumas. If you want them to be part of your lunar expedition, you need only speak to them at the Tower of Prayer, and they will hop into Cecil's pocket while another party member (of your choice) is left behind.

Their choices don't matter. Yours do.

As far as we've seen in Chapter 1 and 2, Deltarune is absolutely holding NES and SNES Final Fantasy up as a strong influence, especially IV, with party members entering and leaving your command as the plot and their agency within demands. This makes for interesting gameplay changes and challenges, certainly. What the game is doing with it thematically, however, seems to be going thus far largely unexamined. Final Fantasy IV, after all, was something of a subversive JRPG experience for its time as well, and if there's one thing that's very clear about Undertale and especially Deltarune, it's how much it wants to subvert player expectations, thwarting the flowchart mindset with which a game-savvy person is conditioned to approach video games of similar trappings.

Through the majority of Chapter 1, Susie is completely impossible to control, command, or influence in any direct way. She has absolutely no regard for what Kris and Ralsei think of her actions, ignoring the rules set out by Ralsei and the game's mechanics, and you are expected to merely play around it. When she rejoins and when you do finally gain the ability to command her in battle, it is only because of forces utterly beyond your direct control, and even then, only because Susie made the active decision to submit to your will for the time-being.

Even still, she reserves the right to comply maliciously or revoke her trust in Kris (and your) decisions.

Not only that, but her actual ability to follow certain orders is immediately called into question.

"Your choices don't matter" to Susie. Only Susie's choices matter to Susie. She is the party member who rebels against your controlling influence as the player on the basis of her own whims, taking actions unprompted and departing entirely when being with Kris is inconvenient to her impulses and desires. You, and the game, have no control over Susie thus far.

Compare and contrast with Ralsei, the goodest goody-two-shoes floof you ever did see, obediently and staunchly obeying the laws of the game and its universe. Despite ostensibly being a ruling power within the confines of Castle Town, he immediately, happily, and without argument submits fully to the Player's will, whether you wanted to have that much control over him or not. What he may want, what he may think, what he may feel, he considers secondary to what Kris wants. As we have seen, that too is equally meaningless in the face of what the Player wants.

Even when the laws of physics, relativity, and the very rules Ralsei himself establishes dictate that he cannot be in the Computer Lab with you as far as we are currently aware, Ralsei goes out of his way to return to Kris' side, and take orders from them once again. He does not argue when you deliberately flout his advice and are just as violent as Susie in Chapter 1, and he does not make any attempts to actively rejoin with you when Susie drags him offscreen to parts of Cyber City unknown in Chapter 2. Even when violating the set rules of the game is the consequence, he will follow yours and Susie's directions.

Whatever the mysterious forces may be that compel Ralsei to be so rigidly obedient that he will diminish his contributions when you purposefully belittle them, the demonstrable fact is that, in effect, you own him. You are everything he is, and his everything is yours. Will this be reified within the plain text of the game? Who knows. It would certainly be fitting if it was. Though whether that makes for a stronger story remains the opinion of the development team, and they are 100% willing to play with your expectations.

Like, for example, the prevailing understanding coming out of Chapter 1 that "your choices don't matter" was the be-all, end-all statement Deltarune had to make, something that somehow persists beyond Chapter 2's release and collective analysis, and, more specifically paradoxically, in light of the revelation that is Noelle Holiday.

Much of Noelle's life beyond what you can observe as her classmate is left ambiguous. In part to maintain some fun textual mystery for later, but more so that you have a blank slate upon which to work as the unchallenged master of Deltarune's entire universe. A master that likely has experienced Undertale in some form or fashion and is well aware of its conceits and statements, thus likely looking for more explicit, gameplay-defined dichotomies. Think of Susie as Deltarune's thesis, Ralsei as its antithesis, and Noelle as a synthesis of the two opposing ideas. Or, more simply, a question posed to the player:

"What happens when we give you the power to subvert someone's will without their knowing consent?"

In relation to Queen, Noelle is to her as Susie is to you. She does not want to obey her commands or be in her presence because her own desires are not in alignment with Queen's. The thing about Noelle, is that she is far less rebellious, and escapes Queen's control via simple avoidance, instead entrusting you with her agency based on prior familiarity with Kris and the fallacious assumption of shared goals.

Your relative anonymity, and the ambiguity of your desires as a Player are what leave Noelle susceptible to your influence. And you, the Player, may well not be someone who should be trusted with that kind of power.

Thus, Snowgrave.

In a deliberate echo of Undertale's deconstruction of multiple playthroughs and game morality, you can, if you want, turn Noelle into a murderer, a thing she would never become on her own, and thus demonstrate that the rigid rules of Deltarune and what you previously believed it had to say fall limply before your power like wet paper. In the process, you also subvert the supposed control Queen has as the chapter's antagonist, and make an example out of the one character who actively and completely refuses to submit to your will, rendering them both completely obsolete.

In the end, you have final authority on whether Noelle Holiday the character is a person with agency in her own story, worthy of her own backstory and motives, or a set of actions with no capacity to argue with anybody, only perceiving the world through the lens of violence, as most RPG party members are. And it should be stressed; you never have to go through the motions of Snowgrave yourself to "see what happens"; the internet already has your answer. You choose to do this to Noelle and the characters, because you want to do it.

There's a lot to appreciate about Deltarune and its dedication to being a richer experience in every way, but most fascinating are the questions Noelle poses. "How ethical is it, really, that you have the power to veto everything about a character and what they want? Are you okay with this arrangement? Do these cute little pixels mean anything to you beyond what they can do for you?" For the fact that it explores this so thoroughly in under two hours, and for the implication that there's even more musings just like it in the future. I don't know if there's a game that has really interrogated the concept of party members like this, because I've certainly never heard of it. Compared to the well-trodden ground in Undertale's core statement, this is a mental exercise the general audience isn't primed for, possibly one that a lot of game developers haven't entertained either. Certainly not with this large a crowd watching with bated breath.

I'm not a Deltarune theorist by trade, but this is my one that I will openly put forward: Deltarune is not done making you feel uncomfortable with the monopoly you hold over these characters in this way. This is what sets it apart and elevates it to one of the greats in the medium, mark my words. Your choices do matter, and they matter very much.

#deltarune #deltarune thoughts #deltarune theory #chapter 2 spoilers #plenty has been said about kris and their open rejection of your control and likely there's so much more #but i do feel like they are overly centered in the discussion at the moment given the lack of recognition of deltarune's themes so far #long post #i wrote this like half a year ago with the intention of drawing stuff to go with it but at this point i should just set it loose as is

[mikeysbabygirl]

Mikey's girl PART TWO II :

Warning : suggestive talk, dirty jokes, Bonten being gossips again...

Summary : I didn't thought of making a part two of this, but you all liked it so much and asked to meet the other executives, so here we are !

PART ONE LINK HERE.

You should read the part one before starting this !

-" You know... " Sanzu, sitting on the chair in front of Mikey's started, earning his boss's attention. " You maybe should invite her to the gala event, boss. "

The latter lifted his head from his paperwork in front of him, looking at his henchman dead in the eyes and tilting his head to the side.

-" Your girl, I mean. " He added, in front of his boss' confusion.

Mikey frowned, which made Sanzu gulp down.

-" That's none of your business. "

Haruchiyo sank deeper in his seat, playing with his pill's bottle under the table discreetly.

-" Yeah, right. I'm sorry, Mikey... "

Nodding, Mikey looked back at his work, but something kept him from focusing on the words he was reading. Because of that damn Sanzu, he couldn't help but wonder what would be your reaction if he, actually, invited you at the gala Bonten were organizing in few days.

-" Why... Though ? " He started, for the first time his tone was laced with a spark of doubt which surprised Haruchiyo.

-" Um, well... Most men like to bring compagnie to these kinda events, and... You know, chicks usually like when their guys take them out to classy places".

Deep inside, he couldn't deny what his henchman had just said since he had no knowledge of being in a relationship besides some one night stands here and there.

Chicks usually like when their guys take them out... would you give him that smile of yours that made his chest go through strange heat states ?

Most importantly, would you actually appear next to him, as... As an official something ? Would you like being associated with one of the most dangerous Japan criminals ? You, the closest thing to an angel ?

-" That's still none of your business, though. "

Anxiety began creeping in inside you the minute you stepped into that ballroom. From the excessively rich decoration to the women's eyes that already started scanning you, everything screamed at you to run, this was not your element.

And could you blame your guts for that feeling ? You were used to white hospital walls, not to giant velvet curtains and crown moldings on high walls, used to the cries and screams of patients, not to the snarky whispers while those rich women were looking at you, and your body was more comfortable in scrubs and white coats, not the overly expensive mermaid dress Mikey has bought for you.

If there was something you despised, it was being the center of the attention. You gladly took the champagne glass the waiter passing by had offered you, ignoring the eyes lingering on your dress and body, especially that you were not seeing your boyfriend anywhere around you and started feeling lonely.

Not so far away from there, Takeomi and Kokonoi were discussing some business matters, both dressed in their most stunning suits, champagne glasses on hand. To be fair, Takeomi has been long ago stolen from whatever his friend was saying, eyes stuck on the young woman who just entered the room. It didn't took too much time for Hajime to notice that his co-worker was not listening to him anymore.

-" that's interesting... " The Akashi absentmindedly nodded his head.

-" You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you ?" Kokonoi asked with an exhausted face.

-" Not a clue." He answered in a smirk.

His face grew outraged, not only he was not even looking at him, he was, in addition admitting it openly.

-" Go to hell. "

-" Oh I'm counting on it, but I have a good reason for not listening".

Koko rolled his eyes, took another gulp of his drink and asked.

-" What is it ?"

The smirk adorning Takeomi's lips at that moment, as he put his hand on his co-worker's shoulder and turned his body toward where you were standing already told him it was about a woman.

-" This young blood. "

Hajime's gaze followed Takeomi's one,until it stopped on the one who had seemed to catch it. And his interest rose from none to two hundred percent in less than a second.

The first thing he had thought seeing you was how has he even been too blind to not notice you in the first place ? High fashion so stunning it could have blinded him. The mermaid shape of the dress embraced each curve of your body perfectly, it was in a Champagne-like color, which highlighted your skin tone too well for your own good, and then his eyes trailed down your legs, under the see-through fabric of the dress, he could use that sight of your bare thighs as he pleased.

-" A whole snack, indeed. " He admitted, cutting off his friend with what he added next. " But she's way outta your league. "

-" Huh-?" His hand on his friend's shoulder tightened and he made Koko face him again, which took out a frustrated groan from the latter since he was not done admiring you. " You mean she's too good for me ?"

-" I mean with a dress like that, her boyfriend must be either Christian Dior, or me. " Koko scoffed under a dark glare from Takeomi. " And honestly if I had someone like her on my bed, I wouldn't even be here t'night. "

Indignation filled the older man senses, painting a weary expression on his face.

-" I had girls like this between my legs when you weren't even born, jerk. "

-" and years later what you have between your legs now is a soft cucumber". Kokonoi replied, then snorted at his own comment making Takeomi roll his eyes.

-" You're being such a smartass, sit here and watch how real men make pussy rain. "

This time, Hajime couldn't hold his laughter, earning few glances from the people around. An idea clicked in his head at the same time.

-" I'll let you give it a try " he made a step toward him, locking eyes with his. " Then I'm heading toward her and bet tonight you'll receive a charming picture of her young pussy creaming on top of my bills. "

His answer has been a devilish smirk adorning Takeomi's lips, then he offered his hand to Kokonoi which he shook.

-" Deal. "

Oh no... You began biting your lower lip when you caught one of them approaching you. They have been standing only few meters away from you and shamelessly undressing you with their eyes, and now, the one who seemed the older was coming toward you with a smile on his face.

-" Isn't it a crime for such a beautiful lady not to enjoy herself at our event ?"

Our ? You wondered as he made a final step toward you, taking your hand in his and directing it toward his mouth in a gracious kiss. You smiled politely and shook his hand, he was not that bad, actually handsome, but a little too old for you.

-" Who told you I was not enjoying myself ? And, I assume you're one of the organizers".

Her voice's as soft as her skin, he mentally noted, reluctantly releasing your hand.

-" sweetheart drinking on your own is sad. " He watched as your smile grew wider, enjoying how your eyes lit up. " Takeomi Akashi, consider me your champagne mate for the night."

His confidence took a small laugh out of you, he was surprised by how warm his chest has felt within seconds because of you.

-" you have me very flattered, but unfortunately I am tak-"

-" Heard her, Omi ? " Another man's voice startled you from behind, within a second the voice's face appeared as a younger man, the second one that has been eye fucking you all along. " She's not interested".

Kokonoi stood between you and Takeomi, leaning over and taking your hand in his, placing a small kiss on your skin. If it wouldn't have looked creepy, he would gladly have left his lips lingering there longer, inhaling your perfume.

-" Kokonoi Hajime, dear. "

-" I am delighted" you flashed another smile toward him, thanks God was he a master in hiding his reactions since his heart missed a beat, couldn't take his eyes off of your face.

Not to sound cliché, but he found you looked different, almost out of place. Your face had that wide smile, those still bright eyes, an innocent expression in a nutshell, still not at all stained by all the dirty blood on that ballroom's walls.

And that,along with your enticing looks, was what had caught all Bonten's men attention. They had that chase arsenal, the need for destruction, and you looked like the perfect prey, untouched, like you would be beautiful even after the damage.

You on the other hand were flattered by their attention, really. Still couldn't help but be outraged by how stupid they thought you were, staring at you, discussing for nearly ten minutes and shaking hands just before they came to talk.

-" And it is my duty to say I really like the way you wear this dress. "

-" I like it too. " You answered Kokonoi in yet another smile. " Unfortunately for you, it's staying on. "

Both men scoffed at your answer, one mocking his friend, the other even more pleased. Kokonoi has never been a man of easy chores, he appreciated a little hard work and that made you even more interesting.

-" What a shame I won't be witnessing that wonderful view... "

-" Keep flirting with what's mine and you'll witness me declaring World War three. "

You three stiffened at the new voice, you were in no need to turn around to understand the hand that pulled you tighter by the waist was Mikey's. He stood there next to you, holding you close and sending daggers at both his men, poor them, you had thought still you couldn't help but smile seeing them with their tails between their legs.

-" Boss... " Kokonoi started, his face turned stern at the same time your eyes slightly widened.

Boss... Your smile was even harder to hold, you were far from being a tease but if was funny seeing them struggling in front of their boss' dark glare.

-" So this is... She is... " Takeomi began connecting the dots, then his eyes had caught the sight of his younger brother from the other side of the room, smirking along with both the Haitani brothers, that was when everything became clearer.

-" Now I understand why you told Mikey to invite her" Rindou contained his smile while talking to the pink haired man. The three of them were mocking Kokonoi and Takeomi's pale faces, Sanzu with a wide smile and Ran with a breathed laugh.

-" The face they're making is priceless. " Sanzu answered, yet his smile faltered since one of their partners cut Mikey off in his threatening glares, approaching him along with Kakucho.

-" duty calls... " Ran deadpanned and started walking toward them first, quickly followed by his brother and a sighing Sanzu.

Your fun was short lived since before anyone could add anything, the man with heterochromatic eyes that came in your house that night brought what looked like a business man with him who wanted to talk to your boyfriend, and soon after the greetings, the unknown one started introducing his project in front of Mikey's unbiased look.

There you were, standing in the middle of eight men discussing business, gazes drifting toward you from time to time as if you were nothing more but a doll on a shelf and that started really playing on your nerves, especially that the man was offering an investment that no one better than you could tell would cause a great loss.

Both the Haitani brothers had their eyes on you, even more obviously than Sanzu who still had too much respect to eye you that way in front of Mikey. Not a single inch of your skin was still unburned by their glances, from your bare shoulders under the shoulder-off dress to your breasts. The one you had stitched had a sly smile on his face that you wanted to wipe away, and the one you remembered as Rindou, the grumpy one just stared with a weary expression. He was too good at hiding that with every breath you were taking his heart was racing faster.

-" I'll study the case, none of us know enough about these to say if the income would be satisfying for us. As you know, we are quite demanding with our partners. " Kokonoi had replied to who you understood now was the president of a new pharmaceutical company.

No one of you can, but me... your mind was screaming for you to talk. Yet you were quite intimidated, honestly who wouldn't be ? Most of the men there were eyeing you as a piece of meat, and all the women were gathered far from any business talk, judging each other dresses and outfits. You secretly bit your tongue.

Shut up, shut up, shut up... Plus, what kind of honest pharmaceutical developer would use a criminal organization to promote their product?

-" I assure you that you will not regret investing in our antibiotics, I am fully confident that within the next twenty years we will dominate the pharmaceutical market." The CEO explained with another pathetic smile, that was the last straw for you, no doubt if you didn't talked at that time, you would have exploded.

-" This doesn't make much sense... "

Now have a room full of wolves, throw a piece of meat in the middle and close the door, that would be your feeling currently. Though you spoke in a low voice, all gazes turned toward you, you refused to meet any of them especially your boyfriend's one which you felt burning through your skin.

-" Aww she talks ! " His sugar coated tone almost made you throw up, which didn't help was how Mikey's hand tightened around your waist. " Why don't you go put on some lipstick, sweetheart? This strong sex's talk gives bad headaches. "

With each word of him, your blood boiled a temperature higher, and with each glance at his contemptuous face your nails dug deeper in your palm. All men stiffened around, hearing how he addressed you. To be fair, partners used to talk to their girls even worse, but what they all wondered was would Mikey consider you as their usual girls ?

Sanzu knew he wouldn't, he knew his king too well to not notice how his eyes darkened even more than usual...

-" Aww he barks ! " You scoffed in the same tone, making the man frown. " Thank you for caring about my lip's color, and since this conversation is for the strong sex, the strong sex's gonna use her pretty lips to tell these men around that investing in your project would be the worst decision they could ever take. "

The conversations around the ballroom seemed to get muffled, everyone could sense the tension climbing across the air. Kokonoi frowned, quite interested by your statement.

-" This is not about a stupid feminist argument sweetheart-"

-" Watch your fucking mouth when you talk to her. "

The man shivered to the spine under Mikey's voice, nodded fervently and cleared his throat. All the executives could not help but follow what was happening mouth agape, since when did Mikey stand up for his bitches ?

-" I apologize, Sir. What I meant is, this conversation's quite complicated for her-"

-" why ?" You cut him off, struggling to free yourself from Mikey's grip to make a step toward him. " Is it because I was born with a pussy between my legs ?"

-" Show us a proof... " Ran whispered under his breath, Sanzu almost laughing out loud because of his lewd statement. At the same time, Ran's face turned pale catching his boss' dark glare on him.

-" Say that again ?"

The silence around was suffocating, you didn't even cared about what Ran might have said since you were too busy throwing death glares at the pharmacist.

-" Um prove ! I said she has nothing to prove. not to him. He should respect her honestly, that is not how you treat a lady-" The elder Haitani made it up, luckily for him Manjiro was way too busy keeping you grounded to care more about him.

-" Within 20 years, antibiotics will be obsolete and completely unnecessary, with bacterial resistance increasing and the anti-antibiotic movement growing. " You managed to free yourself from your boyfriend's grip to stand still, with all your height in front of the taller man. " You just don't like it when pussy comes with a head, that's it. "

-" I wouldn't mind you giving me both-"

-" Repeat that ?" Mikey snapped back after Rindou whispered under his breath. Rindou straightened, cleared his throat and adopted his usual weary face.

-" I said she's a goat, boss. Women are smart, they giv- have wonderful heads. "

At this point, Manjiro was just too busy burning you with his gaze to even care about Sanzu, Ran and Rindou struggling to contain their laughers as dumb schoolgirls. His rage was roaring inside him, not only because of the several eyes stuck on his pretty girl,but also because his pretty girl had to draw everyone attention to her.

In less than a second, your waist was squeezed again, you found yourself face pressed against his strong chest, only able to look at the white fabric of his suit's shirt when you heard him.

-" I gotta talk to my women. Koko ?"

That one's eyes which were stuck on the curve of your hips from behind quickly got back at Mikey's face, straightening his shoulders, he nodded toward his boss.

-" Take care of this f'me, be back in a few. "

With that, he guided you, without a word outside, in a terrace that emptied as soon as you two got inside.

Kokonoi guided the man further from his co-workers, talking about whatever, and they took the opportunity to start spilling whatever they have been thinking.

-" Wow- " Sanzu began, popped a pill and stared at his older brother who was the next to speak.

-" that was... Fuckin' hot. "

Either nodding, or scoffing, none of them could deny that for once, having a woman taking part of the talk, putting a man back in his place and especially such a gorgeous woman had all their pants tightening.

-" She's the pussy that has been taking the Sano-conda for months, no doubt she's strong " Sanzu replied, earning all the glances to himself. Kokonoi who just came back to them rose an eyebrow.

-" Don't tell me you just gave Mikey's dick a name? Don't tell me his name is literally a mix of Sano and Anaconda?"

-" Okay I won't tell you" that one shrugged, still it didn't wiped the disgusted expression on Hajime's face.

-" So, you guys now believe us ?" Rindou inquired, Kokonoi and Takeomi's gaze met for a second, remembering their bet. They were not ashamed, far from it, they were just pissed by the fact that no one would obviously ever win that bet.

-" Someone tells me where I could buy these dark impulses ? 'cause I got the darkest black card out here and never had such a glamour-puss ".

-" That's exactly how I called her !" Both the Haitani brothers exclaimed as twins, then turned to look at each other with a sly smile.

- " how are things going, champagne mate ?" Sanzu took a chance to approach his brother and mock him while that one groaned.

-" She would've accepted if she was not head over heels for Mikey, I'm sure. "

-" Spare us, she's so young you could be her dad. "

-" you're thinking I wouldn't like her callin' me daddy ?" Takeomi snapped right back, making the Haitani's laugh.

-" shit bro, that ass in that dress was screaming for a spank. Bet Mikey's spanking his naughty girl right now " Ran made almost all of the men laugh.

-" What the hell am I hearing ?" Mochi who just came back from where he was smoking in the terrace asked, joining the group.

-" Where were you ?"

-" Smoking. And bro, how the hell did Mikey managed to get himself such a hot stuff ?"

He almost startled when the Haitani's and Sanzu looked at each other and went in for another laugher. What caught him more aback was that both Koko and Takeomi were smirking.

-" What the hell's happening here ?" He turned toward Kakucho, the only serious one there and asked. The latter sighed.

-" Nothing, just them being... Them. And me wondering why the hell my mother didn't swallow instead. "

Mochi only nodded slowly, confused as if to laugh or cry because of his friend's state, before Sanzu cut him off.

-" You can play coy all you want, just don't dare saying you wouldn't want whatever the fuck Mikey's having on the terrace now ".

Throwing a death glare at Sanzu and feeling his cheeks heating because of all his co-workers laughers and glances at him, he put his hands in his pockets and looked away, ignoring the statement.

He would not deny that. He could not anyway. His boss got himself the prettiest and cleanest girl they had ever seen since they started their careers, sweet, smart, and fierce, him just like any other executive could not say they were not even the slightest bit envious.

-" Yeah that's what I thought" the latter scoffed. " What are they doing anyway ? It's cold outside. "

-" Yeah... " Kokonoi started, and even himself wasn't believing what he was about to say, yet the influence of staying so long around these men have had the best of him. " It's cold outside, she's gonna tell him to cum inside. "

Nearly everyone's attention was on their group at that point, the laugher most of them had let out echoing through the room until even both you and Manjiro heard it from the terrace. Kakucho and Takeomi were the only ones who didn't laughed, still a smile was there curling both their lips, reluctantly.

-" That was the lamest joke I've heard in my life. " Takeomi told Kokonoi, who only rolled his eyes.

-" This is a nightmare... " Kakucho stated, before Ran answered.

-" No, this is Bonten ".

-" Every Saturday night on your TV. Stay tuned. "

•••

If only the laughers echoing from inside have been useful, yet even those were not enough to cool off the atmosphere between the two of you.

Mikey had his back facing you, both his hands on the railing. His knuckles were turning white from how strong he was gripping that one, keeping himself grounded.

His demons started roaring again, screaming for destruction and burning with wrath. And deep inside, he was terrified.

Scared that he might just let go of the wheel, scared they might hurt you, the ones inside his head, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He has been so hell bent on keeping you away from his gang life at first, he really should have kept that mindset, let Ran die in his backseat that night because now, he knew there wouldn't be any back off possible. You were just too... Eye catching, your honesty, your innocence, everything about you was a forbidden fruit for all the devils inside that ballroom, not a wonder you got all their eyes stuck on you the entire night.

And that was one of the things upsetting him so much, how even his presence didn't scared them off of your face, of your body and your fire. That feeling of jealousy was a whole new cloud in his already dark sky, he had never felt such a thing before, never actually cared about anyone to even feel it. And now, he was finding himself wanting to kill people just because their eyes landed on you.

-" It's getting late-"

Enough, in a split second you found yourself pinned against the wall, with Mikey's hand around your throat and his knee pressed between your legs.

You gulped down, dived deep in those dark eyes you loved so much. Never have you ever seen his face in such a state, it was emptier than usual, darker, even. You could not help but feel scared, feeling your hands trembling on each side of your body yet you maintained his eye contact.

-" Find it fucking funny to have all those eyes on you ? Running this mouth 'f yours around my men ?"

His voice was lower than usual, more dangerous, his lips inches away from yours gave you the impression of eating you alive, but nothing could have been compared to the way his eyes were burning each inch of your skin, from your face to your chest.

-" You should be the one asking yourself questions. " You replied with all the courage left in your body. " Like : Do I actually own a gang or a kindergarten ? "

He would not hurt you, right ? You wondered right after the words left your mouth. Your Manjiro, the man that turned into a boy in your arms, he would never get mad at you until hurting you, right ?

You heavily doubted it as you watched his hand tightening around your throat, still his knee between your legs, the friction he was giving you had something comforting, as if he wanted you to understand you were not in danger of death.

-" You really want me to force you to watch as I kill them all, hm ?"

Closing your eyes briefly for a second, you repeated a mantra inside your head.

He would not, he would never... he just was feeling insecure, you knew him better than anyone. Being between a bunch of men which everyone wanted you in a different way had all his insecurities and demons screaming, be smarter.

-" When I fuckin' ask, you answer. "

His hand squeezed a little more on your throat, making you gasp louder. At the same time, Manjiro thrusted his knee against your crotch, making your clit throb from pleasure, a smirk adorned his merciless face while you squeezed your thighs against each other.

-" No. But I won't stay there and shut up when someone disrespects me. " In a bold, or maybe suicidal move, your hands flew to his collar and brought him closer to you. Lucky you, your gesture was rather soft, otherwise he would never have took it that lightly.

And to be honest, whenever you would flash that fierce part of yourself, he would already be thinking about thousand and one ways of having you, taking you, keeping you next to him forever.

-" You brought me here tonight. You wanted me to be your girl in front of anyone. You don't disrespect the boss' girl. "

His girl, could the world stop for a minute and just let him feel the hurricane moving his chest at that meer word?

Mikey stared blankly at your eye color, sinking deep in your ocean. There were so much things he could read there that he couldn't quite say anything, couldn't comprehend anything except his heart beating louder, his lips screaming to take your pretty ones. Each of your words was his daily reminder to why he has chosen to keep you longer in the first place, each more second that you sustained his glare was a slap in the face, telling him if whatever soulmates existed, you would be his.

-" if you waited long enough, you would've known I was only waiting for him to make one more mistake to gift you his head on a platter. "

Dead serious, the look in his eyes dared you to even think he wouldn't be able to do it. That night you knew, he knew, and all of them inside knew he would kill for you.

Your hands left his shirt to cup his cheeks, even though his dark desires were still yearning for destruction and pain, your gentleness soothed his worries and thoughts, he leaned in your touch the slightest bit.

-" I know that, but I don't want this. And deep inside, you don't want this either. "

Frowning, his hand around your throat loosened and his knee left your thighs, Mikey straightened, sensing where you were going and stared at you.

-" What do you mean ?"

-" I mean that you need someone who can stand for herself, even when you're not here. When you're by my side, I'm the strongest. But when you're not here, I take your sword and carry your crown gladly. "

Has his heart ever beaten that fast in years ? Through fights or workouts ? Through experiencing death ? Never, he promised. And nothing has never been that right, he had lost too many people to think he could protect you forever, what he needed was to rest, to feel like whenever he would not be able to stand for you, you would be able to do it yourself.

-" you don't need someone you can protect, Manjiro. You need someone who'll make you drop the sword for a while and rest, I can be that someone. I can be your someone. "

Think of it as if his whole life suddenly made more sense, as if hearing his needs out loud was the thing that made them relevant,accurate.

He felt exposed, naked, but not only. He felt as if you broke his walls, looked passed his insecurities that were hiding inside and built brand new walls around his heart. With windows, this time, to let the light seep in. He was at a loss of words and couldn't even face you, look you in the eyes.

Just what did he do to deserve such a blessing ? You were so perfect that it started to hurt, that it became torture to keep wondering when you would finally understand he was not worth it, you...

Your heart missed several beats when he turned his back to you, began making few steps toward the door that led inside the ballroom.

Was it the end ? Have you gone too far ? Months of trying to make his guards fall down have them ended up themselves falling, failing ?

Anxiety had you digging your nails in your palms, heart racing rapidly especially when he stopped few steps away from the door and turned to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

And God was he pretty, with his empty dark eye devouring you that way, wind slightly blowing his hair.

-" What you waiting for ?"

His stern voice snapped you out of your thoughts, you tilted your head to the side questioningly, eyeing the hand he reached toward you to take.

-" better hurry up and come with me, before I make them all hear how dumb I fuck my queen. "

Tag-list : @dreamingofyourmoons @fl4mepillar @thisbicc @isacreellover @Inupiko @akanemayumi @simpingforwakasa04 @luno614 @gukiemochi @shuujin

Wow, I bet you all know the kind of unfunny and lame jokes I make everyday, poor my friends...

I stressed posting this honestly cause you all liked the first part so much and I didn't wanted to ruined it, I was kinda pressured, hope you like it though !

About Sanzu's girl, it's soon to come ! And soon I'll be back to your requests, have a good night 🖤

Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🖤

Network : @downtown-roponggi @tokyo-ballroom

#tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers spoilers #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo rev fluff #haitani rindou #ran haitani #bonten x reader #mikey smut #manila mikey #bonten mikey #mikey tokyo revengers #mikey x reader #mikey x y/n #mikey x you #manjiro sano x reader #tr sanzu #tokyo revengers haruchiyo sanzu #sanzu haruchiyo #akashi takeomi #bonten kokonoi

[animehouse-moe]

My Girlfriend's Child Volume 1

This is a relatively quiet manga, if that makes any sense. It is a drama, and it is centered around a rather taboo topic in media. But it doesn't stretch the truth, it doesn't dramatize pieces for the sake of drama. Essentially, it does nothing to promote itself to readers, and instead focuses on telling a very strong story through this medium.

⚠️Warning: Discussion of Teenage Pregnancy Ahead⚠️

Sachi and Takara are high schoolers with their whole lives ahead of them. Though, in Sachi's eyes that comes crumbling down because of a pregnancy test and the scares that it brings with it. This manga does a great deal to address those fears, confusions, and concerns that swirl around Sachi as a teenage girl, and give what almost amounts to an example as to how significant others should handle the process.

So lets get into it, starting with the art. It's a very wispy work overall, that makes very little use of shadows or darkness, instead opting for something that's very bright and almost fades into the light. There's plenty of detail in the art, but you don't quite notice it all the time because of how faint it is. It's all very monotone, which I find interesting. Takara has darker colors in his design, as do a few other characters, but the overwhelming impression is that the art is focused on white and brighter colors. Could it be about bringing the world under Sachi's point of view versus Takara's, given the difference in color palette for the characters? It's definitely possible, but hard to say so I'll leave it as a question.

The paneling and overall presentation of the manga is well done, opting for providing more information and character acting than scenery or larger spreads. It can become a little dense at times, but overall does a good job of helping better express the characters and provide more life to how they move and act. Take these pages for example.

There's 8 panels total between the two pages it depicts, and effectively all it does is establish how Sachi is looking for her lost cat Nora. It shows that she's not exactly overly prepared for being out in the snow and cold to look for the cat, and that she's also very diligent and willing to search for this Nora, as she looks underneath a bench as well. I think it's a great introduction to the character and understanding how they typically act. But I will also say, that this type of paneling is evident throughout. That is to say, that the overall creativity in layouts could use some work, as it relies heavily on squares and rectangles that fill space to confine the art and the flow of the content.

Somewhere I have no complaints though is the character designs. They're as detailed as they are unique (that is to say, very), and that Mamoru Aoi is very good with facial expressions and character posing. As much as they are well defined and appealing poses, they feel equally at home when interpolated or imagined to be moving.

Moving onwards, I feel like Mamoru sensei is using the visual medium to their best extent possible. Not so much in the sense of what they present, but how. Backgrounds and smaller details are used as focus and storytelling elements. Take a scene like this one, that shows Sachi's isolation and dissociation in the moment.

And a lesser detail that you'll notice is "noise", and how Sachi perceives and interacts with it. Given that we as readers can't experience this noise, it's an incredibly easy detail to miss, but one that exists as a constant in the manga.

There's some really great moments that use it as a way to isolate Sachi in her dissociation as above, but there's also examples when it's used to irritate her or cause anxiety. It's a really fine detail that adds a great deal of character to Sachi's experience. Just take this sequence as an example.

It easily expresses Sachi's frustration with having to listen to the pot bubble and rattle around while cooking, and is a very simple sequence that gives a lot of life and detail to Sachi's character and how she's handling and processing things. And it happens quite often throughout. Mamoru's shown impressive prowess in visually building things up for readers to understand Sachi, whether they've ever experienced a pregnancy, or been an SO to someone that's been pregnant, or none of the above.

I wouldn't call it a one-two punch or anything like that, but they make sure to include and provide inklings and cues as to Sachi's behavior and demeanor. It creeps up on you rather than appearing out of nowhere, and I think when dealing with such an emotional experience, it's a really important detail to nail to the highest degree possible. Things like this scene that precedes Sachi's isolation at the restaurant that I showed earlier.

It's a very simple and straightforward piece that speaks to Sachi's isolation from the moment that she thinks she's possibly pregnant. Forced to act like everything is normal and okay, all the students are shown to be hunkering down for class and settling into their normal routine, while Sachi is separated from them, in her own world, struggling by herself with this experience.

Now, moving on to the sensitive topics at hand: teenage pregnancy and teen sex. It's handled well, well enough that it's able to express those explicit aspects without being sexual or prying. It follows the journey from start to finish within this volume. Not to the point of birth or abortion or anything, but to where it leaves off. It doesn't skip a beat in depicting the fears of of being pregnant, of how society will view and treat you, how it can throw a wrench in plans for the future, how alone and scary it can be to experience it. How you go about getting tested and confirming, processing and understanding the experience.

All these pieces are expressed through Sachi incredibly well. She's not lashing out constantly or collapsing into tears at the slightest inconvenience. But those pieces are still there. She loses her temper, she's obstinate, she's emotional. She's conflicted and afraid and alone.

I think what Mamoru sensei does best here is in explaining the process of coming to terms with a pregnancy. The constant back and forth, the fear and uncertainty that permeates it. The confusion and rushed research and conflicting opinions that change at the drop of a hat. It's incredibly well expressed in such a candid fashion. How a cat can mean the world as to how you treat a pregnancy. How simple words can mean the world one moment and then nothing the next.

Just moments like these that contextualize, and almost normalize the experience for young girls. It adds so much important life and understanding to the story.

Or pieces like this, that show Sachi struggling with researching and fully understanding pregnancy and how it progresses/appears. I think the best part here is showing her uncertainty. She goes on to say that she doesn't have all the symptoms so she's unsure as to whether or not she's actually pregnant.

It's just such a great depiction of the experience, that goes on to show that it can happen to anyone. And that even though it can happen to any number of people, those that experience it still struggle and suffer isolated in their own worlds. Unsure of what to do next, uncertain of what to say and how to breach the subject. It's a really candid and close expression of teenage pregnancy, and I think it's an incredibly important read for any number of people out there to help understand the issues, fears, and challenges that come with pregnancy (at any age, really), and how to handle it with your SO.

#my girlfriend's child #her child #ano ko no kodomo #あの子の子ども #aoi mamoru #drama manga #romance manga #shojo manga #shoujo manga #shoujo #shojo #shojosei #shoujosei #anime and manga #manga #manga review #manga recommendation

[popentertainmentconcertreviews]

Mitski & Tamino – The Met – Philadelphia, PA – February 7, 2024

Singer and songwriter Mitski played her second of two sold-out Philadelphia shows this week. It was a magical evening and from the moment she and her opener, Tamino hit the stage, they both captivated the audience at The Met in Philly.

The show began with Tamino and his angelic voice. The entire theater fell silent when the 27-year-old Belgian singer’s voice shook the venue. Not only is this artist a virtuoso in singing, but he was also an incredibly skilled musician with the wide array of instruments that he played on the stage. I can’t recall how many changes of instruments he cycled through, but I do remember how beautifully he played them all. His set was a masterfully sung spectacle and grabbed my full attention with songs like “The Longing,” “Indigo Night,” and “My Dear Friend and Enemy.”

As for Mitski, to put it bluntly, she was a vision on stage, and brought life to the whole theater. Her music has always held a certain charm that compliments its open-ended nature. As many fans say, “Mitski’s music is unique in that she encourages her listeners to interpret it however they wish.” That being said, a common interpretation I have when listening to her music is that it is both beautiful and meaningful. I was impressed by the set design accompanying her 23-song setlist. While it was not overly extravagant, it was just right to ensure an element of interpretation was still there. An especially notable performance for me was her song, “My Love Mine All Mine,”which was beautifully done. Her voice clearly communicated each word, and her visual aid of floating mirror shards quite literally reflected an indescribable feeling all around.

Throughout the amazing evening, Mitski herself was a joy to listen to as she spoke with the audience in between songs. She is so wonderfully bizarre, and this only makes her performance stronger. I particularly enjoyed her discussion on what it means to be a “gremlin” among people. I felt like I knew exactly what she meant.

With her music often centering around self and belonging, concert goers also connected with songs like “Thursday Girl,” “Love Me More” and “Last Words of Shooting Star.”Her encore performance included fan favorites – “Nobody” and “Washing Machine Heart.”

If you are lucky enough to check out Mitski in person, please do! It is quite an experience, but I would recommend buying your tickets early as her tour stops usually sell out quickly. I hope to see her perform live again in the future. It was a night to remember, and I loved every moment of it.

Jordan Wagner

Copyright ©2024 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: February 10, 2024.

Photos by Jack Farrell © 2024. All rights reserved.

#Mitski #Tamino #2024 #Concert Photos #The Met #Philadelphia #Jordan Wagner #Jack Farrell

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

I love love love Rhaenyra & Reader moments in your stories! 😍

If it fits in with your ideas of where you want to take your story, I’d love to see Rhaenyra and Reader talking about stuff / doing stuff that has nothing to do with Daemon, men, or even sex/romance/family. Maybe even some scenes around Rhaenyra’s growth in political experience/education on Dragonstone and her learning how to be a liege lord (lady) with Reader supporting her???

Despite how HotD is (supposedly) more “feminist” than GoT, male characters still outnumber female characters 3:1 or 4:1 and almost all of the scenes & interactions between female characters are centered around or about men (directly or indirectly; like discussing institutionalized misogyny).

And that’s before we even get into how the most popular female characters (like Arya, Daenerys, Brienne, and Rhaenyra) are largely praised for possessing or exhibiting more traditionally masculine or male-coded traits/characteristics. (I did a whole project on this for my psych of gender class in college)

I’m not “anti-Rhaenyra”. I want to like her. I want to root for her; the same way I want to root for Alicent.

I’m “Neutral” since (to me) Team Black vs Team Green, anti-Rhaenyra / anti-Alicent stuff just exemplifies the way the patriarchy sets women against each other.

Just like Alicent can come across as passive aggressive, approval-seeking, easily-manipulated, holier-than-thou, and spiteful; Rhaenyra can come across as selfish, entitled, arrogant, politically naive, and self-absorbed.

I wasn’t overly-impressed at her reasons (reason) for wanting to be Queen in the show - which essentially boiled down to how it’s unfair that she wouldn’t be the heir and future Queen. It wasn’t until Episode 10 - on the brink of civil war - that Rhaenyra seemed to consider what it would mean to actually be Queen; the consequences it might have or the impact on other people. At which point, it was kinda a bit too little, too late tbh.

But - since this is fanfic - maybe we can see Rhaenyra doing an awesome job as a Queen-in-Training(TM) on Dragonstone and showing that she’d make a really good Queen??? 😃🙏

P.S. Shit. I did not realize how long this had become. Sorry!!! 😬

Oh, absolutely - I really really enjoyed reading this. At the moment, I’m sorta stuck in a rut where the content is going to be relationship-oriented, but I do have plans for this series that push Reader beyond the shy retiring Princess and into a more overtly political role. In the same way that I hope Reader serves as a foil to Daemon’s impulsivity and hot-temperedness, she’s also a good check against Rhaenyra’s arrogance and short-sightedness. I feel like the show focused so much on whether Rhaenyra could rule as a woman that it never really explored whether she should rule; there wasn’t much character work done until the very end on conveying what characteristics she possessed that made her suited to rule above other candidates, though I suppose that might also in itself be telling.

The tragedy of this entire thing is that you have so many characters with all the makings of great leaders, rulers, people - but the cruel hands of fate tug them along the road to darkness, and in the end none are able to withstand the fall to chaos and destruction. Rhaenyra succumbs to her conceitedness and her paranoia; Aegon from being… well, Aegon; Daemon to his (from the way I understand it) anger and disillusionment; Aemond from becoming the monster he was forced to be; Helaena to her own mind; Alicent to her ambition. They all pay for this in their own ways (mostly death). I’ve forgotten people, but these are the ones that stick out. I do want to build this idea more in the story - that these characters have so much going for them in terms of potential, so that if I do decide to ‘rip it all away’ with the Dance, the shift will be that much more tragic.

It might also be prudent to remind people that while I love Rhaenyra, for the timeline to function as it should so that Daenerys Stormborn (and Jon Snow) comes into fruition, the Dance needs to happen, though perhaps not to the same severity. (I say this because the incorporation of my ‘book texts’ imply that the context for which they were created is largely the same as canon, as I’m pretty sure Gyldayn’s work was created before/in Robert Baratheon’s time for those curious about the decline in Targaryen power.) And for my character arcs to round off the way I planned, certain characterisations need to be made evident or avoided altogether for the ending to feel well-earned. Rhaenyra is a great sister, but I do not feel like she is a great ruler. At most, I feel she wants to be. And therein lays a great minefield for tragedy.

That being said, I have no idea still if I’m planning on going full-ham with the Dance. I have a few warring thoughts on this. The ultimate consequence of this conflict was a) the extinction of the dragons in a couple generations and b) the beginning of the end of the Targaryen golden age, and the start of major destabilising conflicts that ultimately led to the Mad King and the downfall of the royal House; I hate the idea of keeping to this as I find it so so sad, but on the other hand I like the idea of being able to slot my fic into canon in a round-about way (with SEVERAL notable changes obviously). I’m also hesitant to make this a full-scale political fic, as it is ultimately about our inherent desire to bone Daemon 😂. That being said, I do want to build the story up in a way that showcases the world outside of our core relationship, and this would be an awesome way to go about that.

Thanks for the awesome food for thought!

#fanfiction comments

[casitafallz]

LTRL AU | Bad, to Worse

Vera groaned softly as she heard the knocking on the door. Too early and her head was ringing a little before she forced herself to get up and glance at the clock.

Five am.

Who was knocking on their door at five am in the morning?

“Ruben?” She whispered though the snores in her ear seemed to indicate that…he was still deep asleep. Lucky bastard. Begrudgingly, Vera slipped slowly out of bed despite the protest of her back and hips before she grabbed her glasses, dressing grown, and slipped that over the top of her night dress and tightly did it up, slippers on and slowly made it to the door.

Vera didn’t undo the door chain as she opened it up, though she frowned in confusion as she recognized Bruno on the other side through the gap.

He looked like he hadn’t slept, his hair messy and somewhat in his own night clothes with his green ruana on top. In his hands, he had a green tablet hugged to his chest inwards, so she couldn’t see its content.

Not a good omen if he was knocking on her door at this time.

“Hola, sorry for the wake-up but… I couldn’t wait much longer” Bruno apologized.

Vera sighed heavily, shutting the door in his face and swiftly undid the chain, and welcomed him in. “How long have you been waiting?” She yawned, gesturing him towards the kitchen.

“Well… I had this vision two hours ago. Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugged, sinking into a chair, “My visions…have to be done every so often otherwise I get headaches and migraines. I don’t…like doing them but this… just sort of happens and I don’t know what I was looking for.” He didn’t let go of the emerald sheet, even as Vera poured a jug of water and set two glasses down.

Vera could see there was logic and could understand that this wasn’t a purposely sought future. “Have a drink,” she prompted, gently filling up his glass “it might relax you.”

Bruno hesitated but after a moment, he nodded and took a few careful sips.

A part of Vera wondered if she should put a pot of coffee on to wake up.  The dregs of tiredness were pulling at her mind given she was awake two hours earlier after a late night. Returning to bed would be wise once this visit was done when not pipped up on caffeine.

“So, I’ll be blunt.” Bruno didn’t sound overly confidant despite his words, “I saw a lot of things in relative succession and with no specific order or indication of how far away it is from now; from a newborn baby, Mirabel, Julieta and Agustín, the main thing  that is soon is…about Isabela.”

The mention of the baby pulled Vera’s mind into focus before for forced herself to side-step to Isabela first. “Show me, then…we’ll discuss.” Vera opted for. Simpler than him simply explaining.

Bruno hesitated but after a moment and a glance down, he loosened up and set the tablet down. Vera’s breath paused for a moment as she look in the sight.

Unexpected, unsettling and she could feel the bubble of questions that the image exposed because… this didn’t seem something Isabela would do again. Not after all the effort she’s put in with keeping to her punishments. To her knowledge, Isa’s never used her gift outside of designated areas.

What changed?

Vera pulled the vision closer, blinking a little as the person in the vines, shifting from Camilo to Antonio as the tablet moved in her hands.

Interesting.

It was not a simple target attack if it was fluid enough to change between two people. Two possibilities.

“What…else did you see with this?” Vera asked quietly. “Did you see…how this happened? The trigger?”

Bruno didn’t look overly poised, his hand gripping the glass tightly. “I…didn’t see the trigger but…she pulled him forwards t-towards her.”

Vera inhaled deeply because…of course, he didn’t. If he did, he’d not be here worrying about it. Her eyes went past the figures and the vines in the background.

“This is…public. In town.” She noted, noticing the steps of the church in the center. This opened up a worry about how Isa’s reputation would certainly be further more damaged if this was in no good context. “Until we know the cause, we can’t assume this is an attack. Camilo may be an idiot but even he’s not stupid to push Isabela into a repeating situation.”

“Isn’t…idiot the same as stupid?”

“No, idiots are people who are aware of the consequences following stupid actions and still follow through. Stupidity is where they’re not aware of the consequences of their actions.” Vera clarified. “Isabela’s not stupid enough to repeat so blindly. Something caused this and… we should try and get an understanding of this before we make a judgment.” She’d need to tell Isabela. She deserved to know if this was in her future. “Do you have the strength to try again and seek out this future? What it’s build-up was?”

Bruno paled a little at the thought. “Not yet… I’m tired.”

“There is still plenty of time, you should eat and take a few hours to sleep and see if you’re up for it.” She’d not make him, as much as this…image in front of her was itching for new context; the family would learn the reasoning the hard way even if he didn’t.

But Vera had to put faith in Isabela. The girl had learned… she certainly wouldn’t compromise the custody of the baby either with this if this was malicious. She spent the last nine months caring too much about what happened to simply throw it away.

They had to see.

There had to be a reason. She’d keep her faith in Isa for now because…there was soo many open questions. Too easy to think the worse and she wasn’t for doing that.

Vera straightened up. “I will…talk to Isabela about this later. Today should be the last day before we close for the coming celebrations.” She could spend the time this morning finishing up and be back in good time when Isa was finishing up her morning chores at the house before ten. If Isa avoided coming into town today, they didn’t need to worry.

“You’re still open?”

“There are still a good few fifteen-year-olds needing their Quinceañera dressed at this time of year.” Vera reasoned, “Your Sobrino’s birthday is only four days after the twenty-fourth.”

Bruno nodded. “Again I’m…sorry for dropping this all on you…this early.”

Vera nodded, “I’d rather know and handle it in good time. Thank you for coming down.” She could see he was eager to leave so she guided him back to the door. “One thing,” She interrupted before he could pass the threshold of the door, “The baby you saw…what was it?”

“The baby?” Bruno blinked in surprise, “Er… it was a boy. Looked a little shocked at his new living situation but…he seemed alright.”

Vera’s breath caught. A boy. Isabela was having a son. Her first great-grandson.  “Was he…healthy?”

Bruno hesitated a little in confusion. “Aside from…being really small, he looked okay and developed”

Vera relaxed with a swell of relief. At least, no matter what happened, the baby would be born at least in a few months’ time. Isa was at seven months. A baby born any time soon wouldn’t survive without a hospital… or better infant care.  They had no way to cater to a preterm baby that soon.

Perhaps the miracle and magic were aiding Isa’s pregnancy more than they knew to ensure the baby remained healthy.

She hoped.

 -

 Fran was careful as she sneaked the extra bottle of water with her and the spare supplies and hurried back to her room. She knew she should be responsible and take this to her parents or even Abuelo but…she couldn’t.

If more people knew then the risks were far higher of this spreading.

The news of Mateo’s disappearance hadn’t yet fully circulated—in part with the Madrigals probably not wanting news of Isa’s sexual fun being spilled to the public—and Marquez’s fear of being caught out in the mess; the cause and reason as everyone had seen Luisa escort him back to his home. They would knew they were the reason. Some sort of weird stalemate of unwanted gossip potential.

But none knew the truth.

Isa would notice her absence soon enough. Fran was still trying to come up with a plan but… she couldn’t just keep him here.

The girl swiftly entered her room and locked it after her before she dropped down beside her bed and peeked under as she pulled away the bags she had set up to cover. Mateo lay flat out asleep still underneath the wide space on his back, lightly covered with a blanket but she was glad to see more color in his cheeks that weren’t bruised.

It had been horrifying to find him knocking desperately at her shutters that night, having crawled out of his own bedroom window after his sister had been done with her rage.

Two bruised ribs, a minor fractured eye socket, slip lip, and glass cuts from his scalp to his shoulder. That didn’t include the bruises and sore muscles that came from either a kick or a punch along his back and arms. Defensive injuries. He had been very dazed and confused but she had managed to get him into her bed and treated him since but it was hard to do so in secret.

Fran couldn’t help but…suspect her mother may know but it wasn’t brought up. Fran only suspected given the…extra plate of food that was conveniently left over the last few days and the convenient non-mention of her absences. If her mother never mentioned it, Fran wasn’t going to either.

He looked very peaceful sleeping and she was confident in his recovery to sleep without needing her to wake him up every so often in case the concussion was too bad. But, she did feel a little guilty about waking him now.

“Mateito.”  She prodded him softly.

He didn’t stir but the rise and fall of his chest was ever a good reminder of his status as a living being.

Fran sighed softly, pushing herself off the floor and set the stuff she had down onto the bed, and moved her bedside table first. Before her tugging her bed away from the wall.

The morning light filtered in and across his form, she tugged her pillows and backed them under his head and back.

Mateo groaned a little. “Ow…” his voice hoarse.

“Sorry.” Fran apologized. “You need to drink”

Mateo’s eye open, not that he could with the other one as she had kept that shut with ice and eyepatches to keep the swelling down. Though that didn’t make the bruises stay too confined to that eye. “Again?”

“The IVs aren’t ready yet to help keep you hydrated.” The needles and rubber tubes were fine, and they had the glass bottles ready with the flow adaptor but getting the fluid just right was proving hard for the new chemists to put together to cover hydration with vitamin and mineral recovery. It was all new and it was good for the town to start expanding into other areas. Who knew what the outside had that they didn’t because they were sealed away like a time capsule?

Fran helped him rise enough to gently pour water down his throat and gently set him down. “Once you’re more healed, I was thinking about your options.”

Mateo licked his lips. “Options?”

“I’m not sending you back to your family, that’s for certain. Isabela will back you up on that.”

His eye rose to her sharply. “How is she?”

Fran hesitated. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t met up with her properly yet.”

“The…she’s pregnant.” He stated. “I…I’ll have to marry her.”

“Well, before you get on one knee, you’ll have to stay out of sight until the church is ready and avoid your sister ruining it.” Fran spoke, “but, knowing the Madrigals they’ll probably want some big fancy wedding given it’ll be the first marriage for them in… what? Two and a half decades?”

Mateo wrinkled his nose. “I…I don’t want that. Isa probably won’t. Something small and quiet…and quick.”

“How romantic.” Fran quipped, earning a sour look from her friend though she reached forwards and undid a few of the wraps she had to check his ribs and the bruising before she was satisfied to see the color was better. “I plan to talk to Isa soon, I can pass on your well-being to her but, and it’ll still take time to make any sort of arrangements with the church.”

Mateo nodded softly though he looked more…far away. Not in a sense that worried her doctor brain but…distracted...   “Okay.”

Fran looked at him softly. “You won’t have to hide forever. A wedlock with Isa will help you. The Madrigal husbands do move in with their wives at the creepy house...assuming Isa’s willing for that. You may just have to bunk in her current residence if not...”

“Hm..” Mateo agreed with a hum, “I can work with that.” But his tone was flat.

Fran prodded him softly at a bruise, earning a hiss from the man.

“What was that for?”

“You’re looking a little lost on me, Mateito.” Fran gave him a look, “I don’t know how hard she hit you with that bottle but I can’t have you going to the land of the locos until later.”

Mateo shook his head slowly, “Idol thoughts. Nothing Loco.” He tried to smile weakly. “I think we’d probably like to…live away. Neither households.”

“I suppose that’s a possibility, but the plans for a few new houses are still in the air until people can get supplies together. It’ll take a while for one big enough to be built and that’s no factoring the issue people like to have in regards to your baby’s mother.”

Mateo said nothing, looking unconcerned. “I have a few ideas that came to mind.” But he closed his eyes again, settling down for another rest it seemed.

Fran sighed softly, leaving the water, and began to wiggle a few pillows back to get him laying back down and began to set her bed back into place above him.

  -

 Isabela eyed the tablet with contempt. Her heart thudded fast in her chest as she looked at it…trying to look at every detail she could but… there was little beyond the basic view. No color or anything that indicated a lot of detail to specify what sort of clothes she was wearing or decoration she had on. It was infuriating to not see…a way to avoid this. She knew her Tio’s visions and he actually avoided it as a topic. Even more, she had moved out with the switching back and forth, he changed the topic or got flighty.

Isa never cared to ask. He had given her false hope once; she couldn’t have that again.

At least… this was better to know in a strange way.

“Now, this is something I am…careful about.” Abuelita spoke, “We don’t know what’s happened to cause this, and… we should try and make sense of this.”

Isabela set it down on the side table top solemnly. “No.”

“No?”

“There’s little point trying to work it out when it’ll still happen and how to stop it.” Isa decided, “No amount of preparation will help me in the moment if this is…sudden. It’s… the fallout we should focus on.”

“The family?”

Isabela nodded, “It looks like I will be using my gift out in town. In front of everyone. People will see and so, there’s no hiding this either. Gossip will spread. They know I’m not supposed to use my gift as well.”

Abuelita sighed softly. “We’ll do our best to help.”

Isabela smiled at her softly, the faith in her was…nice. No rash assumptions… and she hadn’t even mentioned on the possibility of her staying inside.

“So, from what it looks like, you’re by the church. Those bricks behind the boys look like it must be part of the renovations” Abuelito spoke up, for the first time since she had gotten here, looking down at the tablet with interest. “I can talk to the builders and get an estimate of when it’s completed.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant.” Abuelita lit up, “That’ll give us a few estimates of when it could happen.”

Isabela couldn’t help but marvel a little at the small suggestion-she hadn’t even noticed the bricks; they looked too blended in but…she could see them now.

Abuelita shooed Abuelito into moving, waving him out from the shop which made Isa smile softly at their small antics, even in old age.

“I need to play nice with the family.” Isa wrinkled her nose as she said this. Displeased at the notion because…all she wanted to do is be left alone by them. They didn’t like her and…it wasn’t worth the stress to be around them. Her son deserved better. Son, the thought made her heart flutter a little. but she tried to focus on the problem first than the child. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I do. They… I need them to see me as me. I’ve barely talked to them and they’ll just assume the worse if they think I’m being a grumpy bitch. They might be more lenient if they see me as someone who’s…improved more. Willing to talk to Luisa and…tolerate more of Camilo’s bullshit.”

“Isa… what of the baby?”

“I know most of the family knows by now, that might be in my favor or against but… I’m not going to mention it. I know Papa knows and no doubt Ma but… that’s an awkward conversation I still need to have with them. Might as well get it over and done with.”

Abuelita eyed her carefully before she sighed. “You won’t have to stay with them, you shouldn’t have to feel like that you have to. Rotation needs no longer apply in my eyes. Your home is where you need to be for you and the baby. Not them. ”

“Thank you, Abuelita.” Isa sighed deeply, her arms coming to hug her deeply.

  -

As it turned out, Isabela didn’t enjoy trying to play nice when the opportunities arose as the Christmas season came and the distraction of festivities took a heavy focus which did make things better but a few things hadn’t changed in the week that followed.

Dolores, Isa had quickly realized, had been avoiding her at every opportunity, or staying with Camilo or Antonio which she comprehended was to ensure she couldn’t have a…private conversation or ask to get her alone to talk.

Her…distaste at Luisa hadn’t gotten better given there had been no sign of Mateo and Luisa hadn’t found him, so Isa didn’t talk to her when her grandparents had taken her to Casita to celebrate Nochebuena with Tia Sofia and their prima. Tio Felix’s family even came over that had boosted up the family party and all in all, it pretty much distracted everyone from the problem.

Aside from Isa.

Everyone had been too distracted by food, drink, and presents to not notice her keeping them wrapped or when she left—she still had a curfew; regardless if Abuelita had mentioned lifting it for such an occasion. It hadn’t changed before for anything else, and it gave her reason to leave without too much fuss from anyone—Mirabel had caught her leaving before giving her a second, smaller present.

That was also wrapped, on top of the pile in her room.

Isabela sighed heavily as she adjusted her shirt, pulling the blue shirt down and tucked it into her shirt, making sure none of the threads had come loose. She’d hate to ruin such a special shirt but...she had wanted to wear it—had it gotten tighter, yes but sooner or later it would get too tight without risking a seam if she bent down; even if the baby bump would not be too obvious or big.

“Isa,” Abuelita called, “We’re going to Casita to talk to your parents, do you want to come with me?”

“No, I’m going to go see Fran today.” If she could find her. Isa hadn’t met up with Fran for long; the girl’s working demand had pulled her entirely away but today, they had planned to meet up. “We’re  going the brainstorm some baby names.” The idea was…odd to think about and at least Fran would make the notion less odd. She could do with her blunt attitude and view on life.

“Let me know what you decide.” The warmth was unmistakable in her tone before the sounds the doors closing after them.

Isa smiled softly. Of course, she had a few already in mind, one she wanted to ask permission about but that would be for later. Abuelita had wanted to get a proper sit-down and talk about the baby but… Isa hadn’t wanted part of that just yet despite the fact she was the one carrying. The attempt to talk to her parents about the baby earlier in the week had been too awkward to try and start… then the reality of Mateo’s absence had begun to ache. She’d be the one raising him, she wouldn’t be able to save the baby from judgment for being a bastard.

Was she skating a bit into denial?

Probably.

But denial was keeping that little bit of hurt away.

Isa cleaned up her room and properly made her bed before she too headed from home. There was a relief to see people busy, furthermore that no one gave her much of a dark look anymore. Tio Felix had assured her that no one knew about her relationship with Mateo so, that had helped.

“Fran?” Her voice called as she entered the plaza, her eyes flickering over the faces though she found her standing in front of the church where she noticed Luisa’s distant form on the roof, pulling up a huge stack of bricks for the bell tower rather quickly.

The closer Isa got, she realized that… Fran was talking far too dramatically to her boyfriend than what she’d expected of the girl before she let out a disgusted noise.

“Camilo, take that face off.” Isa snapped and drew both their attentions to her.

“What?” Fernando looked surprised at her sudden arrival before ‘Fran’ rolled her eyes and quite promptly shifted back to his natural form.

“Can’t you mock someone else than my friend, Camilo?” Isa glowered at him, “let alone to her own boyfriend?”

“I wasn’t mocking Señorita prickly.”

“Fernando, why don’t you go take a walk and talk to your actual girlfriend,” Isa suggested, though Fernando looked far happier with that and walked off. Isa watched him leave before turning her attention back to her primo. “Look, I don’t care what your problems are, Camilo but you’ve been giving me so much more shit for my misuse of a gift, you’re happily being a hypocrite and misusing yours to mock or humiliate my friends.”

“I wasn’t mocking her. I was having fun. I change into everyone, it’s for fun and no one takes it seriously. He knew it was me.”

Isa gave him a scathing look, “I don’t care. I bet Fran herself will be pissed to learn you took her face for your own pleasure.”

“How about you don’t talk to me about my use of gift. I didn’t hurt anyone, I didn’t trick anyone and you’re the only one upset.” Camilo challenged. “I know where the line is when using my gift so don’t gatekeep my gift.”

“True, and I’m actually relieved you’re aware of where you are with your gift,” Isa replied coolly, “no one actually wants you for you. Only for what you’re good for—anyone else.” That was below the belt before Isa realized the words she had said before a slither of guilt as it wiped the smirk off his face completely, falling back a few steps like she had punched him in the gut.

But there was little time for him to retort as there was an echoing snap… and the pallet of stone began to descend rapidly into the edge of her visions.

Isabela reacted first and by impulse alone; vines formed quickly from the ground, her hand shot out and by luck, pulled her cousin from the pathway with them before the pallet of stone crunched into the road with a deafening sound and a cloud of dust puffed into the air, stinging at her eyes but she felt the shock flood her system at what could have happened which left her staring at the pile

“Get her off! Get her off! Antonio!” Camilo’s cries were panicked. His hands pulled at the thick, smooth vines that were still around his thin frame before he shifted into Antonio’s form, still wiggling in the vines, slipping a through the larger loops but not entirely free. “Parce!”

Isabela’s eyes remained transfixed, like most of the street to the stone that had almost crushed him before she could hear his voice before a flash of yellow and black fur darted from the corner of her eye straight to her extended arm.

“Parce! NO!” Antonio’s voice called like an echo behind her.

Then she felt the wet, hot mouth before the burning, white pain as Parce’s teeth pierced into her arm or as his claws caught her skin.

#encanto #encanto au #lest the rot lingers au #isabela madrigal #luisa madrigal #antonio madrigal #mirabel madrigal #agustin madrigal #agustín madrigal #pepa madrigal #dolores madrigal #felix madrigal #bruno madrigal #alma madrigal #camilo madrigal

[septembersghost]

Jess should I watch Elvis?

yes, if for austin's kinetic performance alone! (i might be in love w him, though that's not entirely new, just elevated.) and also good music. i've been listening to so much of elvis' stuff and the vintage music/artists i love in general for the past week and it's nourishing to my soul.

biopics can be a tricky thing, and for me the importance lies in centering/revealing the subject's humanity amidst their unique qualities and flaws, and exploring the story in a way that feels empathetic and not exploitative (hence the screaming i did over a different movie, which doesn't even deserve to be labeled as a biopic, that shall not be named this summer), which this did. i was telling a friend, and my mom and i have discussed this many times over the years, but there's something heartbreaking and haunting to me about the fact that certain artists become so indelible in pop culture, so larger than life in that way, that the image of them takes over from the person, even from the artistry, and they become a caricature or a cardboard cutout of themselves. an icon, but no longer remembered as flesh and blood. there are a number of legends from those golden days of hollywood that this has happened to, most notably perhaps being marilyn and elvis. the tragedy of their respective stories comes into play there too, fixing them forever as that ending, those specific images. how do you overcome the iconography, so detached from agency and personhood, to re-center a human being? to not re-victimize them or overly distort what happened, and yet still tell it in a way that's a compelling narrative and can take some fictional license? it has to be measured so carefully. what got me with austin's performance is - you can go to vegas and find an impersonator on every corner if you want. he wasn't doing an impersonation, he was finding the vulnerability and electricity in the actual person, and that makes all the difference.

i will say though, i've been sitting here contemplating - what does baz luhrmann put into his films that very specifically alters my brain chemistry, but always in a slow drip, sneakily inescapable way? i'll be like, well, that sure was a movie, and think i moved on, but then days later be obsessively tantalized about aspects of it. this has happened three times in my life, and previously i might've thought it was more of a symptom of my teen years, but no, it still apparently rings true. i don't even entirely understand why he made some of the frenetic directing choices he made or certain moments of the framing or whatever tom hanks was doing, but the themes it touches on regarding the power and influence of music and the social upheaval of the time and what creates an indelible legacy, and that center of humanness i mentioned that's existent in the portrayal, can i stop thinking about it? no, i cannot. so be warned it might make you feel unhinged <3

edit, 2/3/23: over a month later and two subsequent viewings, including on the big screen (gorgeous showstopping spectacular) and i just have to remark that my thoughts on the editing and on tom hanks' performance have radically changed, but i think it's because you need to see it more than once to even begin to absorb it. now that i fully understand those aspects of the film and have seen it in all its grandeur and its empathy, i appreciate the framing, and the art direction/editing/costuming/everything is so breathtaking. it's so clearly a work of love and passion on everyone's part and the pinnacle of baz's particular vision as a filmmaker in many respects. it has elvis' spirit in all of its essence. i stand by everything i said about austin (and then some, he is phenomenal), it's like he was meant to embody this, but as a whole i underappreciated the movie as a whole during this first viewing, and now...it's impacted me deeply and i'm grateful for that, i love it very much.

#it's been way too long since i've sat down and watched moulin rouge or r&j but the hold they had on me #i was too young to see r&j when it came out but saw it in highschool and a couple of my friends and i were also *obsessed* #with moulin rouge at the time #those were such formative things that i think elvis scratched my brain in the double whammy way #of both nostalgia for what that fixation felt like and the ever present spark of interest and love i have for old hollywood and music etc #gatsby really didn't do this to me but this one did #additionally i have watched more new/new to me movies in the past week than i probably have in the past two years #and it's upped my general insanity 😌 #anonymous #letterbox #elvis #i was a dreamer

[uni-seahorse-572]

my heart a fool and yours laid bare (part 2)

anyway. it's after midnight I think and I'm not coherent. writing schedule went to crud somewhere during this piece so it took way longer than intended sadly. but this is 7K. literal 7K. this was not supposed to be 7K. the entire fic was meant to be 5 at most and I've already hit 10. I can't live like this. i'm 90% sure my writing style changed partway through and guess what! i'm still not editing

also! there will most likely only be one more part to this which I hope to post in a timely manner but won't inevitably

taglist (aka those who are cursed to deal with my tomfoolery): @song-tam @gay-otlc @rainbow-frog-earrings @synonymroll648 (lmk if you'd like to be added / removed!)

From there, Keefe quickly begins to realize something entirely new about himself, something scary: he’s an incredibly tactile person when he’s allowed to be. Constantly, he finds himself bumping his shoulder against Fitz’s and slinging his arm around him, hugging him loosely at any opportunity where it seems acceptable; Keefe will muss Fitz’s hair and flop over him limply, dramatically just to feel Fitz’s exasperated fondness. Fortunately, Fitz doesn’t seem to mind, as while occasionally he’ll stiffen at the sudden contact or put up a good show of grumbling he never really complains—not even, say, when Keefe’s weight on his chest must be stopping up his breath in his lungs.

This constant contact means that Keefe gets used to the ebb and flow of Fitz’s emotions. Most people’s are hard to detangle, as they feel different for everyone, but he becomes so familiar with Fitz’s that he can decode even what he can glimpse through the tiniest brush of their skin.

A week before things will change forever, though Keefe doesn’t know it yet, he makes himself at home on Fitz’s bed without the hesitation that once characterized his every movement. The bedroom door is closed, unlike the times when he drops by Biana’s room nearby to complain about her brother or discuss music, usually dwarvish but never elven and only sometimes the smuggled human stuff (because despite what Fitz seems to believe, their tentative friendship doesn’t only center around terrorizing him—that’s a fringe benefit).

Fitz’s settled against the bed’s headboard, reading, the absolute loser, fully focused on the newest in some overly thick series he’ll gush about to anyone who’ll listen. Which isn’t many people, so that usually falls to Keefe. It’s a human one, Keefe knows, judging by the foreign shapes of the symbols inside, and Fitz never does explain how he gets any of them no matter how much he tries.

“What if,” Keefe says idly, wondering whether Fitz would kill him if he painted his horrifically dull ceiling with those spiders he’s so scared of, “instead of going to Foxfire, we harvested triceratops wool for a living? One way to get out of exams, am I right?”

“Tragically, yes. But triceratops wool is horrendously scratchy, so you couldn’t make much of a living out of that,” Fitz says distractedly, though his foot starts tapping back and forth. One way, the other, again and again as his leg becomes a pendulum broadcasting the depth of his stress. He’s awfully predictable, honestly. “I think I’ll stick with my tests.”

Really, things would go so much easier for Fitz if he’d just give up wanting to do well already. Keefe did that! And it’s going great, if he ignores his parents’ lectures. Which he always does. Sadly, Fitz has never been one for abandoning caring, even when it would make his life exponentially easier.

Rolling his eyes, Keefe reaches out one hand in an offer that needn’t be spoken. Fitz takes it without a moment’s pause. The two of them fit together like they always have.

With the years of closeness between them, Keefe has quit worrying about extrapolating too much from his Empathy entirely. He’d never use any of Fitz’s feelings against him. By now, it’s grounding for both of them when they’re connected, bonded by skin touching skin. Keefe has grown so used to Fitz’s emotions they’re as natural as his own. Sometimes, they may as well be one and the same.

Which—on some level—will never stop feeling wrong. How is it fair that he knows this much about Fitz yet the same isn’t true in return? Empathy picks up on even the things the person themself might not know is there. While Fitz has spent quite a bit of time in Keefe’s head, he sticks to surface-level thoughts, which are basically what Keefe wants him to see along with a few stray bits of nonsense Fitz can never understand.

Right now, despite the constant chill of Fitz’s long, spindly fingers and freckled palm, the emotions Keefe can sense are all warmth—sweet, hazy contentment intermingling with swelling fondness. A ribbon of nervousness cuts through the warmth, though, darting with its unease and shivering between every other feeling to send them spiraling off kilter. “Something wrong?” Keefe asks, absentmindedly running his thumb over the back of Fitz’s hand, slow slow slow and steady as he tries to impart some of his own heat.

Fitz’s protest comes seemingly without any consideration behind it. “Nothing,” he insists, at last turning to look at his best friend, their hands still interlocked between them. Yet his gaze resolutely avoids Keefe’s, cast down at the ticking anxiety of his own constant fidgeting (the same kind that ‘somehow’ always manages to go away at Foxfire, replaced instead by a subtle tension in the straining set of his shoulders). “I’m a bit worried for those tests these week is all. No need to mother hen.”

“I’ve never mother henned in my life and you know it,” Keefe retorts. “C’mon, Fitz. We’re best friends. That not only means you can trust me with anything, but also I have access to your hair products. And food. Just about everything, really.”

“So apparently trusting you with ‘anything’ doesn’t, in fact, include my stuff?” Fitz asks drily.

Unbothered, Keefe shrugs. “You knew what you were getting into when you met me, Fitzy.”

Still without deigning to put down his book, Fitz huffs. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Keefe adopts a carefully crafted innocent expression, though of course Fitz knows far better than to fall for it—truly unfortunate, that. “Fitzy, Fitzy, Fitzy-a-roo,” he sing-songs, finding progressively more ridiculous twists on the nickname and adding each to his taunt with a solemn mischievousness.

“Keefe.” Fitz draws his name out until the single syllable lasts an eternity, finally setting his book outside. “Okay, I give in. I’ll indulge your insatiably childish need for attention if you’ll just stop already.”

“Or you could actually tell me what’s bothering you. I’ve heard it works wonders, venting and all that.” Keefe makes the words sound like a challenge, needling Fitz out of his shell—he knows all the right buttons to push, just from the precise waves of irritation and subtle joy emanating from where their hands meet.

Fitz throws both his hands up in the air, thereby disentangling their only point of contact. “You’re impossible. I’m entitled to my privacy, aren’t I?”

“File that among the things you should’ve thought of before letting me into your lame, lame life.” For an eternal moment, Keefe stares Fitz down, one eyebrow arched high in a silent challenge. He smirks, rather deliberately, before springing forward and tackling Fitz into the bed.

Sputtering, Fitz wriggles out from under him, twisting one of Keefe’s arm’s behind his back. Keefe promptly drives his other elbow into Fitz’s stomach, sending him sprawling backwards. Even as Fitz lashes out with his unfairly long legs, Keefe strikes, pinning Fitz’s shoulders down to the bed and sitting on his torso.

Fitz glowers up at him, chest heaving. “Get off me,” he huffs, dark hair arrayed messy around his head, “you jerk, what’d you go and do that for? A warning wouldn’t hurt.”

“Expect the unexpected,” Keefe pants. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“That can’t really be what this is about,” Fitz complains, rolling his eyes grandly as though he expects that to prove his point. “You’re heavy.”

Keefe lets out an unbothered hum, bouncing up and down slightly so as to achieve his full irritation potential. “And I’m staying here until you spit it out. I’ll have you know I could do this all day. You’re rather comfy.”

Fitz returns to his ineffectual glaring, not seeming to realize how unintimidating his scrunched nose and crinkled brows are as always. His emotions seep out into Keefe, a quiet storm. A low, thundering rumble of anxiety paired with the cleansing rain of airy happiness, soaring skies of uncertainty and the steady grassy ground of comfort, all cut through by lightning strikes of something undefinable. Strikes that ring with excitement and flash with fear, warm yet tentative and new as flower buds. The river of Fitz’s breathing winds through Keefe’s Empathy and the real world, a bridge keeping him tied together.

With heated cheeks, Fitz glances away and carefully avoids any and all eye contact. Keefe frowns. “Whoa. You okay?” He pauses, removes his hands from Fitz’s shoulder. The constant input through his Empathy softens around the edges. “Those are some pretty intense feelings I’m getting.”

“Yeah, that’d be my desire to push you off the balcony,” Fitz grounds out, seeming to find Keefe’s face again. He’s trying to deflect now, then. That’s a familiar dance of half-forced frustration.

“Very convincing,” Keefe says drily, but he lets up on Fitz regardless, rolling over to fiddle with the things crowding his bedside table. “Oh, hey, I knew you had that kelpie Prattles pin I lost, what, a year ago? How long has it been since you cleaned this off?”

“Shove off,” Fitz mutters, rising and rummaging through his Foxfire bag to grab and start scanning through his Elementalism text. “Since I last had the freetime and energy to do it with, probably. So who even knows.”

Keefe subtly sends Fitz a long, searching look and keeps his answer too quiet to be heard. “That long, huh?”

The difference, he knows, between him and Fitz is that Fitz still cares. Caring is harder. Caring makes him tired, consumes him, while Keefe can just drift and let it all go crashing down only to live in the rubble. The last time he neatened up his own space is never because his dad’s appalled expression is funny, despite its consequences.

The subject slips away. Keefe lets it.

If Foster is a mystery, she’s a forbidden one.

The first week, Keefe avoids her; the second, he tries to annoy her into being scared away. Her emotions are entirely unguarded. The moment he steps into her vicinity, they strike—overwhelming, suffocating him with their force and making it nigh impossible to even think about anything else.

Yet that’s not the only reason why he has to stay away. Every time he’s near her, he can hear Sir Richard and Lady Merewyn’s voices ringing inside his head. It’s an invasion of privacy. He doesn’t even have the option of asking like he did with Fitz, because this doesn’t rely on contact. Sophie’s not his friend, really. She’s not in his inner circle. This shouldn’t be possible. It certainly isn’t right.

Fitz, on the other hand, has no such reservations. He doesn’t need to. With the sheer amount of time he spends around Sophie, Keefe is virtually alone with little hope of reprieve.

When he gives up on all reservations, admits that Sophie’s too persistent to allow him to avoid her so easily, it is—miraculously—worse. Far, far worse.

Everglen, compared to Candleshade, serves as a refuge. The house is far from kind. It holds that same coldness, repackaged in intricate, colorful crystal designs and rich-toned wood, but yet lacks any true comfort. The furniture is elegant, but always too stiff or strangely shaped or itchy, and fragile creations lie around every corner and topple at the merest breath. At least Candleshade doesn’t try to hide its nature.

Keefe meets Fitz on the grounds. The landscaping makes a simple distance wind through towering, flowering hedges, dance through hidden alcoves of trickling fountains and shaded benches, elaborately built and carefully maintained. He still gets lost out here sometimes.

The day is cool, a chill wind cutting through the air, but Fitz’s arms remain bare. No wonder his skin’s always so cold to the touch.

Sophie stands out on the grounds too, shifting her weight from foot to foot and smiling a smile that speaks more of nervousness than it does joy.

“Hey!” Keefe calls, staying as far away from her as he can without it looking odd. “What’re we doing, Fitz? Two-against-one Basequest doesn’t seem fair, you know. You guys deserve a chance too.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Hilarious. Nah, we were practicing Channeling. Sophie’s still struggling a bit in P.E.”

“Can’t imagine why, after you flung pretty boy here into a wall.” Keefe snickers at the memory. Good times.

“The drive to beat Fitz doesn’t exactly work with Channeling,” Sophie says drily. In the breeze, her blond hair whips wildly around her head, lashing against her face. The way she leans into Fitz carries an unspoken emphasis Keefe doesn’t need Empathy to decode.

Keefe moves to sling an arm around Fitz’s shoulders, yanking him closer (if that happens to pull him further away from Sophie, well, that’s just an unexpected consequence). “Personally, I find that works for just about anything. After all…”

He trails off, freezes. The roar of Fitz’s emotions has hit him harder than usual. There’s so much tangled there, shades of feelings he’s not fully used to, not with Fitz.

Affection, soft and sweet, paired with fondness and admiration. Exasperation (at Keefe?). And more than any of those, there’s something strong, something warm. It washes everything else away. It’s old and new at once, unyielding, and its power sparks a surge of bittersweetness deep within Keefe. He knows what this is. Or at least, he thinks he does. It’s not an emotion he picks up on often. It’s too raw for that, too filled with protective fury and passion and tenderness all at once. There’s no perfect word for it. Usually, he’d call it love, and that would serve well enough. But not now.

Fitz is in love. Fitz is in love, and the force of it is more than it has any right to be. That’s not even the most sickening thing.

He’s in love with Sophie. Why else would it be this strong right now? This present? Why else would his face be warm, tinged red, his smile be this soft around the edges? There’s no other explanation, and Keefe’s more upset than he has any right to be. He should be happy for his best friend, right? No, of course he’s happy for him, there’s no reason not to be. He’s just terrified of being left behind. That’s all. He doesn’t need to be distressed over a simple crush.

No simple crush, Keefe’s traitorous brain argues. Sophie feels the same, just look at her. And who wouldn’t? Fitz is possibly the best person out there. He’s too good for you in the first place. There was never any chance of him sticking around.

Keefe’s hand tangles together with Fitz’s, and he refuses to let it mean anything. This doesn’t get to mean anything. The moment he starts reading too far into the little thing sthey share, he knows he’s doomed. Keefe needs to pretend that they’re just friends.

Because Fitz is always aflutter around Sophie. Always blushing, stumbling in love, and it’s obvious that Keefe has already lost a game he didn’t even know he was playing. He needs to be happy for them. He can’t.

“Hey, Keefe?” Fitz cuts into his thoughts, tethering him back to reality when Keefe would rather spiral further into his moping. Sometimes it’s a shame Fitz knows him so well. “Everything all good? You kinda blanked out on us for a moment there.”

Sophie nods in agreement. Keefe almost wants to hate her. Is she really good enough for Fitz? Does she even truly know him? “Yeah, it was starting to get creepy.”

“I’m very sorry to be telling you like this.” Keefe says, with a long, dramatic sigh, “but I’ve been possessed by a ghost that makes me do things, like blank out. Or like—this!” With that, he snaps up a clump of mud with his Telekinesis and whips it into Fitz’s face before he can so much as blink.

Fitz splutters at him, using the back of his hand to wipe the mud off. “I can literally taste it,” he complains. “What are you, twelve?”

“Out of ten,” Keefe fires back. “Though, really, you’ve gotta add extra points for the hair.”

“Not if it’s covered in mud.”

With a wink, Keefe says, “You’ll have to catch me first”, and darts away, laughing at Fitz’s growing glower.

Later, when all is said and done, all three of them covered in the outdoors with heaving sides and racing hearts, Sophie jokes about how that was probably a better lesson in channeling than traditional practice would have been. Keefe grouses so much about being tired that Fitz agrees to give him a piggy-back ride, their sweaty bodies pressed tight together, and all is right in the world.

Or it would be, if not for the pulsing love that still coils within Fitz.

Keefe decides, afterwards, that he’s scared of change. Sophie’s a huge one, particularly if the spark between her and Fitz does end up becoming something more, and so of course all of this is scaring him. One day he’ll wake up and Fitz will be spending all his time with a girlfriend, maturing into the man everyone expects him to be, and Keefe will just be there. The exact same, spinning every serious moment into a joke and still refusing to grow up and accept ‘reality’ as his father would say.

One Foxfire Tuesday, then, Keefe turns to tradition. Not the dull kind, but one of his and Fitz’s own making. He skips detention for something-or-other (he never knows what anymore, he’s pretty sure he’s booked through until the end of his time at Foxfire) and drags Fitz with him to the library instead. Not the cafeteria, because a mentor would surely notice him there, but there are certain places among the towering bookshelves where it’s simple to hide.

Fitz doesn’t ask questions. He settles himself on the floor, resting his back against a couch rather than properly sitting on it, and Keefe does the same.

“So,” Fitz says, softly, like he’s internalized the rules of library quiet to the extent that he can’t help but follow them.

“So,” Keefe echoes.

Fitz glances at him, and shakes his head. He curls one hand atop Keefe’s knee, and Keefe leans his head on his shoulder. “What was so bad about detention today?”

Right. Most of the time, Keefe only skips when the mentor or their assignment is particularly unbearable, but today he wasn’t thinking about that. He was thinking about Fitz. “Nothing. Just didn’t feel like it, I guess.”

“You’re really not worried about what consequences they’ll try if they can’t even keep you in detention?” That’s a typical Fitz question, given that the only rules he’s ever broken have all been at his best friend’s… not pleading, really, because some of the time all it takes is a simple question and he’s giving in. Usually he even follows the stupid ones like ‘don’t make dinosaur noises in the hallways’ (a rule added solely because of Keefe, which belongs solidly on his list of greatest accomplishments that would exist if he didn’t despise making lists).

“I mean, what else can they even do?” Keefe would shrug, except his shoulder lies against Fitz’s and he doesn’t want to jostle him. “Anything drastic, dear ol’ dad’ll bail me out. Might finally tick him off enough to see the next color on the ‘Lord Cassius’ anger spectrum. The most his face has ever turned is purple.”

“You’re an idiot,” Fitz says, by which he means, I’m worried about you and I know you’re lying and please, please just tell me how I can help and I swear I’ll do it, just say it. Sometimes Keefe wonders what, exactly, Fitz can divine from his own mannerisms, quirks in speech. He hopes it isn’t nearly as much.

“But a handsome one. Also, unrelated note slash complete topic change, any idea why Bee’s been in such a mood lately? I haven’t seen her like this since I filled her pillowcase with spiders.”

Fitz tips his head backwards, exposing the fragile lines of his throat and lifting his face to the fading sun. “You mean since she beat you up so badly she got grounded. Dad’s making her try and be friends with Sophie. I don’t think Biana likes her for whatever reason, but I’m sure she’ll come around. Sophie’s great.”

Keefe makes a noncommittal noise. Neither Biana nor her grudges are easily swayed.

“Oh, and according to the rumor mill you’re dating Thyra,” Fitz says with a flare of an undecodable emotion. “Crush cuffs and everything.”

“Of course I am.” Keefe snorts. “I think we’ve spoken, like, twice.”

“You can’t forget the time you took that midnight arthropleura ride through Atlantis,” Fitz says very seriously.

With a grumbling sigh, Keefe tucks himself closer to Fitz’s side. “I’m sure that particular story’ll pass soon.”

“They always do.” Fitz rests his head against Keefe’s hair, tucking his knees up so they lie partially on Keefe’s outstretched legs. “Remind me again when we have to be in class?”

“Healthy hour, I’d say,” Keefe says.

“What about what the bells would say?”

“Like, twenty minutes, probably. But I’ve never been on time once in my life and that’s added surprisingly little to my stock of detentions. Sufficiently imaginative excuses will do you a world of good if you play it right.”

Fitz chuckles. “I’d rather just be punctual.”

From his bag, Keefe grabs his sketchbook and a pencil, idly drawing something out. “Where’s the fun in that.”

It doesn’t take much time for him to become absorbed in his artwork. The shapes he creates are abstract, messy, slowly melding into a form like a shadowed man. The steady scratch of his pencil beats out the only sound other than their own breathing. Around them, the scent of dust and paper permeates the air, and the shelves stretch seemingly endlessly onward. They march towards an infinity of ephemeral things caught on pages.

When he looks back at Fitz, his eyes are closed. If he’s sleeping, he surely needs it, but the cast of his feelings says otherwise. In sleep the heart is remarkably quiet.

But right now that same love is there, tucked between his atria. Despite the fact that Sophie is nowhere near, it’s every bit as strong as it was before, only softer. It shouldn’t feel like it does. There’s a marked difference between newly sprouted love and the kind that’s grown between partners that have spent years with lives intertwined, and this seems disconcertingly closer to the second. It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t make sense, and it��s there nevertheless, defying all logic. Keefe could drown in it. Strange that his Empathy would let him experience this love, the sort he doesn’t ever expect to hold towards another or to be directed towards himself. Yet it may as well beat beside his own heart.

Never has he been this close to love as an Empath. He hadn’t realized there was so much to it. It had seemed simple, the way people talked about it, and after all his mentors in the matter had been his parents. Whatever their loved looked like, it certainly had never been this. Keefe finds himself thinking that he’s jealous. Fitz has fallen, fallen deeply, and it had taken him too long to notice it. He’s sure to find the life he wants, as everything in his future settles into place.

And looking at him, face calm and the traces of a smile curling up the edges of his lips, Keefe can’t help but want that for him too.

So. That’s decided, then.

Subtlety is the name of the game. Or, at the very least, it’s scribbled all over the rulebook, because Keefe is determined to do this right. He won’t mess this one up. He knows, as he has always known, that he’s usually the problem, so to speak. It’s Fitz bailing him out of trouble with a few carefully placed pleas to Dame Alina and Fitz spinning stories to convince Cassius to let his son do this or that. In the grand scheme of their friendship, it’s always him helping Keefe out, so rarely the other way around. Keefe’s sick of being the screw-up.

The setup, to convince Yasmin Hadi to throw a party this weekend with all of his charismatic knowhow, is accomplished easily.

The rest of the necessary machinations require more precision. Fitz, when it comes down to the wire, is rarely so easily swayed. He can sense a setup a mile away—his instincts, what with those he’s surrounded with, have become incredibly fine-tuned to the presence of a scheme. Not that this is a scheme, of course. Only close.

Keefe catches him by his locker (surprise, surprise, Sophie’s there too, but that actually works rather in his favor) and doesn’t hesitate before hooking an arm around his shoulders.

“Yasmin’s throwing a party Saturday,” Keefe says.

Fitz spares a second away from running through carefully written flashcards to shoot him an incredibly skeptical expression. “That’s good for her.”

Keefe rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, so you’re really making me spell it out for you? We should go.”

“We really shouldn’t.”

“Still hung up on the Rigged Ripplefluff Incident, eh?” Keefe says.

Sophie glances between the two of them. “Do you call everything incidents?”

“Well—”

“That one’s not worth mentioning,” Fitz interjects.

“He makes it out to be a bigger deal than it is.” Keefe ducks Fitz’s rather half-hearted elbow, raising his own hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. My point is, we shouldn’t deprive Sophie of her first ever elven party, right? Maybe even first ever party period?”

“I don’t know about that,” Sophie says with an awkward chuckle. One hand goes to her eyelashes, tugging gently, and she shifts her shoulders so half her hair whooshes in front of her face. “I don’t think I’m the sort of person who’d like parties. You’re welcome to go without me.”

“I promise it’s not as bad as you think.” Finally, Fitz stows his notecards, turning instead to face Sophie fully and knocking Keefe’s arm off in the process. It disconcerts Keefe, lacking that thrum of connection. “I’m pretty sure humans do it worse.”

Keefe nods sagely. “So I assume you’re in agreement that we should show Sophie how elves live it up?”

“You don’t have to,” Sophie says.

“Keefe, you bring me so much pain,” Fitz grumbles. “Of course I’m in. You’re helping me make up for lost study time, though.”

“You’re a liar and a fraud if you’re seriously claiming you’d be studying Saturday evening,” Keefe says.

Because he’s a terrible, terrible person, Fitz grins at him. “Well, now, I’m studying Thursday evening. With you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get to my next session before I’m given detention just for hanging around you two outlaws.”

Sophie laughs. “I think he basically just played you. You sure that’s worth it?”

Keefe grumbles out something unintelligible. It’s worth it. It has to be worth it. It isn’t for him, after all, it’s for Fitz, and if that study session is part of this so be it. Very soon it’ll be harder to find time alone with his best friend, in all likelihood. Maybe the price of this is a mercy too.

Yasmin Hadi’s house, at the overly reasonable hour of four in the afternoon, pulses slowly with the milling footsteps and clustered chatter of Foxfire’s finest. Its great, elaborately-carved wooden doors swing thrown open like every one of the window shutters. The breeze winds through the front entrance and twists through the thrown-open patio doors, nudging the entire first floor into that gray space between outside and in.

Outside, amidst the party’s nucleus, Yasmin herself shines softly, waving heartily at each new arrival and pulling them into the fold. People group together in bubbles of quiet activity, distinct collections of two and three and five and fourteen like islands on the same sea. They recline on cushioned furniture and take glistening refreshments from green-glass tables. Over it all rests the music’s hum, the sound of a babbling brook occasionally intermingled with trilling birdcalls set to a sharper tempo. Several partygoers sway to the rhythm.

“When you said ‘party’,” Sophie says, glancing around as though in a dream or a fae ring, “this is decidedly not what I pictured.”

“Human thing?” Keefe guesses, to which she nods. “Wait, what were you thinking of? I’ve heard some wild stories—”

Fitz cuts him off with a pleading, “Don’t tell him, for my sanity’s sake.”

Shaking her head at the two of them, Sophie snatches a square of mallowmelt from a nearby table and takes a thoughtful bite. “I don’t know. Something like in all the movies, maybe? Loud music, flashing lights, people bouncing around in close quarters, someone probably doing something exceptionally dumb?”

“Sounds like my scene.” Keefe heads for a calm alcove, abandoning his usual routine at parties like these. He can’t lose sight of his mission. Tonight provides the perfect opening, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take it and take it right… especially after already having purposefully created the opportunity in the first place. All Sophie and Fitz need is a little nudge in the right direction. Or maybe a giant shove, whatever works.

The three of them settle onto a long, low-lying couch, far from the bustling center. Carefully, Keefe sits close enough to Fitz so that their knees brush, so he can keep tabs on everyone’s emotions and make sure everything proceeds in the right direction. Much as his friends like to joke that he lacks caution, lacks subtlety, he is an Empath. That gives him an automatic edge on this and similar matters, and his plan is already unfolding perfectly in all its complex designs.

Mentally, he casts about for any potentially useful avenue of conversation, yet one begins before he can quite get there.

“You’re really sure this is edible?” Sophie peers at a translucent sunset orange orb, rolling it in the palm of her hand so that the tiny, sparkly flecks swirling within catch the light. “It doesn’t look edible. Unless you think marbles look appetizing.”

“I’m not really sure what that is,” Fitz admits, “but they’re edible. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party that didn’t have them.”

Keefe snorts. “Right. Because you let me drag you along to parties so often.”

Fitz swings one leg out, over and over, all jerky movements in a jarring rhythm so familiar Keefe’s tempted to join in with a melody. “Not everyone likes parties.”

Still squinting at the spherical confection, Sophie squishes it in her hand, considering it for a last moment before popping it into her mouth. She makes a scrunched-up face and scrapes her teeth along her tongue. “Considering that this just seems like free food, I’ve a feeling most people really do like elven parties.”

“Do you even like the food?” Fitz asks.

She points one overdramatically accusing finger his way. “Free food is free food.”

Keefe leans back against the couch, trying to fade into the background so that he can watch without interruption. The two of them play off of each other well. Through where his leg is pressed against Fitz’s own, he can sense a convoluted mix of nervousness and joy. It’s going well, then. They just need a bit of a push.

Carefully, he concentrates on a cup of rich blue liquid a refreshment table away, managing to slowly lift it with his mind. It bobs gently in the air as it floats towards him. When it finally nears, he lets loose some of his control and leans into the way it wobbles back and forth. A little more, a little more—

The glass tips. Its contents arc downwards, vibrant blue splattering as it spills, all directly onto Sophie’s white tank top. It drips down her shoulders, coalesces in the hollows of her collarbone, and seeps into dark stains on her shirt.

“Whoops,” Keefe says, trying for a passable imitation of being genuinely apologetic. “I’m, uh, sorry I ruined your shirt.”

Sophie brushes him off with a quick shake of her head. “It’s fine. I’m sure I can get it out when I get home, though I wouldn’t mind some napkins.”

“I’ll grab some,” Fitz offers. He gets up without waiting for a reply, and Keefe focuses in on Sophie.

Keefe sighs. “Foster, Foster. Think of my image! I can’t be seen with you in public if you’re covered in blue. Talk about a fashion faux pas.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I bet Fitz could lend you his jacket…”

Naturally, Fitz chooses that exact moment to return, a bundle of napkins in one hand. “What? You’re the one who spilled. I’m cold enough wearing it.”

“Yeah, well, your jacket matches her shirt better,” Keefe argues.

“Yours is literally the same color,” Fitz says.

“I don’t need anyone’s jacket.” Sophie squints between the two of them, unspoken questions dancing in her gaze. Fitz shrugs in reply, as if to say he’s just as bemused as she is. “Also, honestly, it’s pretty warm here anyway.”

Narrowing his eyes, Keefe considers whether to concede on the matter, though he doesn’t have much of a choice. His first attempt at matchmaking is officially a total failure. Unless… what if both of them were so cagey about it solely because they liked each other? What if they were at least partially aware of their mutual crush, or one side of it anyway, enough so that certain actions felt awkward and charged? If anything, that meant try one was a strange success: it confirmed the likelihood of meeting the mission goals overall. Score one for Keefe, cupid extraordinaire.

Still. He does need to change tactics—and he knows the perfect opportunity is coming up, if he can just ensure he’ll be able to seize it. “So,” he says, not bothering to hide his own abruptness, “how are you settling in to the elven world, Sophie? Was neglecting to introduce you to elven parties an oversight or has Fitz fully failed you as a tour guide?”

Sophie shifts in place, managing a half smile. “It’s weird here, sure, but nice so far. And I really haven’t had time to explore the Lost Cities yet.”

“Awfully polite way of throwing Fitz under the arthropleuras,” Keefe comments.

A group of party guests drifts closer towards them, laughs alight and shining on their lips, and their noise nearly drowns out Fitz’s next words. “For once, Keefe, you may have a point. Do you know what sort of thing you want to see, Sophie, if anything?”

“Food sounds good,” Sophie says with a laugh. “You can’t really go wrong knowing the best places to go for a snack.”

Oh, there it is, the great golden beacon of opportunity. Keefe strikes. “In that case… Fitz, do you remember that bakery in Atlantis we went to last month?”

“The one where everything was so small you had to order, like, four things just for a regular portion?” Fitz’s gaze flits back towards his best friend, soft with the memory.

Keefe nods. “You have to admit they were so good though.”

“I nearly choked on an almond,” Fitz says.

“But you were fine! Thanks to my quick thinking and excellent reaction times you’re still here with us today.” Keefe slings an arm around Fitz’s shoulder, mainly for the simple pleasure of being able to reach up and ruffle his hair. The point of having a best friend is to know and do what annoys them with impudence… plus, Fitz’s hair is just soft. “Also, I still distinctly recall you asking for the recipe.”

Fitz huffs. “Not the almond bar-cookie-thing. I would’ve had more time to compare notes with the bakers if not for you.”

“In my defense—”

“—you have never once managed to finish that sentence with a valid defense—”

“—hey, if you listen, maybe you’ll find this is the first time. Point is, it wasn’t my fault this kind from our level dared me to telekinetically lift a table or two.” Keefe shrugs. “What did you want me to do, back down from a dare?”

“Um, yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted you to do. And it wasn’t a table or two, it was all of them. I still haven’t gotten the sound of crashing dishware out of my head.” Fitz shudders, perhaps a tad overdramatically. “You still didn’t even manage the stupid dare.”

“I live in shame every time I see Bellamy to this day,” Keefe says solemnly. “Yet I did all I could to rise to the challenge.” He pauses. “I also live in shame and hunger every time I’ve passed that bakery since.”

“I stand by their choice to ban you,” Fitz grumbles. “I’m just lucky they didn’t ban me too.”

Keefe chuckles, meeting Sophie’s eyes again and trying to tamp down his own sappy emotions. He needs to focus, no matter what. “It’s a great bakery.” His voice comes out softer than he’d like. “A great memory.”

The warmth emanating from Fitz is deliriously strong and sweet, fond and familiar. It’s so intense Keefe almost can’t take it, even after so many years of living through Fitz’s feelings right along with him. And Keefe has the power to make sure this feeling sticks around for Fitz.

“Sounds like it,” Sophie says, a smile working at the edges of her lips.

“You should go,” Keefe suggests, and there it is, the play perfectly in place. “Just the two of you, of course, I’m positive they still know my face there.”

The two of them both offer easy agreement. There. Clearly, the thing with the jacket was just a misstep, which was obviously bound to happen somewhere along the way. No matter. Keefe has obviously gotten into his groove. He’s a genius.

It may not have been phrased as such, but the bakery thing is literally a date. Anyone could see it. A romantic shop in Atlantis? Just Sophie and Fitz, with Keefe conveniently automatically out through an incredibly ironclad excuse? A lesser matchmaker could, and probably would, go ahead and stop now. This is basically already victory, right? But Keefe refuses to see this halfway through. He’s going to make sure his best friend’s happiness is completely and totally secured by the end of tonight, Keefe style.

Subtly as he can, Keefe flashes Yasmin the signal, so she knows he’s ready to move on into the next essential stage of his plan. From across the patio, she shoots him a thumbs up.

It’s go time.

The first bracelet falls nigh unnoticed, like an autumn leaf, drifting down to rest in a bowl of shimmering liquid a couple of tables away. Slowly, though, they begin to fall in full force, beads twinkling in a multitude of vibrant shades. Gasps spread outwards from the first person to grasp one, excitement buzzing through the air and bringing with it a clamoring chorus of reinvigorated chatter.

The bracelets find their places littered across the ground and resting atop people’s heads, but eventually, the result is the same as always: everyone holds one within their palm. Chaos breaks out in a flurry of activity. There’s blushing, giggling, even crying.

“What’s going on?” Sophie asks warily, twisting her bracelet’s red beads over and over in her hands.

“An elven party tradition.” Keefe gives a nonchalant shrug. “It’s like a mini version of crush cuffs, I guess. Everyone’s supposed to give theirs to the person they’d most want to be matched with and any pair who both chose each other all slow dance to the next song.”

Fitz’s staring rather determinedly at his lap, voice strangely quiet. Oh. That’s definitely nervousness, but there’s nothing to worry about, not with Keefe at his side. “It’s a bit of a weird one. If you’d rather abstain…”

“Don’t be boring,” Keefe goads. “I mean, it’s not that intimidating if you give them to each other…”

Glancing between the two of them as though they’re a puzzle she still can’t quite work out, Sophie says, “It’s fine. We all know no one in their right mind would let me slow dance anyway—no need to double the amount of feet I might trip over.”

Maybe they’re a bit more anxious about all this than Keefe thought. Which makes sense, he supposes. They’ve both never even been on a date before, right? All they need is the right push towards confidence. “C’mon, the dance moves are easy. You can’t miss out on this, uh, spectacular elven thing.”

“You could dance with her too,” Fitz points out.

Keefe frowns. Does his best friend really not see he’s doing this to help him out? “Nah, too dorky for me. Luckily, though, you two are dorks!”

“Thanks,” Sophie says drily. “Look, Keefe—”

“I’d be neglecting my duty as a friend if I didn’t—”

Severing all contact between them, Fitz rises to his feet, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist. “Could you please just drop it?”

“It’s just a silly party game. Lighten up, dude,” Keefe tells him. “Do you not want to dance with Sophie?”

Sophie turns a glower towards him. “What’s with you tonight? It really doesn’t matter tp me.”

In exasperation, he throws his hands up. “I don’t get either of you right now. Mostly Fitz. I get that you’re nervous—”

“Would you cut it out already?” Fitz snaps. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry about my ridiculous feelings and the fact that you have to deal with them. I’m sorry if you’re sick of it.” His voice breaks, splitting in two like a gaping canyon of understanding Keefe can’t cross, because none of this makes sense. Nothing’s making sense. “But this? This is just cruel.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Keefe stands up too, reaching out towards his best friend. Maybe, if he could just get a read on him the same way he always does, he could sort this out. He could get down to the root of whatever’s got this whole situation scrambled into shattered pieces. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He doesn’t even know what this is.

Fitz backs away, raising his hands in desperate defense. “Stop pretending you don’t know,” he whispers. “You’re… you’re such an asshole, Keefe.”

“Fitz, come on!” Keefe shouts, but it’s too late. Already too late. Fitz is vanished, shoving forward into the crowd, swallowed up by a sea of bodies. The evening’s cold around him but he doesn’t feel it. For the first time in his life, Keefe doesn’t feel anything, icy numbness sinking deep into his bones.

Keefe sways. His head’s pounding.

How did this happen?

He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. None of this is adding up. Everything he planned, everything he put in place just to make his best friend happy, has fallen to pieces around him. He’s an idiot and an asshole and he doesn’t even know why.

But it’s worse than that. Of course it’s worse than that. Because for the first time since he found his person, the one who was for so long the only contact and comfort he had, Keefe is alone. Totally alone.

There’s nothing left.

And somehow, it’s all his fault.

#ari writes #ari can words #kotlc #keefitz #keefe sencen #fitz vacker #this is. certainly a fic. that's all i've got #this chapter really did fight me though and i have no idea how it turned out #but i wanted to finish it and again after midnight #i refuse to be blamed for my actions on a tuesday #this does NOT feel like seven thousand words #will be sleeping now

[cookietonki]

They came together

#They came together movie#

#They came together series#

Both lovers and haters of romantic comedies will find plenty to enjoy in this David Wain feature co-written by Michael Showalter. Finally eight years later I got to check it out, and while it's messy and oftentimes aimless, the humor is on point and rarely unfunny. Tonight's is the rom-com spoof They Came Together, long on my watchlist after I remember reading about this comedy while I was in jail in the Summer of 2014. The second of my two Blu-ray gifts from a friend seven months ago, it's Christmas in July so I had little excuse not to rack 'em up and thank him for the fine movies.

#They came together movie#

Those episodes last just 15 minutes-which is probably just the right amount of time for such scattered, sketch-based laughs.☆ "So, if there was a movie about your relationship, it would probably start with aerial shots of the Manhattan skyline."☆

#They came together series#

But a lot of these folks (Wain, Showalter, Marino, Erinn Haynes) are also involved with the series "Children’s Hospital" on the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim lineup, which sharply parodies the soapy doctor drama. "They Came Together" clicks sporadically, though, when it takes a chance on totally absurd flights of fancy-a weird date Molly has with her priggish accountant ( Ed Helms), for example, or an awkwardly close moment between Joel and his grandma ( Lynn Cohen).Įven at 83 minutes, "They Came Together" feels like its conceit has been stretched thin. I won’t bore you with the details here, but it has to do with a bartender uttering the phrases "Tell me about it" and "You can say that again" over and over as Joel drowns his sorrows. One joke went on for so long I thought something was wrong with the film-like it was stuck or something. And those guys can’t just obviously represent different points of view on the matter, they have to articulate the fact that they represent different points of view on the matter. Joel can’t just be commitment-phobic he has to talk about how commitment-phobic he is with his regular basketball buddies ( Ken Marino, Jack McBrayer, Kenan Thompson and Jason Mantzoukas). Still, it’s not enough for Molly to be adorably klutzy the dialogue has to inform us that she’s adorably klutzy in addition to showing her knocking over a bunch of her belongings in her bedroom before tumbling down a flight of stairs on the way to work. It’s obvious what they’re parodying-the rom-com is an incredibly common type of clichéd film its tropes are well-known and well-worn. Throughout this familiar process, the jokes are either annoyingly repetitive or overly spelled out for us. Spoiler alert: He did.) We watch them fall for each other over books and coffee in an idyllic version of New York City-which is like a character itself in their relationship, we’re told repeatedly, when such a convention should be clear. (This is also where the film takes a painful, extended detour for a discussion of whether Christopher Meloni soiled himself in his superhero outfit. Can their affection withstand such stress?Īnd so we watch as they show up for a Halloween party dressed in the same costume and immediately clash. But wouldn’t you know? Joel’s company is trying to run Molly’s store out of business. Poehler’s Molly owns a neighborhood candy shop that’s "charming and adorable and impossible not to like," as she puts it. The core of the plot plays like a knowingly cutesy version of "You’ve Got Mail," but "They Came Together" also features recognizable rom-com nuggets ranging from "Pillow Talk" to "When Harry Met Sally." Rudd’s Joel works for a giant, soulless candy corporation. The latter couple is meant to serve as our stand-ins, trying to remain politely charmed by the increasingly inane details they’re hearing in extended flashbacks. Paul Rudd and Amy Poehler star as the Tom Hanks/ Meg Ryan types at the film’s center, recounting how they met and fell in love over dinner with an underused Bill Hader and Ellie Kemper. But mostly, the results are shockingly unfunny and sadly lifeless, especially given the wealth of comic talent involved. There has to be a spin to it there has to be some innovation.Īnyone who has seen a movie starring Julia Roberts, Jennifer Aniston or Kate Hudson can recognize what’s going on and find a chuckle here and there. But simply recreating what we know to be hackneyed and safe doesn’t suddenly make it hilarious and surprising. It’s got all the moments and beats you’d expect-the meet-cute, the instant hatred that turns to flirtation, the perky montage of trying on clothes, the contrived misunderstanding that keeps the couple apart and finally-mercifully-the mad dash to a wedding for some very public, last-minute I-love-yous.

#They came together

[gukyi]

the art of the rom-com | jjk

summary: FILM395, the art of the rom-com, was supposed to be an easy a with one of your favorite professors, but it’s not. it’s actually a sisyphean torture that comes in the form of fellow film student jeon jungkook, who has no problem responding to every one of your discussion posts about the consumerist ideals underlying every romance movie with his own paragraphs on the beauty of love like the hopeless romantic he is. and when the two of you find yourselves partnered up for your final project, which is to create a short film on rom-coms, jungkook decides to take it upon himself to show you what love is really like.

{enemies to lovers!au, college!au}

pairing: film major!jungkook x film major!reader (female) genre: fluff, comedy, slight angst, this is literally a rom-com in fic form word count: 33k warnings: college alcohol consumption, discussion board posts, emotionally constipated characters, film major shenanigans, blonde jungkook who’s also in a hip hop dance troupe, miscommunication, if you hate rom-coms do not read this fic

a/n: i am so so so excited to share this monster of a jungkook fic (tho let’s be real, 30k is pretty standard for me now ;-;) with you all! this is basically rom-com trash, but it’s my rom-com trash, and i hope you all enjoy!

on a sadder, less exciting note: after this fic i will be taking an extended writing hiatus until at least the beginning of may. my semester is picking up and i unfortunately just don’t currently have any upcoming fics planned for you guys. i hope you understand!! maybe i’ll do a couple of ask games here and there to see if anything piques my interest, but other than that please do not expect major works of writing for a while. love you all!

500 Days of Summer is a movie you all have probably seen before. That being said, I encourage you to respond to this discussion board from a film perspective as opposed to a viewer’s perspective. How did 500 Days of Summer alter the classic narrative of boy-meets-girl? Do you think it was a smart move, on the parts of Webb, Neustadter, and Weber, to do so? Why or why not?

Jeon Jungkook on February 12th at 9:53PM

I thought that the change in the boy-meets-girl narrative that had been popularized by rom-coms of the 1990s definitely contributed to his popularity and its attractiveness towards viewers in general. The film makes it clear that the story does not have a so-called happy ending, but despite that, it still brings into discussion the idea of love and soulmates and true connection. And that’s important, because despite the film’s not-so-happy ending, it makes it a point to emphasize that those things are real. That love is real. I thought it was an excellent move on the parts of the writers and director, because they both broke standards in terms of happy endings in rom-coms and they stayed true to the message at hand. 

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

When you walk into class, Jeon Jungkook is already there. 

He sits in the front row, the seat closest to the door in your puny little classroom, much too small for twenty-students to fit comfortably, let alone watch movies on the pull-down projector screen above the chalkboard. You’re convinced he’s chosen that seat just so he can grin at you whenever you walk in the room, always later than him because apparently, he has nothing better to do with his time than show up to class early and smirk at you when you arrive. 

As you shuffle past his seat towards your own—second row, middle of the room, centered with the lecturer’s podium—with your usual scowl drawn neatly across your face, Jungkook says, overly bright and cheery, “Good morning, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice alone is enough to make your nose scrunch up in further disgust. “Shut up,” you grumble back, stuffing yourself into your chair and pulling out your laptop. One row in front of you and five seats to the right, you see Jungkook chuckle. 

Glowering, you open up your Notes document for the class and try to avoid staring at Jungkook’s side profile, the way he’s slouching lazily in his seat, and what looks to be a lengthy paragraph on his computer screen, a task that proves to be particularly difficult because he happens to sit in the exact spot you have to look in order to see your professor enter the room. What the hell is he even writing, anyway?

He straightens up the moment she does, cheerful as always as she smiles at everyone. “Good morning, everyone.”

The lot of you respond with halfhearted smiles and waves. 

“I can just feel the enthusiasm radiating throughout the room,” she jokes, clenching her fists together in success. At least that gets a couple of you to laugh. “Which is great, because before we get to anything today, we’re gonna talk about the final project.”

You smile to yourself, immediately pulling up the copy of the syllabus you had downloaded to your desktop, scrolling right down to where she had outlined information about the final project in big, bolded letters. There are a lot of reasons you’ve taken this class, not the least of which is the fact that you have had Professor Pollack three times prior to this and she’s loved you in every class, but the final project was definitely one of the major selling points. 

Pollack pulls up a more detailed final project document on the projector as she steps out from behind the podium. “As you guys know, your final project is a thirty-to-forty minute short film involving rom-coms. You guys have a lot of freedom, it can be a rom-com, it could be a documentary about rom-coms, anything. It just needs to involve the topic of rom-coms somehow. I know a lot of you have actor friends who would be more than happy to have a star-crossed lovers fling or whatever. Go wild. Just keep it PG-13, because I can’t in good faith have nude bodies of your fellow college students on my screen.”

You snort to yourself. Makes you wonder how many times Pollack has seen sex scenes of college students on her screen before. Too many, probably. 

Unintentionally, your eyes drift over to Jungkook. He seems to be working on that hefty paragraph of his, typing something you assume is completely unrelated to the topic at hand and is further proof that Jungkook just doesn’t give a shit about anything involving this class. Whatever. You turn back to Pollack. 

“Good projects not only capture the essence of what a rom-com is, but also put their own twist on the story and bring into question the topics we discuss in class, like truthfulness, realistic portrayals of love, and viewer interpretation,” she continues, and with every word you feel heart beat faster in excitement. “I know you’re all excellent filmmakers. That’s why you’ve taken this class. But what I want you to do is get into the nitty-gritty of the makeup of a rom-com and distill it as much as possible. We’ll be watching them all in class during the last week. Yes, Celia?”

You all turn to look at Celia, who sits in the third row, second seat from the left. “This is a partner project, right?” 

Well. That’s the one downside. As much as you know that cooperation is an important life skill, you would much rather prefer to produce the entire movie yourself. But you love Pollack and you already know you’re on track to get a good grade in this class, so whatever. You’ll deal. 

As long as you can pick your teammate. 

“Yes,” Pollack affirms, “and with that excellent segue, I will now announce your partners.”

Shit. 

Pollack pulls out a folded piece of paper from her back pocket, like she had just come up with the arrangements on the morning train ride to campus, and begins reading. Slowly, as she ticks off names one by one, everyone begins to turn around, locking eyes with their partners and exchanging guess-it’s-us-two-huh? smiles. Everyone except—

“And lastly, Jungkook and Y/N.”

You freeze in place. You look up at your professor, eyes wide and shocked, because nobody knows better than her how much the two of you have been butting heads this entire semester. But when you meet her eyes and she smiles knowingly, shrugging her shoulders, you know you’re doomed. Hesitantly, almost like you’re scared to find out what happens when you do, you shift your gaze towards where Jungkook sits in the front right corner of the room. Only he’s not just sitting. He’s turned a full one hundred-and-eighty degrees just so he can smirk at you from across the room, a glint in his eye. 

Jungkook laughs at your cold-stone, shellshocked reaction. Like he knows how much you’ll hate this, and you know how much he’ll enjoy it. 

From here, you actually have a pretty good view of his laptop screen, brightness turned all the way up because he apparently doesn’t care who reads his screen. Or maybe he just likes showing off how much he writes so he can establish dominance over everyone else. Except you, of course. But when you look a little closer, you notice he’s got the class discussion board for the week up on his Chrome window, two paragraphs typed into the text box. 

Right above is your response to his comment. 

Is that what he was working on? His reply to your reply? Right now? He has the audacity to draft it right here, in front of you, where he knows you can see? He doesn’t even care that you’re blatantly staring at it. In fact, he actually seems to be relishing in it.

You’re so caught off guard by the contents of his computer screen that when you look back up at him on instinct, you catch a wink in your direction. 

Your fists tighten by your side. 

Class is rather uneventful after the whole partner fiasco, as Pollack transitions into your usual dose of a short lecture on the film and then a class discussion that goes absolutely nowhere because everyone is too concerned with the final project to care. Whatever you talk about, you will be hard pressed to know, because you spend the entire rest of the period scowling at the blank page of your Notes document as you try to formulate a way to convince Pollack to change your partner. Would she accept a dozen doughnuts as a bribe? A box is only ten dollars from Dunkin’.

When Pollack finally shuts her laptop screen and begins her weekly goodbye spiel, you are the first one out of the room. Hastily, you stuff your laptop into your bag, zip it up as best as you can (which means that the tops of your water bottle and umbrella are sticking out, but who cares), and shuffle out the room right as Pollack is bidding you all farewell, just so you don’t have to look at Jungkook’s stupid, smug little grin on the way out. 

Faintly, you remember Pollack saying something about getting your partner’s contact information so you can start working, but fuck that. Jungkook knows your name. He can find you. If you must spend the entire semester communicating through Instagram DMs, then so be it. You’ve communicated with men in worse ways. Like through LinkedIn.

There’s a small seating area half a flight down from where your puny little classroom is, a few tables and a bench that wraps around the wall, posters splayed out on the corkboard to the right, staples littering both the board and the floor it rests above. Nobody ever seems to use this, despite the innumerable posters advertising everything from dance troupe shows to financial literacy talks, which makes it the perfect place for you to brood and gather your thoughts. It’s also in the direct opposite direction of the exit. So that’s good.

Taking your anger out on your personal belongings (as opposed to that bitchass smirk on Jungkook’s face), you begin to shove your umbrella and water bottle into the pocket of your backpack, fighting to nestle them amongst your other worldly possessions, like your pencil case and what looks to be a small nest of receipts at the bottom of the back. No wonder it’s so clogged up down there. 

If anything gives you a sense of control, it’s cleaning. One by one, you pluck out the receipts from your bag, nose scrunching up as you try to remember every purchase you’ve made in the past three months. Plus, one of these receipts is from when you bought some dryer sheets from CVS, so that means the five inches of actual information are also accompanied by three feet of coupons that expired two weeks ago. Ugh, what a waste. 

“Don’t look so angry, you’ll have to get used to seeing this face a lot.”

You look up from where you’ve been inspecting an old receipt from a midnight McDonald’s trip to find Jungkook standing in front of you, backpack hanging loosely on his bomber jacket-clad shoulder and that same stupid grin written all over his same stupid face. 

“Can I help you?” You drawl. Great. Now Jungkook can add “saw all her receipts” to the list of embarrassing things he’s caught you doing. 

“Can I help you?” Jungkook fires back with a scoff, blonde hair bouncing as he jerks his head flippantly. “Looks like someone needs to take an Accounting class or something.”

“I’m just doing some spring cleaning,” you sneer. It’s February. “What do you want?”

“What, no ‘Hello, partner’? ‘So excited to be working with you this semester’? I’m hurt,” Jungkook says, placing a hand to his heart as he shakes his head disapprovingly. “I thought we had something good, Y/N. Isn’t that why Pollack paired us up?”

You’re pretty sure she just likes watching the world burn. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you chide, knowing that Jungkook already must get enough of a kick out of just seeing the annoyed look on your face. 

“Please, like I even need to. You think I don’t notice the way you stare at me during class? I know you must like what you see,” Jungkook flirts, just to be extra irritating. 

While he’s stroking his own ego, you tear off a piece of that CVS receipt, one of the expired coupons for Three Dollars Off Any Shampoo or Conditioner, and scribble your number on the back. The rest of the receipts you scoop up and dump in the trash can to your right before you zip up your backpack and hike it over your shoulder. 

“Here,” you say gruffly, shoving the paper against his chest as you head towards the stairwell. 

“How forward of you, Y/N, you know you could have just asked—”

Pausing right before you turn the corner and head out the door, you turn back to look at Jungkook, already exhausted from having to interact with him for five minutes. “And when you’re done jerking yourself off,” you say pointedly, “text me.”

You storm out the door.

[February 13th, 1:24PM]

Unknown Number: guess who ;)

You: Wow I have NO idea You: Keanu Reeves?

Unknown Number: haha very funny Unknown Number: it’s jungkook

You: Damn shame You: You done jerking off yet

Maybe: Jungkook: what makes you think i’m not doing that right now ;)))

You: You don’t have the coordination to text me and masturbate at the same time You: What do you want

Jungkook: ouch, harsh Jungkook: can’t i just want to talk to my final project partner? :D

[February 13th, 2:17PM]

Jungkook: alright fine Jungkook: just wanna see when you wanna meet up

You: Guess I don’t have a choice do I

Jungkook: unless you wanna facetime

You: Is that an option?

Jungkook: how about friday at 3 Jungkook: in one of the greene gsrs

You: You think you can manage to reserve one of those?

Jungkook: watch me

[February 13th, 2:21PM]

Jungkook: [screenshot sent] Jungkook: done

You: Do you want a gold star for all that hard work you just did? All that manual labor? You: Fine. See you then.

Jungkook: miss you already <3

Y/N Y/L/N on February 12th at 10:29PM

I have to disagree with Jungkook. It’s obvious the movie is not going to have a happy ending because Tom is so obsessed with the version of Summer he has created in his head that he doesn’t even see who the real girl is anymore. It doesn’t have a happy ending not because they weren’t soulmates, or because their love wasn’t right. They break up because what Tom wants and what Summer wants are fundamentally different, and Tom just can’t accept the fact that Summer doesn’t love him the way he wants her to. In a desperate quest to keep her, though, he manifests this version of her and replaces the actual Summer with it, ultimately destroying their relationship. How could viewers ever have faith that Tom would eventually get his happy ending if the only proof of his commitment to relationships they have is him manufacturing a different girl to fall in love with?

Jeon Jungkook on February 13th at 7:35PM.

You make a good point, Y/N, but I think you missed the whole point of the movie. It’s not about their breakup or the not-so-happy ending or even Tom’s problems. It’s about the journey they go on and what Tom learns in the process. If you watch the trailer then you’d go into the movie knowing they weren’t gonna last. The results of whatever Tom and Summer do to contribute to their eventual breakup should not come as a surprise to the viewer. The whole point of the movie is that they spent five hundred days together and Tom is now recounting those days to anyone who will watch. And you know who’s watching? People who want to hear a story. About love. And loss. And everything in between. Isn’t that the whole reason we watch romance movies anyway?

Sometimes, you wonder if the garishness of Professor Pollack’s shoebox-sized office is the reason not very many students attend her office hours. The walls are lined with movie posters taken from a theater going out of business, the shelves stuffed to the brim with Disney World trinkets and old film memorabilia. She’s installed these thick red velvet curtains along her single window, making the whole room look like some sort of 1950s movie lair. 

In a way, you suppose it kind of is. 

You hear the taps of her Converse shoes as they come down the hallway and round the corner into the office.

“You know, Y/N, I was surprised to see you signed up for my office hours when I logged in this morning,” Pollack says as she enters the room, handing you the coffee in her right hand as she takes a sip out of the one from her left. Last year, the film department bought a Breville coffee maker with the leftover funds from a movie showing fundraiser and it is, in your humble opinion, the best investment the department has ever made.

“Why? I see you all the time,” you ask, eyebrows raised. You and Professor Pollack are not lacking in social connection. She’s written you a letter of recommendation and she knows your coffee order. 

“The very first time we ever spoke outside of class, you sat down at my Starbucks table while I was eating lunch just so you could introduce yourself and ask me about my opinion on the Mamma Mia remake,” she deadpans. “We don’t exactly speak through official forums.”

Well, she’s got you there. 

“I know…” you begin, trailing off awkwardly as you take a sip of your coffee. It’s burning hot and scalds your tongue a little, but it’s nice. It’s been cold recently. “But I just thought we could talk… privately.”

Pollack rolls her eyes as she reclines in her chair, back hitting the padding of the chair with a thud. “Goodness, I wonder what you’re here to talk to me about.”

“Okay, please pardon my French, but what the freak, Professor?” You say, because the words have been sitting hot on your tongue ever since you walked into your office and you didn’t think sending an email that looked like:

To: [email protected] From: y/[email protected] Subject: what the freak

Dear Professor Pollack,

What the freak?????????

Cheers, Y/N

would be very professional on your part. 

Pollack lets out this honk of a laugh, loud and sudden, shaking her head fondly. “Come on, Y/N. You must have known I would have partnered the two of you up.”

“I was hoping you’d let us choose?” You emphasize. 

“And miss out on what very well may be one of the best final projects of the class, produced by my two best students of the semester? Absolutely not,” she says, smiling knowingly at you. 

Even her sudden reveal that you happen to be one her best students this semester isn’t enough to soothe your worries and calm your anger. You’re honored, but you have bigger problems. Problems that start with ‘Jeon’ and end with ‘Jungkook’. 

Pollack looks at your beaten-down expression and leans forward, placing her coffee cup on the wooden desk in front of her. “Listen, Y/N. You’re an excellent student and one of the most talented filmmakers I’ve seen in a long time. Your discussion posts are detailed, well-written, and thought-provoking. I know that the two of you will make a great project.”

You scoff. “We can’t agree on a single thing.”

“Sometimes that happens in life, and you just have to deal with it,” Pollack says sagely. 

“So I can’t change partners?”

“Not unless you’d like to fail the final,” Pollack comments, shrugging. How rude of her to say such a thing, not taking the option to change partners off the table entirely but making it so that if you do, you’ll pretty much be shooting yourself in the foot. Or worse. 

You narrow your eyes at her. “That’s low.”

“That’s life,” she corrects. 

“Ugh.” You get up out of your seat, taking angry sips of your coffee as you desperately try to think of another way to get out of it. Are doughnuts still an option?

“I have full faith that the both of you will come up with an excellent project,” Pollack says like it’s some sort of consolation as she walks you to the door to her office. Yeah, right. You and Jungkook spend your free time making snide responses to each other’s discussion posts like it’s nobody’s business. You’re probably the only two people at your entire university that care enough to make replies to each other’s replies. Like Tinder from hell. “You shouldn’t be worried, Y/N.”

“I’m not worried,” you say, completely worried. “I just—I don’t know how Jungkook and I will get along.”

Pollack grins to herself. Does she know something you don’t? Is she up to something? She looks at you as you linger in the doorway, feeling utterly helpless after a meeting that accomplished absolutely nothing, and she smiles. 

“You’ll find a way.” 

Reserving a group study room in the Greene Library and Collection should not be some gymnastics act that involves a warm-up, practice, a routine, and song and dance. In theory, all you have to do is log onto the library’s homepage, navigate to the reservations tab, enter your name and ID number, pick a date and time, and profit. 

Of course, the demand for the study rooms does tend to outweigh the supply. There are over ten thousand students at your university. And only twenty rooms. 

And still, you have the unfortunate luck of being stuck in one of them for an hour and a half with none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

You see him coming into the library at 3PM sharp through the opposite entrance, a little surprised he didn’t show up ten minutes early like he does in class, just so he would have an excuse to complain about having to wait for you. Feeling a little threatened, you pick up the pace so that you can meet his lengthy stride, keeping an eye on his direction so you know which room he’s aiming for.

You arrive at Greene GSR #18 at the exact same time.

“So nice to see you,” Jungkook says, too cheerful, as you reach out to open the door. 

“Mmm,” you mumble in response as you enter the room, flinging your backpack onto the floor by your chair with a thud as you take a seat. The faster you start, the faster you can get this over with.

Jungkook, not at all outwardly discouraged by your clear disdain for him, rallies on happily. “So, what were you thinking for the project?” But he doesn’t even let you open your mouth to answer before he says, “Oh, wait, let me guess: a social commentary on the consumerist ideals that underline every modern movie and encourage the pursuit of an empty dream by abandoning concrete career and personal goals in favor of romantic fulfillment.”

You scowl at him, even though that’s exactly what you were thinking of doing. You’re almost positive Pollack’s had enough of seeing college students try to engineer the craziest fake dating scenarios they can imagine just for a class project. Why not do something outside of the box? 

“Well, then what do you want to do?” You challenge, already bristling. Like Jungkook has a better idea. 

“Maybe something that doesn’t scream ‘killjoy’ as much as you do,” Jungkook retorts easily. He opens his mouth to spit out something else but then rolls his eyes and shrugs, shaking his head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” you immediately rebuke, pointing at him. “You’re the one who wants to make some sort of generic rom-com for our final project. Besides, I’m pretty sure every idea you even think of will have been done already.”

“Just because something is cliche doesn’t make it bad,” Jungkook says. “I swear, I don’t think you understand what the word cliche even means. A cliche thing, by default, is something that lots of people like. Therefore, it is largely well-received by the general public.”

“Oh, then that must mean that all rom-coms are deserving of a People’s Choice Award then, right?”

Jungkook frowns, getting exasperated. You aren’t much farther off. “I don’t know why you’re being so—so resistant! You know that romantic comedies are supposed to be fun, right?” 

“They’re not that fun to me,” you comment snidely. 

“That’s because you’re a stick in the mud who takes everything way too seriously,” Jungkook replies like it’s some sort of known fact. “Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

“That’s none of your business,” you tell him firmly. Who does he think he is, going around asking that sort of thing? Especially to you! Like you could care any less about what Jungkook thinks of your love life. Intrusive, much? “Besides, you asking that is exactly my point. Not everything has to be about finding love and searching for your soulmate or whatever bullshit like that. Some people don’t really care that much.”

“You act like wanting to find love and wanting to be successful are mutually exclusive,” Jungkook points out. “You don’t have to abandon all of your life goals just to find love, you know. It doesn’t have to be the most important thing in your life for you to even care about it a little. It’s natural for people to want love.”

“Then I guess I’m just a robot.”

“You sure are acting like one,” Jungkook comments easily. “What, are you about to ask me to pick out all of the pictures with traffic lights?”

“I’m allowed to have my own views on love, just like you,” you say. Isn’t that the whole point of your discussion boards? A forum where you can discuss these sorts of things through an academic lens? A barrier that keeps the two of you from going at each other’s throats when you’re engaging in the class material? It doesn’t take a genius, or even half of one, to know that you and Jungkook can’t seem to agree on anything in your FILM395 class. 

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘your own views on love’? As far as I’m aware, your view on love is that you don’t have one! What do you even think love really is?”

You frown at him. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says like it’s obvious. “This project is about filming a short romantic comedy, about people falling in love with each other. How do you expect me to do that if we don’t reach a mutual agreement on what love is?”

You scoff. “There is no way in hell I am going to agree with you on anything concerning love.” Jeon Jungkook still thinks love is all rainbows and sunshine. Cries at the end of Love, Actually even though he’s seen it five times already. Believes in soulmates. Believes there are people out there that were built for each other. He flutters from one person to the next like a butterfly, even though he’s more like a moth drawn to any open flame within a five-mile radius. He’s convinced he’ll find his true love here, in college, just like his parents found each other. 

Yeah, right.

“Then what are we supposed to do, huh?” He says with an eyebrow raised. “We have a month to make a movie that’s fifty percent of our grade.”

“The social commentary is still on the table,” you point out. Sure, it’s not at all a romantic comedy, but it’s about them, which Pollack said was totally fine. Besides, she has been teaching you the entire semester, hasn’t she? She should know by now not to expect some cushy lovey-dovey story about two people who were destined to be with each other and can overcome all obstacles with their love. 

Deep down, a part of you wonders if that’s why she paired you up with Jungkook. If she’s had enough of the sappy love stories that Jungkook probably wanted to do, didn’t want to see another cynical commentary on capitalism in Hollywood.

“Wow, what a thrilling idea,” Jungkook deadpans. “Please, tell me more.” His voice is lifeless. 

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like your idea would be any better. Who would we even get to star in a rom-com we filmed? It’s not like the two of us could do it.”

You regret the words the instant they come out of your mouth. In horror, you watch as they sink into Jungkook’s brain, etching themselves into his mind as a lightbulb turns on, a bright idea popping into his thoughts. 

He opens his mouth, but you get there first. “No. Whatever you’re thinking, absolutely not. I am not starring in a rom-com with you.”

That is something you can say with one-hundred percent confidence. Something that you know will never change. 

“Just hear me out,” Jungkook pleads, looking a little desperate as he wrings his hands together, aching to spill the bubbling plan that’s been stewing in his head. 

You narrow your eyes in suspicion but lean back into your chair, a silent signal for him to continue. It’s not as if you have any better idea.s 

“Okay. It’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary,” he says, something that (and you can’t believe you’re saying this) actually piques your interest. Moreso than anything else he’s ever said to you. “You think love is totally manufactured, right? That Hollywood creates the illusion of it to sell to people paying twenty dollars for a movie ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s do that. Let’s prove it’s manufactured.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” It’s not like you can walk into a factory and ask them to make the “love” emotion for you. 

“We’ll be the stars.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s your best idea by a long shot, the home run of all home runs, your golden ticket to an A.

You scrunch up your nose, hesitant. “Wait, I don’t know—”

“It’s perfect!” Jungkook exclaims, eyes wide with excitement. “Think about it. It’ll be a mockumentary of a stereotypical rom-com. Except it won’t be this big Hollywood production, it’ll be real life. And it won’t be between two paid actors with years of experience under their belt, it’ll be us.” His eyes are practically bulging out of his head, big brown eyes glinting with excitement.

“So what are we gonna do? Act out our own rom-com in an attempt to see if either one of us will fall in love with the other?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not necessarily. It’s a mockumentary, right? So it’s grounded in real life even if it is based upon the stereotypical boy-meets-girl rom-com. It won’t be super scripted or anything. Think of it more like… a chronicle.”

You scoff. “Of what?”

“Of us,” Jungkook says easily. “Of the time we have to spend together to film this damn project anyway. I say that rom-coms are emblematic of the natural human desire for love, and that deep down love is the thing that makes us happy. You say that rom-coms are consumerist propaganda, or whatever it is you think they are—”

“They are, and you can’t change my mind about that,” you interrupt, just for clarity. Can’t have Jungkook thinking he’s going to somehow convince you otherwise.

“—so, with this project, let’s see which one of us is right. If the time we have to spend together, making this mockumentary rom-com, will really change how we feel about each other, or if it won’t.”

How you feel about each other? You almost laugh when Jungkook says it out loud. There’s no room for questioning in your mind when it comes to how you two feel about each other. Two desperate-to-please students with opposite views on the entire structure of a class and three years of experience arguing your points in essays under your belts. 

Jungkook believes in destiny, right? Then he must know that the two of you are destined to never get along.

“You should be a car salesman,” you joke. Jungkook’s certainly excellent at pitches.

“So, you in?”

You narrow your eyes, still a little wary of whatever it is Jungkook’s putting down. But it’s not like you have any better ideas. And the sooner you agree on something, the sooner you can get this goddamn project over with and never have to sit in class with Jeon Jungkook ever again. 

“Only because this’ll finally prove to you that not everything can be solved by finding love,” you say. It’s about as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get out of you. 

Jungkook grins, mischievous as always. There’s certainly something else he’s plotting, you just aren’t sure what. Maybe he’s in cahoots with Pollack. “Or,” he begins, lips curling upwards, “you’ll just fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” He holds out his hand, palm facing up as he waits for your response, that devilish glint that you hate twinkling in his eyes. 

As if you’re going to fall in love with Jungkook. For this stupid project? No way. Just because it’s a filmmaking project doesn’t make it any more bearable than your other assignments. It’s a partner project. They are, by their very nature, excruciating. You’ll be surprised if you end this project and you aren’t even more irritated with Jungkook. Does he really think you’ll actually develop some sort of affection for him?

You take his hand on your own, palm pressed against his, and you eye him carefully. Just because Jungkook’s got something up his sleeve doesn’t mean you don’t. Finally, finally, Jungkook will see why love is stupid and manufactured and fake. Why it doesn’t bring people together but instead tears them apart. 

Maybe then he’ll leave you and your discussion posts in peace.

You smile up at him. 

“I guess we will.”

When Ruby Rhodes is not six feet deep in The Princeton Review’s MCAT test prep book, she can usually be found at the small bakery five blocks west and two blocks north of your little campus, a family-owned place passed down through three generations. It’s her favorite place, and yours, too, because the coffee is delicious and the pastries are even better. 

Plus, hardly anyone from your school ever comes here, which means the wifi speed is eons better than the Starbucks inside the main food court. 

She’s halfway through a tiramisu and a rerun of The Bachelor from two seasons ago when you sit down across from her. 

“Any good?” You ask, pulling out your laptop and squeezing it onto the tiny marble table in between the two of you. 

“The food or the show?” Ruby asks over a mouthful of cake. 

“Either.” 

Ruby swallows down the piece sitting on her tongue before responding. “The tiramisu is delicious, and The Bachelor is eh. I’ve seen this episode three times already.”

“Then why are you watching it again?” You ask, laughing. Does Ruby think something different is going to happen?

“Because we’re in between weeks right now and honestly, The Bachelor is kind of dry this season,” Ruby says with a frown. 

“You’ve got some tiramisu on your cheek,” you tell her, pointing to the left side of her face where the bright mascarpone cream sticks out like a sore thumb against her dark skin. 

“It’s just so yummy, I can’t help but stick my whole face in it,” Ruby jokes as she wipes her face with the napkin on her lap. The Bachelor rerun plays on in the background, and you can hear the gasps of the women through Ruby’s discarded headphones. 

You roll your eyes. “Why do you even watch that show still? You know it’s all crap.”

“Just because you think it’s crap doesn’t mean I do,” Ruby insists, playing out an argument the two of you have had plenty of times over the course of your friendship. “Watching it makes me happy. So I do it.”

“But it’s all fake,” you say, frowning in disapproval. “The couples don’t even stay together in the end anyway.”

“It’s a totally pre-constructed show, but it’s not fake in the moment. And I don’t expect the final couple to stay together.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Believe me, I’ve seen enough Bachelor seasons to know those odds. I just like watching the ride. It’s cute.”

“You say that about everything.”

“That’s because everything is cute,” Ruby says pointedly. “I like seeing the good in people.”

Ruby’s always been the exact opposite of you in terms of worldviews. The embodiment of a real-life fairy. She puts butterfly clips in her hair and buys herself bouquets of daisies and lilies. She sits in cafes with her headphones in and sketches the people she sees outside the window. She’s studying to be a doctor so she can spend the rest of her life helping others. 

And you? 

Well, the Oscars have always been a bit of a long shot. 

The curiosity eating at you, you pose a question to her. “Hypothetically, if there were to exist a mockumentary on rom-coms and love, would you watch it?”

Ruby pauses for a second as she furrows her brows. Then she shrugs and says, “Only if the two leads fell in love at the end. Why?”

“No reason,” you say, looking away. 

There’s no fooling Ruby and her eagle eyes. 

“What is it?” She asks, a grin playing at her lips as she looks at you. “Come on, you don’t just ask me shit like that without a reason.”

“It’s for a final project,” you explain succinctly. No need to go into details. 

“You’re making a rom-com for a final project?” Ruby sounds about as skeptical as you did when you spoke to Jungkook. 

“It’s a mockumentary about rom-coms.”

“But… it’s a rom-com, right? Like, you’re going to be making a rom-com? Where people fall in love?”

Hopefully not. 

“Sort of?”

Ruby squints her eyes, trying to process all the information. You’re not surprised that she has to take a moment to think—you are certainly the last person on earth to ever admit to filming a rom-com. But, as you’ve stated, it’s not a rom-com. It’s a mockumentary about them. That distinction is vital.

“Wait, is this for that class with Pollack?” Ruby asks. “I remember you telling me you were taking it. You said this was a partner project, though, right? So who are you working with?”

Curse Ruby and her knack for remembering things. She’ll make a great doctor, that’s for sure, but right now you wish she would just forget things like everybody else. 

You sigh. “Jungkook.”

Ruby doesn’t need to think twice about who that is. “Wait, seriously? You’re working with him? Isn’t he the guy that responds to all your discussion posts?”

“Yes,” you say, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. You don’t even like thinking about him, let alone saying his name. The fact that he has to occupy any part of your brain at all gives you a headache.

“Damn, that sucks,” Ruby says, not feeling very sorry for you at all. “So you’re filming a rom-com with him?”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you specify, feeling yourself getting irritated. “It is fake.”

“Just like my shows, huh?” Ruby muses to herself, too analytical for her own good. 

“Listen, you don’t need to fall in love to make a mockumentary about it,” you say, refusing to consider any sort of alternative. 

“Don’t you?”

You sneer. “Just shut up and eat your tiramisu.”

Ruby lets out a laugh at that, this wonderful mix between a wheeze and a honk that makes you smile every time you hear it, even if it’s at your own expense. Ruby decides she’s had enough of mentally torturing you with the thought of feeling anything but extreme distaste towards Jungkook and goes back to her show, letting you brood in peace. 

You don’t need to fall in love to make a film about it. Just like you don’t need to be a masterchef to film Gordon Ramsey screaming at someone who undercooked chicken. You’re a filmmaker. You can make a film out of anything. Including love. Even if it is with someone like Jungkook. 

Can’t you?

Jeon Jungkook may be a disillusioned college student in love with the idea of love itself, but at least he’s not too shabby of a filmmaker. 

Funnily enough, it actually sort of surprises you that you’ve never encountered each other before. Especially considering you’re in the same major program at your school, a program that only accepts about fifty students per year at most. You suppose that in whatever general program classes you had to take in freshman and sophomore year you just never crossed paths. Plus, he’s a filmmaking concentration and you’re doing screenwriting, so it’s very possible that you would have just never spoken had the two of you not registered for the same semester of FILM395.

Huh. Imagine that. A life without him. 

Sort of makes you wish you had put this class off for one more semester. 

As the two of you kickstart your project, you both immediately agree that you need a third person’s help. You and Jungkook can do plenty, but you are only two people. And there’s nothing in the final project guidelines that says you can’t enlist other people to partake in the production. But you don’t need help with the filming and editing. You need help with the interviews. 

“Is this bedsheet good enough?” Kim Taehyung, a senior in the film program, asks as he’s Command-stripping a queen-sized black bedsheet to an empty wall in the living room of his tiny one-bedroom apartment. 

“As long as it fits into the frame,” Jungkook responds from where he’s standing behind the camera, set up on a tripod to capture a specific angle. “You’re not going to be in the shot anyway. You’ll just be asking the questions.”

“Good, because I look really ugly right now,” Taehyung says with a grin. You roll your eyes. Taehyung must know he always looks good. Even you can’t deny him of that. 

“This is ridiculous,” you say, seated on the singular couch in his apartment. You’re leaning on your elbow as you watch Taehyung fiddle with the bedsheet and Jungkook futz with the camera, the two of them repositioning themselves over and over again until everything’s perfect. “What are you even gonna ask us?”

“I came up with some… preliminary questions,” Taehyung says suggestively. “But I haven’t told either of you what they are so that your reactions can be more genuine.”

“Great,” you deadpan. 

“Wow, someone’s excited,” Jungkook comments snidely. 

“I know we agreed on periodic interviews for the sake of the mockumentary but I don’t know why we have to be so… so serious about them,” you say with a frown. 

“We have to promise to be honest with what we say, alright? Like, actually honest. This sets a guideline for the rest of our relationship,” Jungkook says like it’s no big deal. Like the foundation of your relationship isn’t the fact that the two of you have been engaged in discussion-board war ever since the semester began. 

“Our ‘relationship’?” You say with a scoff. 

“Do you promise?” Jungkook says. 

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I promise.” Whatever. “What do you even think is going to happen between us in the next few weeks?”

Jungkook smirks. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You don’t like the sound of that. 

Over the next ten minutes, Taehyung gets the sheet attached to his wall and pulls over two stools from his kitchen counters, old-timey wooden ones he got from a thrift store for five dollars a pop, one for him and one for the poor soul who has to be interviewed. You’ve agreed to do them separately but Taehyung’s apartment is only so big and you are only three people, which means that whoever isn’t being interviewed still has to be behind the camera, listening to the other person. 

Makes you sort of nervous about whatever’s stewing up inside Jungkook’s mind. Wonder what the hell it is he’s plotting up there. 

Once everything is settled, Taehyung looks at the two of you as he asks who’s going first. 

You turn to Jungkook, who’s already grinning. “Ladies first.”

For someone who has spent their whole life watching and making movies, being in front of the camera feels weirdly uncomfortable to you. You’re so used to being behind it instead, directing others as they move around the frame, telling them how to feel and how to act and what to say, that having the spotlight shone on you is like picking through your thoughts with a fine-toothed comb. 

You adjust awkwardly in the bar stool seat as Jungkook stands behind the camera, twisting the lens until he gives you the thumbs-up. Quite frankly, it doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“You ready?” Taehyung asks as he takes a seat opposite you, just out of frame. 

“Well, we’ve gotta start somewhere, right?”

“That’s the spirit. Alright, Jungkook, start whenever you’re good.”

“Okay,” Jungkook chirps up. “Three, two, one—” He points to the both of you. 

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung begins, his voice suddenly much clearer. He sounds sort of like a news anchor. It’s oddly fitting. “Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” You muse. 

“That didn’t answer my question,” Taehyung points out. Good thing the camera can’t see the way his eyebrows raise. 

“I suppose that there are worse things I could be doing,” you reason, which is about as good of an answer as Taehyung’s going to get. What was he expecting you to say? That you were thrilled to be filming this not-a-rom-com with your class nemesis? That you couldn’t wait to see what would happen?

“Loving the enthusiasm,” Taehyung jokes. You wonder what your classmates will think when they watch this back, hearing this unidentified deep male voice ask you and Jungkook questions about your relationship. “Let me ask you this: what’s your current relationship with Jungkook?”

“Uh…” you begin, nervous. Behind the camera, Jungkook has that same stupid, shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. You sneer. “It’s… it’s professional.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?” 

“I mean we’re classmates. That’s the relationship.”

“That’s it?” You can hear the skepticism in Taehyung’s voice, almost like he’s egging you on to say something more. 

“We’ve had some personal disagreements on topics discussed in class. But yes, we’re just classmates,” you elaborate slightly. It’s not as if anyone needs reminding of that, anyway. They all see your discussion board posts. 

“And how do you expect that relationship to change over the course of this project?”

“I don’t think it’ll change at all.” It’s the easiest answer so far. Requires no energy nor brain power for you to think about it. 

Taehyung nods his head in intrigue. “And why’s that?”

“Because this is a project for a class, not a life lesson.”

“Who says it can’t be both?”

You frown. “Whose side are you on?”

Five feet away, Jungkook laughs. 

Taehyung chuckles. “Alright, moving on. What do you expect from Jungkook over the next few weeks as you start working on building your relationship?”

“I hope he becomes less unbearable,” you say, though you suppose that’s more of a general life goal than one that’s project-specific. But it would be nice if he became a little more… palatable. Just so you don’t have to feel the urge to sock him in the face every time you speak to each other. 

“‘Less unbearable’, excellent,” Taehyung repeats. “Anything else?”

“Well,” you say with a shrug, not sure what else to say. What do you want from Jungkook? Obviously the two of you are about to embark on your own rom-com adventure, no doubt most of it his doing, but it’s hard to imagine that he himself (or you, for that matter) will change. If anything, the rom-com setting will just exacerbate the worst parts of both your personalities. Like some sort of curse. “I guess I just hope that the project goes smoothly.”

“I hope that it does, too,” Taehyung says with a smile. “Okay, last question.” Thank God. This interview couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to you. “Do you think you and Jungkook will fall in love at the end of this?”

“No.” You don’t leave any room for hesitation. “I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re very different people with very different interests,” you explain succinctly. You’re sure Taehyung will grasp that once Jungkook has his turn and answers all the same questions. “He can try his hardest, but some things are just meant to stay the way they are.”

“Okay, thank you, Y/N, that’s all. I hope you found our conversation illuminating,” Taehyung says, his cue for the camera to stop rolling. You and Taehyung both turn to Jungkook, waiting for his signal, letting out a sigh when Jungkook gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Thank fuck,” you say, hopping off of the barstool happily. You head towards the camera, ready to kick Jungkook off of it, because it’s your turn to stand behind it with an annoying look on your face as you react to every stupid thing Jungkook says. You find that you’re actually sort of looking forward to it. Being behind the camera is where you feel most at home. Making faces at Jungkook is just a bonus. 

Jungkook’s still grinning that same goddamn grin when you approach him, making you narrow your eyes. 

“‘He can try his hardest’?” Jungkook teases, voice all high-pitched to mimic yours. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Ah yes, my mission in life,” you retort easily. Maybe goading him on isn’t the best course of action, but you’re so confident that you won’t change your mind you find yourself actually anticipating his efforts. “Think you have what it takes?”

“Believe me, I do,” Jungkook says with a devilish glint in his eyes. 

You roll your eyes and kick him off the camera with a shove, pushing him towards Taehyung as he waits diligently on that chair of his. 

“So, Jungkook, same questions,” Taehyung says as Jungkook gets ready in his seat, fixing the blonde strands of hair that curl around the side of his face, framing his cheeks. 

“What? That’s no fair, he got to think about all his answers,” you exclaim, positively indignant. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, voice sickly smooth, honey falling off his lips. “I’ve actually been thinking about the two of us for a long time.”

You pretend to throw up on Taehyung’s hardwood floor. 

As Taehyung promised, he asks Jungkook the same questions. And, as predicted, his answers about as far away from yours as the sun is from Pluto:

“Are you excited to begin the filming for this?”

Jungkook grins. “Yes, definitely. I actually took this class after hearing from a friend that the final project was a lot of fun.”

Taehyung beams. That friend was him. No wonder he was so happy to sign onto helping the two of you. 

“And how would you describe your current relationship with Y/N?”

“We’re soon-to-be-lovers.” 

“How forward of you.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

You have to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter behind the camera and ruining the interview. At least he’s not hiding anything. You’ll give him that. 

“So I suppose you expect the two of you to fall in love over the course of the project?”

“Yes, that’s going to happen.”

“And you seem pretty confident when you say that.”

Jungkook smirks as he turns to the camera. Or, more accurately, you. “Confidence is attractive.” 

You shake your head back at him. 

The rest of the interview falls pretty much into the same vein as the first few questions. Jungkook is so brazenly determined and hopeful and optimistic it actually pains you in a way, watching him make all of these promises both to you and himself that this project is going to turn out the way he hopes it does. His answers remind you of his discussion board posts, always looking on the bright side of every movie you watch, always finding the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel. A movie could be total Hollywood crap, filled with cheating scandals and misunderstandings and betrayals, and Jungkook could still find beauty in it. 

It’s strange. 

For the sake of you not actually throwing up in Taehyung’s lovely apartment, you tune out the majority of the middle of the conversation, having zero desire to listen to Jungkook wax poetic about your non-existent relationship like he’s saying his wedding vows. Only when Taehyung finally remarks that they’re on the last question do you finally come to again, ready to turn the camera off as soon as Jungkook finishes his answer. 

“Jungkook, do you think you and Y/N will fall in love at the end of this?”

“I do.” Wow, what a shocker. “I do, because I hope that by the end of this Y/N will have opened her eyes to the beauty of love, and will find joy in the feeling as something that makes her feel happy and warm. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure the things we do together are meaningful. And even if we don’t last, I hope that her memories of us together will be ones she can look back upon fondly and be grateful for.”

You purse your lips together. If only it were that easy. 

“Alright, cut,” you say, voice distant as Jungkook thanks Taehyung for his time and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, Tae.”

“Anytime, you guys,” Taehyung says with a grin. 

Jungkook comes over to where you’re standing, possibly to grab his camera and tripod but most definitely to rub his obnoxious personality all up in your face. 

“You really think you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, huh?” You muse, an eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Just so you can prove a point?”

“Believe it or not, Y/N, but I actually think that all people deserve the chance to experience love and that happens to include you, as well,” Jungkook responds easily. 

The words put a sour taste in your mouth. “You think I deserve it, huh?”

Jungkook nods, face solemn as he looks at you, gazing into your eyes with those big brown ones of his own. It makes you feel something unfamiliar. Like he’s reading right through your chest, into your heart. You don’t like it. “Everyone deserves love.”

“You guys are coming back, right? So I can leave the sheet up?” Taehyung interrupts after he’s moved both of his bar stools back to his kitchen counter. 

“Yeah, we’ll be back,” Jungkook answers quickly. “Thanks for setting everything up, by the way.”

“Of course. Plus, this is a good background for my nudes,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s mentioning what he’s having for dinner. “Looking forward to seeing you guys again.”

“Us, too,” Jungkook says. “Ready to go?”

“Only because it means I don’t have to see you anymore,” you retort pointedly, grabbing your backpack from where it sits on his couch as you head towards the door. 

“Just you wait, Y/N,” Jungkook says as you leave Taehyung’s building, one of those old-timey Victorian houses that was converted into a whole bunch of apartments. “You’re gonna see that I’m right.”

“Really? About what?”

“About us,” Jungkook says. You come to the stoplight, where Jungkook keeps going straight and you turn right. 

“Us?”

Jungkook grins as you turn in the direction of your own apartment. And, just as the light turns green, he says, “Just you wait. We’re gonna fall in love, you and me.”

If he says so. 

“Hey! Y/N!”

You whip your head around at the sound of your name just as you’re opening the door to your local Starbucks, wondering who the hell is calling out to you at nine-thirty in the morning on a Wednesday. 

As it turns out, you don’t have to wonder too much, because the moment your eyes adjust to the blinding sunlight coming from the east side of campus you see Jungkook hurtling towards you, heavy black boots stomping down on the pavement as he rushes to catch up with you. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, thoroughly unimpressed, as you pull open the door, looking at Jungkook heaving beside you as he holds the door open for himself. 

“Just glad I caught you,” Jungkook gasps out between breaths. “Figured this might make a good scene for the movie.”

“It’s a mockumentary,” you remind him easily, getting in the line. 

“Whatever,” Jungkook says. “What do you normally get here? I don’t really go to Starbucks often.”

“Whatever will give me the most caffeine for the least amount of money,” you retort. 

“How efficient,” Jungkook comments. 

“You know that’s how I like to be,” you tell him with a pointed look. 

Jungkook mumbles his acknowledgement as he fumbles around in his backpack, fishing through the large pocket until he whips out his Canon, holding it out in front of him like he’s a dad about to film an embarrassing shot of his child. You look down at the camera just as he pans up to you, a confused frown written across your features. Jungkook laughs. 

“Do you really need to do that here?”

“I’m not even filming,” Jungkook says with a smile, like he just pulled his camera out so he could look at your unimpressed face through a different lens. “Look, you’re up.”

You turn around to find that the woman ahead of you in line has just moved towards the pick-up side of the counter, so you shimmy over towards the barista, ready to get this over with so you can dart out of the Starbucks as soon as possible. 

“Just a grande Americano, please,” you request simply, fingers grasping for the wallet inside your coat pocket. 

“Me too,” Jungkook chirps up from behind you. The closeness of his voice makes you jump, and suddenly you become keenly cognizant of how he’s practically pressed up next to you as he leans over towards the counter. You catch a glimpse of the debit card in his hand. “Here.”

“You don’t have to pay for me, it’s fine,” you quickly say, holding out your own card to the barista. 

“No, it’s okay, I want to. Here.” Jungkook pushes your hand away as he tries to stuff his card into the reader. 

“No, I won’t let you. I’m a big girl, I can pay for my own coffee,” you rebuke, feeling yourself growing oddly defensive. 

Jungkook sighs from behind you. “Oh, come on, you can’t let me do one nice thing for you?”

“Will one of you please pay, you’re holding up the line,” the barista asks in a desperate tone, clearly too overworked and too underpaid to be dealing with two bratty college students like yourselves. 

Jungkook manages to shove his card into the reader before you get the chance to do it yourself, pushing you to the side as he verifies all of his information and takes his receipt. Next to him, you seethe to yourself, feeling a personal loss even though you just got your coffee paid for. It’s not about the money. It’s about your pride. Never in your life have you wanted to so badly pay for an overpriced Starbucks coffee. 

You and Jungkook mosey over to the other side of the counter, waiting for your identical drinks to be made as you try and calculate how much longer you have to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as Jungkook. Seeing him in class, on your discussion board posts, and for your arranged final project meetings apparently isn’t enough, so now he has to invade your personal life, too. 

“What are you doing?” You huff out angrily, turning to Jungkook even as he holds his camera out in front of him, filming the Starbucks. 

“Recording our first meeting, obviously,” Jungkook says like it’s some kind of no-brainer. Like you were in on that from the moment he called your name out on the street. 

“What do you mean, ‘our first meeting’?” You scrunch up your nose in confusion. “We’ve known each other since the semester started.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook trails off unhelpfully, but you pick up what he’s putting down regardless. Right. This is supposed to be a mockumentary rom-com. And rom-coms always start with an introduction. 

The barista behind the counter calls out Jungkook’s name as he places two same-sized cups down at the pick-up station. The cup is burning hot, even with the little cardboard holder wrapped around it like a leg warmer, so you immediately move over to the station up against the wall with all of the sugar packets and napkins and little green splash sticks. Jungkook joins you without question, whether it be due to the fact that he doesn’t come here very often or because he just wants to keep invading your space, you couldn’t say. Grabbing one of the wooden sticks, you tug the plastic lid off of the cup and give the coffee a swirl. Watching you, Jungkook takes the lid off of his as well. 

“Are you just going to copy everything I do?” You deadpan. 

“Not everything…” Jungkook trails off suspiciously, looking down into his coffee like the two of them are conspiring something. 

“What are you talki—”

Without warning, Jungkook slams half of his body into you, and without a lid or one of those little green sticks, the coffee sploshes over the side of his cup and drenches the front of your exposed hoodie, hot liquid burning through the fabric of the hoodie and the t-shirt you have on underneath. You watch in horror as Jungkook plays it off like an accident, feet fumbling around on the hardwood floor like he had just tripped. But he didn’t just trip. He dumped half of his Americano onto the both of your fronts. 

“Jungkook!” You say instantly, resisting the urge to scream because you’re in a public place but feeling your skin go as hot as the coffee against your torso as you look up at him, fuming. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Jungkook says, somehow able to regain his balance, hold his coffee cup, and film the whole adventure all at the same time. “That was totally my fault, let me help you with that.” 

The camera is from his perspective, which you suppose is about as real as it gets for something grounded in reality like a mockumentary, but in this position he’s able to make conversation with his eyes, big brown ones wide as he tries to signify what exactly he means when he purposely spills coffee all over the two of you. 

You get it. You’ve seen enough rom-coms to know why he just did what he did, but you still find your mouth agape as you stare up at him, smoldering and angry and a little shocked he would dare be so bold, especially in the middle of a Starbucks coffee shop. 

“For God’s sake,” you say with an exhausted sigh despite it not even being ten in the morning yet. Unable to form any other comprehensible words, you settle for just pulling out napkins from the dispenser and dabbing the front of your hoodie as Jungkook looks at you apologetically. You can’t even tell if he’s truly sorry or just putting on another one of his shows. 

“I feel so bad,” Jungkook says, and you calm yourself down enough to nod. At least he isn’t blatantly laughing. “Can I pay for dry cleaning?”

“You’re really gonna offer to pay for my dry cleaning?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

“It was my fault,” Jungkook admits. Now that you can agree on. 

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s just an old hoodie, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m still sorry,” Jungkook insists, and the more he says it the more you actually find yourself starting to believe him. Even if he did just spill coffee all over you. “Here, let me give you my jacket—”

“That’s not necessary,” you say as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to remove the bulky denim jacket he’s wearing, fabric worn and soft from years of use. “Seriously, it’s okay, it’s just a hoodie.”

“Yeah, but now you have coffee all over your clothes and you probably have class soon, right?” He says, an apologetic smile lacing his lips. He tugs off his jacket and holds it out towards you. 

“Jungkook, I’m fine, alright? I appreciate your concern, though,” you assure him. You throw away the last of the coffee-stained napkins in your hands and reach down for your backpack, which you had taken off your shoulders somewhere in the chaos. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, almost as if he was expecting resistance, and leans over you anyway. His arms extend outwards as he wraps his enormous denim jacket over your shoulders, the fabric draping loosely over your body. The damn thing was big on him, so on you it practically eats you up. You stand there, silent, as Jungkook adjusts the jacket on your torso, pulling underneath the hood of your sweatshirt as he makes sure it’s snug across your figure. 

“There,” Jungkook says. 

“Thanks,” you say, a half grin playing on your lips. The gesture makes you wonder if Jungkook really was planning on giving up his jacket this early in the morning for the sake of your movie. “That’s nice of you.”

“I hope it makes up for the fact that you smell like coffee now,” Jungkook says, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. 

“I appreciate it,” you say. 

“I have class, too, so I have to go,” Jungkook says, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders as he tucks his camera away. “I’m sorry again! See you around?”

Like you even have a choice. 

“Yeah, see you around,” you say as Jungkook darts off just as quickly as he arrived, rushing out the door before you have the chance to change your mind and give him his jacket back. 

When he leaves you, you find yourself at a loss for words. You stand there, lips pursed, coffee cold, as the weight of his jacket rests heavy on your shoulders. 

It smells like him. 

You should have known he would do something like this. Spill coffee all over the two of you, offer you his jacket, dash off like Cinderella at midnight. Like the opening of the world’s worst rom-com. The start of what is no doubt going to be the most unbearable final project you have ever done.

Plus, the other thing it’s ensured is a second meeting. How else is he going to get his jacket back?

And you know what the worst part is?

This is only the beginning.

This time after FILM395 ends lecture for the day, it’s your turn to catch Jungkook lounging around after class. 

He’s lingering around the outside of the building, scrolling through his phone, a heavy leather jacket resting over a flannel that goes down to his knees and a baseball cap sitting firmly on his tuft of blonde hair. He’s obviously not paying attention to any of his surroundings whatsoever, because he doesn’t even notice you exiting out of the door he’s standing by until you say his name. 

“Jungkook,” you say, arriving in front of him. 

“Wha—oh, hi,” Jungkook says, jumping at the suddenness of it all. 

“Here,” you say, holding out his oversized denim jacket in between the two of you. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to give it back so soon,” Jungkook says, looking a little surprised and… is he touched? 

“I was going to give it to you a couple days ago but I thought I should give it a wash first,” you admit to him. 

Instinctively, Jungkook brings the jacket up to his nose to sniff it. “Smells like lavender.”

“Yeah, it’s my detergent. Hope you don’t mind. It’s a little wrinkled—I let it air dry since I was worried it might shrink in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, a genuine smile lacing itself across his features. It’s not one you see too often, and definitely not the kind of smile he usually flashes in your direction. Those are all so obnoxious, so full of himself. This one’s different. It’s appreciative. Kinder. Softer. In a lot of ways. “I was thinking, if you don’t have class now, do you wanna grab some coffee?”

You narrow your eyes. “Only if you promise not to spill it on me this time.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing his head back. “Okay, I got it. I won’t spill it on you.”

“Promise?” You prompt. 

“Promise.”

The walk to Starbucks this time is in relative silence, but neither of you seems to mind it very much. You aren’t dashing to catch up with each other and heaving snarky comments as you catch your breath. Jungkook even notices you shiver in the cool March breeze and wraps his jacket around you again anyway, although this time you make a mental note to make sure he doesn’t leave without it. Even though a lavender scent wafts off of the denim, it still smells a little bit like him. That boyish sort of aroma. You don’t think any detergent would ever be able to get rid of that. 

You and Jungkook both get americanos again because you’re predictable and creatures of habit, and Jungkook actually seems to quite like them. He pays and you don’t spend two minutes standing in front of the barista fighting over it. Jungkook seems so determined to pay the extra four dollars for your drink that you aren’t sure if it’s really worth arguing over it for the sake of pride anymore. What you and Jungkook put into making this project a success is what you’re going to get out of it. 

He picks one of the longer tables in the back of the study space, empty because it’s just after the lunchtime rush and most people have classes now, sets up the camera at one end, and you sit down at the other. 

“So,” you begin, not sure where to start because your coffee is too hot to take a sip from it. 

“So,” Jungkook echoes. 

Silence. 

You purse your lips in that awkward, I-don’t-know-what-to-say kind of way. “What do you want to do?”

Jungkook grins. “This is the part where we get to know each other.” 

“We already know each other.” You frown.

“Do we?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. “I mean, yeah, I guess we aren’t strangers, but I don’t know anything about you. Other than you’re a film major in a rom-com class who hates rom-coms.”

“I don’t hate rom-coms,” you object. “I just think it’s important to look at them from a critical lens.”

“Okay, whatever,” Jungkook says, shrugging you off. “The point is that we don’t know anything else about each other. Like, what’s your favorite color, for example?”

“Purple.” It’s an easy answer. You wore purple princess dresses when you were five, painted your bedroom lilac when you were ten, and still make sure to keep a purple highlighter in your pencil case now. “What’s yours?”

“Red,” Jungkook responds. 

“Cool,” you say, effectively ending the rest of the conversation.

Jungkook, sensing that same awkward silence, suggests something. “How about you ask me something now? We can go back and forth.”

You shrug. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Alright.” You think for a moment, but then you have the perfect question. “Why film?”

Jungkook was clearly not expecting something so loaded, because his brows furrow, knitting themselves together as he begins to figure out a good enough answer. “Hmm,” he says, lost deep in thought. “I suppose the standard answer would be that I’ve always been interested in it, but I think I chose film because I want to be able to have the gift to tell other people’s stories. Being a filmmaker doesn’t just mean you stand behind a camera. It means you immerse yourself in the lives of other people to create something new. And… I don’t know. I guess I really like doing that.” 

You nod. 

For once, you understand him. Understand why he chose to major in film, why he chose to be in this tiny little program. Because there is so much out there, so much that you will never know, people you will never meet and things you will never see. And it’s a filmmaker’s job to make them turn into things you will see, people you will meet. Who knows the world better than the people who study it? The people who have devoted their lives to learning all its secrets?

“What about you?”

“Same as you,” you tell him. “Film is an art but it’s more than that to me. It’s a new way to look at the world. It’s several new ways to look at the world, depending on what kind of film you want to create and what kind of story you want to tell. I think it’s important to show people that all of the things they see in the media every day are not always reality. And that real people deserve to have their stories told, too. I don’t know. That’s what I think.”

Jungkook grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “Real people like us?”

“This project is different,” you insist. 

“I don’t think it is,” Jungkook says. “You said it yourself, we’re making this because it’s important to show people that the Hollywood entertainment they consume is not reality. This is. This is reality.”

You frown, kicking yourself in the shin because what was supposed to be a harmless conversation has now turned into an opportunity for Jungkook to try and convince you that you will, in fact, fall in love with him. You’ve dug your own grave and Jungkook was the one who handed you the shovel. 

“You’re not giving up, are you?” You say, shaking your head, flabbergasted. “Reality is the fact that this project is not going to make me fall in love with you. Nothing is.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Jungkook warns. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“You mean like spilling burning hot coffee all over me?” You ask, an eyebrow raised, a grudge still held. 

“We had to start somewhere,” Jungkook defends. “And you seemed to understand what I was doing pretty quickly.”

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s done to me,” you concede, only slightly. “Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but throwing hot coffee all over me is not really a good way to start off your plan to get me to fall in love with you.”

Jungkook smiles. “All in due time, Y/N. All in due time.”

“I can’t believe Pollack actually paired us up together,” you say with a sigh. “You know she did it on purpose.”

“Of course she did.” It’s not really a surprise to either of you. 

“I met with her right after she announced our partners,” you tell him, “she said it was because she wanted to see what kind of project we would come up with. How we would address our… differing views on love.” That’s one way of putting it. A rather nice way, if you do say so yourself.

“Speaking of which,” Jungkook says, something suddenly flashing through his mind, “what do you really think about love? You know, other than it’s unrealistic and ruins people’s lives.”

“You make me sound like Ebeneezer Scrooge.” You frown at him. 

“I’m serious,” insists Jungkook. “Why are you so pessimistic about it? Have you ever been in love? Have you had bad experiences? You couldn’t have just developed this worldview over time.”

You scowl, feeling yourself getting defensive. “Well, maybe I did. Maybe that’s just what I think. Why do you care?”

“Because people don’t just hate love for no reason,” Jungkook exclaims. “Come on, there must be something.”

Your body stiffens. Who is he to be asking you this sort of shit? Why does he care so much? It’s not like it will have any effect on the outcome of your project. Not like you explaining yourself will change the way either of you look at the world. 

“What’s it to you?” You challenge. “Why do you love love so much? Have you ever fallen in love? Do you think it’s suddenly going to solve all of your problems?”

“I love it because I think it brings people real joy,” Jungkook answers simply. “It makes people happy and it’s beautiful. I love love and I’m not ashamed to say that out loud. I believe in it. I believe in love, and in destiny, and in soulmates. I want that. I think everyone deserves it.”

 You scoff to yourself. “You believe in soulmates?”

“I think we all have our people out there.” Jungkook nods. “Don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, arms crossed over your chest. This conversation has gone nowhere, and Jungkook looks as equally dissatisfied as you do. 

“I think love can make us do stupid things,” you tell him succinctly, if a little jaded. No need to say anything else. Your explanation is right there. “We’re just different, I guess. You and I.”

Jungkook blinks at you, eyes wide and a little desperate. Your conversation has remained stagnant and there’s almost nothing left to say. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever want to fall in love?” He asks, like it’s a last-ditch effort to get you to believe. 

You freeze. Let the words sink in for a moment. Before you push them out the door and toss them into the garbage. Just thinking about it gives you a headache. Puts a sour taste in your mouth. 

Quickly, you push yourself out of your chair and stand up, grabbing your coffee with one hand and your backpack with the other. “I have to go, sorry. I just remembered I’m meeting up with a friend to help her with a photography shoot,” you fumble out quickly, the legs of the chair screeching as you scoot them across the hardwood floor. “Oh, here’s your jacket, too. Thanks for giving it to me again. I’ll see you in class.”

You whip around and head towards the exit, and only when you’re outside of the Starbucks and passing by the window do you dare look back. Do you dare let your gaze drift back to Jungkook, who is sitting there like he still doesn’t understand you. Still can’t. 

You and Jungkook are final project partners and maybe, if you’re pushing it, acquaintances-slash-friends. But there are just some things better kept to yourself. 

We’re reaching the halfway point in this semester and, as you all know, I don’t do midterms. That said, I still want you to reflect on what you’ve learned, discovered, and thought about thus far in this class. What portrayal of love did you find the most realistic? The least? How have they changed the way you think about love, both from a personal and a film perspective?

Y/N Y/N on March 3rd at 6:08PM

Purely from a film perspective, I really did enjoy watching Juno. It was funny and raunchy and just the right amount of vulnerable. It certainly felt the most real. So far, no film in this class has topped it for me. 500 Days of Summer, on the other hand, was in my opinion extremely unsatisfying and left no positive impression. The ending was a bore and Tom had absolutely no spine. It was a shame, because the direction and production was actually quite good. 

I guess I’m starting to realize how real love is not pretty. It can make people just as sad as it can make them happy. Why don’t we show the sad sides of love, too? The sides where your room is covered with a pile of clothes because you can’t bring yourself to do the laundry? Where you cannot cook a meal because it reminds you of a breakup? Rom-coms are, obviously, not the most realistic. But why are there not more films that do cover what’s real? How can we love love if all we know is a lie?

Jeon Jungkook on March 3rd at 11:13PM

Of course, I thought The Big Sick did an excellent job of their portrayal of love, adult life, and the problems that plague us all in the twenty-first century. It was also just as emotional and touched on concepts of race, illness, and being in your twenties and having no idea what direction your life is going in. The Princess Bride, on the other hand, as much as I love it, I do think created a more circumstantial kind of love. Westley and Buttercup mostly fall in love because of their situations. But it remains a classic nonetheless. 

I’m satisfied with the way the film industry has produced rom-coms and handles love. The beauty of it is that love is different for every person who goes through it. It can bring the greatest joy and the most painful sorrow. We do not just figure out what love is by what we see on film. We see it in our real lives, in our parents, in our friends, in couples in coffee shops and cars and on sidewalks. We can love love because we want that joy for ourselves. Because we know that true love will be worth any heartbreak we endure. Is it not impossible for the portrayals of love in these rom-coms to not be real? The way everyone experiences it is different. The only way you can know what real love is, and what it is not, is if you fall in love yourself. 

Early on in your project development, you and Jungkook exchanged class schedules to optimize your productivity and skip over that stupid, terrible part of partner projects where you’re just going back and forth trying to pick a time that works for the both of you until you eventually settle on something ridiculous like eleven o’clock at night outside of the McDonald’s two blocks off of campus. 

It’s been working very well. Neither of you have adventurous-enough friends to invite you out on spontaneous picnics and restaurant dates that fuck with your pre-scheduled meeting times, and Jungkook already seems to have mastered the art of screaming your name when he catches you on the sidewalk so that you can film something. 

In fact, you’re actually beginning to wonder why you haven’t done this with all of your long-term partner projects. Send each other your schedules so that you can settle on a time in advance. No muss, no fuss. 

You and Jungkook are supposed to meet up again tonight, after the two of you are finished with all of your classes, to discuss what scenes you should be filming next. Edited down, you’ve already got about ten minutes worth of footage, but it’s mid-March and the project is due at the end of April. So you need to get this show on the road. 

The door slams shut behind you as you exit the business building, your film industry class having just ended a minute ago. You’ve got an hour to kill before your next class, just enough time to dash to the food court in the center of campus and grab something from the Japanese place in the back corner. You might even have time to browse the shelves in the bookstore if you’re fast enough. 

You round the corner to the main pathway through campus when a voice stops you in your tracks. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

It’s not Jungkook. Instead, in the middle of the walkway are the Eighth Notes, one of the fifteen-thousand (you don’t know for sure, but if you had to estimate) acapella groups on campus. They’ve got mic stands and a table set up and everything. Maybe they’re promoting an upcoming show…? 

You almost breeze right by when one of them, the one in the middle of the group, points right at you, a lopsided grin lacing his features. You aren’t one to normally stop in the middle of a crowded footpath, but when, one after another, all six of the boys start pointing at you, you have no choice. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…” 

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

Their voices are smooth like honey, warm and deep, romancing you through their mics as each one of them suddenly manifests a rose from behind them. Around you, people are starting to stare, gawking at you as they walk by. There’s even a small crowd starting to gather, and you swear you can see some people filming on their phones. The fact that this is happening in the busiest ten minutes of the day, as half the student body is walking from one class to another, isn’t helping. At all. 

The rest of them singing in the background, each one steps out from behind the set of microphones to hand you the rose, smiling their classic, old-timey smiles like those old jazz singers from the 1960s, until you’ve got half a dozen in your hands as they continue to sing. 

“But if you feel like I feel…”

“Please let me know that it’s real…”

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

And then, suddenly, all of them are shutting their traps and turning to the left, looking down the pathway as the song begins again, but from one-hundred feet away. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

Your mouth drops. At the other end of the walkway is Jungkook, one of those wireless microphones in his hand, grinning as he saunters down the path like a prince at a ball, voice sweet and thick as the words dance off of his lips. 

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

Your eyes lock from opposite ends of the path, Jungkook stepping closer with every beat the Eighth Notes gives him. It sort of feels like your impending doom and a wedding proposal, all at once. By now a rather substantial audience has gathered, lining the walkway with their phones out, filming Jungkook as he waltzes past them, occasionally turning to capture your gobsmacked expression. 

Every step that Jungkook takes makes your heart race something fierce, cheeks warming in embarrassment, trapped in your least favorite thing in the entire world: a public serenade. You can’t really do anything except look at him in shock, feeling his steady gaze resting firmly on your figure, looking right at you. Into you. 

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

Jungkook, on the other hand, is clearly relishing in this. In the spotlight. In the music. Or maybe just in the fact that you’re on the receiving end of his over-the-top advances. His grin is wide as he takes those last few steps, microphone gripped neatly in his hand, the lyrics warm and weighty as they tumble from his lips. 

“And let me love you, baby…”

One final step and he’s right in front of you, staring into your eyes, letting himself bask in the look on your face. He produces a rose himself—cherry red, like his favorite color—and holds it out in between the two of you. In the background, the Eighth Notes go quiet, leaving Jungkook on his own for the final line. 

“Let me love you…”

The words drift above your heads, disappearing into the sky as he lingers on them, on that last note, beaming down at you. He looks at you, so hopeful, so happy, so endeared, and what else can you do? What else, besides taking the rose from his hand and smiling back up at him? Who are you to deny him of that?

The crowd around you cheers when you do, applauding both Jungkook and the Eighth Notes, with whom he is apparently in cahoots, before they all decide that they ought to get on with their day and head to class. No doubt you’ll be on several dozen Instagram stories by nightfall. 

Only after everyone has dispersed do you notice Taehyung, who must have been here since the beginning, because he’s just turning off the camera dangling from his neck. Of course Jungkook got him to film. Other than your project, what else would this be for?

“Is that the best you can do, Jungkook?” You smirk up at him, only saying this because you can’t have him knowing that you actually kind of enjoyed it. 

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” Jungkook responds easily. “Thought I would do something spontaneous.”

“And now you’ve taken up ten minutes of my lunch,” you say, shaking your head to yourself. “How spontaneous, indeed.”

“How was that, Jungkook?”

Behind the two of you, the Eighth Notes are packing up, clearly more than happy to have aided Jungkook on his quest for so-called love and getting to promote their group in the process. 

“Great, thank you so much, Jimin,” Jungkook says to the one in the middle, the very first one to sing when you walked out of the door. 

“Anytime, dude. Glad we could help,” Jimin responds. He waves hi to Taehyung, too, as they store their microphones and go on their way. 

Jungkook bids them goodbye as they head down the path, smiling at all of them before he turns back to you, notices the distant, faraway look in your eyes as you twirl the rose between your fingers, press it to your nose to pick up its scent. 

“You gotta admit, I’m a pretty good singer, eh?” Jungkook says with a nudge to your shoulder. 

“You’re alright.”

Jungkook laughs to himself. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get a big head,” you warn. 

“Think I’ll have to sing for you more, now, hmm? Since you liked it so much?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling. 

You roll your eyes. “Only if you can get Jimin and the Eighth Notes to back you up, again. Then maybe I’ll allow it.”

Jungkook grins. He’s far past the point of being deterred by your deadpan comments. If anything, they only encourage him more. But you, for obvious reasons, cannot give in. At least, not yet, anyway. 

“Okay, go eat your lunch,” he says, nodding as you begin to part ways. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

You smile. “Okay. See you.”

“See you, too.”

The moment you get back to your apartment you put all seven roses in an old vase filled with water. They brighten up your bedroom instantly, soft scent freshening up the air. And when you go to bed that night, it is to Jungkook’s sweet, delicate voice, like walking on clouds, like satin and silk, that you fall asleep.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets like always, smiling at you as you walk in the door for FILM395. 

“Good morning, Jungkook,” you say in response. 

Then, you take a seat right next to him. 

It’s an act that clearly catches everyone off guard, if the bewildered looks of your fellow classmates and Jungkook’s confused expression are anything to go by. Even Pollack, when she walks through the door, gets a bit of a shock, eyes widening when she sees the two of you seated next to each other. 

You suppose all the fuss is understandable. After all, you both sort of hate each other. 

Other than the sudden change in seating arrangement, however, the rest of the class goes off without much issue. Pollack lectures for an hour before you move into discussion, at which point it becomes a class participation free-for-all, with you and Jungkook almost definitely in the lead. Just because you’re now sitting next to each other doesn’t mean either of you are suddenly going to stop raising your hands to rebuke each other’s points. Some things never change. 

Sitting next to Jungkook is not as bad as you thought it would be. For one, he is, for the most part, a rather diligent student. Other than his occasional flicks to his email, an essay he’s working on, or your discussion board, he mostly sits and takes notes and doesn’t do anything else. That, you can at least give him credit for. And even though your elbows almost always nearly crash into each other’s when you’re raising your hands to respond to a point Pollack’s made, discussion isn’t so bad either. 

One of the perks of sitting directly beside each other is that whenever he says something stupid, or saccharine, or just overly unrealistic, you don’t have to just roll your eyes from the back of the classroom while you wait to be called on. You also get to kick his foot with your own, nudge your elbow into his side. And he does the same to you. You and Jungkook are like those neighbors in sitcoms that spend all their free time shouting at each other from opposite windows. Just because your seats have gotten closer doesn’t mean your viewpoints have. 

A notification pops up on your laptop.

[March 17th, 11:05AM]

Jungkook: wanna meet at the tables outside after class?

You look over at Jungkook with a frown.

You: Why are you texting me? We’re sitting right next to each other

Jungkook: because we’re in class obvs Jungkook: dont wanna be disruptive

You: Since when has that ever stopped you before?

Jungkook: haha very funny Jungkook: tables sound good?

You: Only since you asked so nicely :)

Jungkook: thoughtful as always i see

After class, you and Jungkook both hang around, waiting for each other to pack up your belongings so you can walk to the tables together. Everyone else seems to sense this weird, uncomfortable tension in the room, because they all book it out of the door much faster than either of you do. You’re almost convinced Jungkook purposely takes extra time to zip his backpack, just because. 

The tables are, as per usual, empty. But you don’t have a pile of receipts to spread out, this time. You and Jungkook take a seat at one of them as you pull out your laptops, ready to outline the rest of the project. 

“We should probably meet with Taehyung a couple more times, too,” you suggest as you begin to brainstorm. 

“Sounds good,” Jungkook agrees. “But we can’t meet at night on weekdays anymore. My dance group’s show is coming up and we have practice then.”

You stop typing and turn to him. “I didn’t know you were in a dance group.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I don’t really talk about it that much.”

“You should.”

He looks up at you at that, eyes wide as he faces you. 

“I don’t know, it seems like something you should be passionate about,” you say. In the same way that you promote the Film Club to every freshman you know, force all your friends to mark that they’re Interested in your event pages on Facebook. Jungkook should want to tell everyone about his dance group. Doesn’t he love it? Isn’t he proud to be in it?

Jungkook doesn’t look like he knows what to say to that. So he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“We can meet on weekends too,” you say, adjusting to his new change of schedule easily. “This project isn’t as all-consuming as I thought it would be.”

“You mean I’m not as all-consuming as you thought I would be,” Jungkook corrects. 

You shake your head. “No, you are.” He laughs. “But yeah, on weekends is fine. You know my schedule. What else should we do, besides talk to Taehyung?”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jungkook’s head. “Let’s go on a date.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

“What do you mean, “no”? It’s the natural progression of our relationship! It’s the next step in the rom-com! We have to,” Jungkook insists. 

“First of all, it’s a mockumentary, not a rom-com,” you say with a sigh, finding yourself having to correct him rather frequently. “Secondly, we are not in a relationship. I am not dating you and you are not dating me.”

“Okay, but at this point in rom-coms the two leads would definitely go on a date,” Jungkook says, punctuating every word for emphasis. “What’s the harm? It’s not like you’re committing yourself to a future with me.”

“Thank God,” you mutter. 

“Oh, shut up. You probably haven’t been on a date in years, anyway. Why not spend a night out?”

You frown at that. “Who cares if I have or have not been on a date?” Why does Jungkook care so much about the history of your love life? He’s always saying stuff like this, always telling you things as if you’ve never been in a relationship at all, don’t know left from right, black from white. Who is he to be making those assumptions?

“Please, Y/N,” Jungkook begs, looking desperate. “Just one evening. And then if it really goes terribly and you end up hating me again, then we don’t have to do another one.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Well, what else are you going to do? You don’t have any other ideas. And you’ve already spent so much time with Jungkook this semester, what’s another evening? Just something else to cross off of your list of things to film. Maybe you can get him to take a cute photo of you to post on social media. 

“Fine,” you concede. “One date. And I still hate you, by the way.”

Jungkook clearly does not believe you. “Really? You still hate me? I’m sure you do.”

“Okay, I don’t hate you. But still,” you relent again. Perhaps you’re just being oddly soft today. Too lenient for your own good. 

Jungkook grins, cheeks little round circles as his lips curve up. “I know you like me. You just can’t admit it to yourself, can you? Can’t take that blow to your dignity.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself,” you chide. 

“Who knows?” Jungkook tacks on, just to be extra annoying. “Maybe you’re actually starting to fall in love with me.”

You scoff. “You wish.”

“Well, are you?”

Jungkook doesn’t ask the question the same way he’s asked all of the other ones. Doesn’t say it with a shit-eating grin on his face or that glint in his eyes. He’s asking because he’s curious. Curious if what he’s been doing has been working. Curious if this project is really accomplishing anything at all. 

Funnily enough, you find yourself wondering the exact same thing.

Silent, you pausing for a moment to think, chewing on the inside of your lip. Jungkook’s looking back at you, lips curled upwards as he waits for a response. Ugh, you’ll just have to give it up. What else can you say? “I guess…” you begin, hesitating. 

You aren’t sure why you’re so scared to respond. Maybe you’re just worried that things will change if you say something. If you tell him the truth. 

But it’s just Jungkook. He’s sitting in front of you patiently, waiting for your answer. What could happen?

You confess. “I guess you’re not so bad after all.”

Even though this is not the first time you’ve ever been out on a “date” (you’re using that word tentatively), picking out what to wear isn’t any easier than the last time. 

“Is black too, you know, sexy?”

Ruby shrugs on the other end of the video call. Her phone is propped up on her desk as she works on something on her laptop, glancing over every now and then whenever you prompt her to respond. “Well, that depends. Do you wanna fuck?”

“No.”

“Then it might be too sexy,” Ruby says easily. “What are you even doing? I thought you didn’t go out on dates.”

“It’s not a date,” you insist, although you’re not exactly sure which of the two of you you’re trying to convince. 

“You’re asking me what kind of sexy dress to wear for a night out with a guy. It’s a date,” Ruby reminds you, economical as always. “Who are you even going out with, anyway? You just called and asked me to pick between two dresses I have literally never seen you wear before.”

“That’s because I don’t go out on dates, which this is not,” you tell her, even expending the energy to stare into the camera to hammer your point home. “And it’s with Jungkook.”

Ruby shuts her laptop at that. You can hear the sound of her keyboard clacking as the lid hits them. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do I need to remind you that this is not a date and therefore, you don’t need to be acting like I just told you I’m getting married.” You frown at her. “It’s just for our movie. Jungkook wants me to dress nicely, though.”

“Wear that nice summer dress you have,” Ruby instructs instead, shooing away the two much sexier options you’re currently holding in your hands. “Just put tights on underneath if you’re cold.”

“This one?” You ask, shuffling through your closet until you produce the gingham dress, plaid a pale yellow that matches gold jewelry rather well. 

“Yes, that one. I like that one,” Ruby says with a nod. “You look good in it.”

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s not appropriate.” You hesitate. It’s a cute dress, sure, but it seems too… casual. Too everyday. Jungkook’s taking you out to dinner, and no doubt he’s got something else planned for the rest of the evening. 

“I mean, you did say you had no plans on fucking him tonight,” Ruby reminds you coarsely. 

“I have no plans on fucking him at all,” you reiterate. “This is not a date. It is for our movie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby brushes you off with a wave of her hand. “Wear whatever you want, but I like your yellow dress the most. It looks really nice on you. And if it’s not a date, then neither you nor Jungkook should care.”

“Ruby—”

“I gotta go. Enjoy your not-date!”

She hangs up. 

You end up wearing the yellow dress. Jungkook knocks on your apartment door just as you’re closing the clasp to your necklace, a gold choker your mother had gifted you for a birthday a couple of years ago. It’s nothing much. You grab a jacket on your way to answer the door, wrapping it around your figure as you twist the knob. 

On the other side is Jungkook, all decked out in black jeans and a clean-cut leather jacket, the black ensemble striking against his warm-toned skin and bleached, blonde hair. You hate to admit it, but he actually does look rather good. For Jeon Jungkook. 

“Hi—whoa,” Jungkook says, doing a little whistle when he sees you, eyes bulging out of their sockets. 

You chuckle. “‘Whoa’ yourself.”

“You, uh…” Jungkook stammers slightly, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. The movement lifts his arm up just enough for you to see the line of his waist, the seamlessness of his body. He’s always been rather fit. “You look nice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you chide, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind you. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“Cleaned up just for you.” He grins. 

You press a hand to your heart dramatically. “I’m touched.” You begin walking down the hallway of your small apartment building, feeling your hands brushing by your sides due to how skinny the corridor is. At least, that’s what you assume. 

“Where are we going?” You ask as Jungkook opens the door to the passenger side of his car for you. 

He winks, that same gleam in his eye. He grins something wicked. “Don’t you remember?” He asks. “It’s a secret.”

The secret turns out to be a small Italian restaurant on an off-road in the center of town, a family joint with those plaid red tablecloths and dark wooden chairs. You’d never heard of the place before tonight, but Jungkook insists that it’s delicious and says it has a four-and-a-half star rating on Yelp, which is obviously gospel when it comes to restaurants. It’s so empty that he even has room to prop up the camera a couple of tables away to get that wide-angle shot of the both of you, two souls in a tiny little restaurant, enjoying a night out on the town. You’re sure that by the time production and post-production rolls around you’ll edit out most of your dialogue, but you like the idea of keeping in snippets of the audio, overlaying the scene with a soft instrumental. 

From a director’s point of view, of course. No other reason to romanticize your night with him. 

It’s nice. Objectively, it’s definitely one of the more exciting things you’ve done in a while, even if it’s just a dinner out in town, away from campus. It’s new. Adventurous. Jungkook convinces you to try his vodka shrimp linguine and you offer up some of your truffle-flavored gnocchi, which he devours happily. One thing you do learn is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how much food is on his plate, Jungkook eats and eats and eats. He never seems to fill up. This is one of those restaurants that pile your bowls high with pasta, give you at least three servings, send you home with to-go packages that will last you for days, and he still somehow manages to eat every last bite. He even has some of your leftovers. 

Jungkook pays because he insists and says that you shouldn’t fight on camera, which you have no choice but to agree to. However, you do look him up on Venmo and send him twenty dollars to cover your half of the bill, because the idea of him paying for you doesn’t sit right with you. It was fine with the coffee, a small token of repayment after spilling it all over you, but dinner just feels like too much. Like he’s carrying most of the weight and you aren’t shouldering enough. Like he’s putting in all of the effort and you are just bandwagoning off of him. 

And partnerships aren’t supposed to be like that. Jungkook isn’t supposed to do all of the work. You aren’t supposed to do nothing. You and Jungkook may not agree on much but you both know that you are equals. That what you put in is what you get out. 

It’s a lesson you think you learned too late, but you won’t make those mistakes again. You’ll get it right this time. 

“That was nice,” Jungkook says after the dinner. You’re walking through the park just across the street now, the sun having set and the streetlamps illuminating your path. The city has strung up lights along the trees, draped them over the branches like stars, like snowflakes. It’s picturesque. 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thanks for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“How did you discover that place?” You ask, just out of curiosity. It’s not exactly the kind of restaurant that would be front and center on Google. 

“I went out on a date in freshman year there,” Jungkook admits, lips pursed awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Did it at least go well?” You ask, trying to be hopeful. 

“If it did, do you think I’d still be here doing this with you?” Jungkook poses, an eyebrow raised. 

You chuckle to yourself. “You don’t mean that. I’m sure you’ll find your person.”

“You actually believe in that stuff now?” Jungkook asks you, skeptical. 

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “You do. I don’t wanna ruin it for you. Your person’s out there somewhere.”

“How do you know I haven’t already found my person?”

You stop in the middle of the path, feet coming to a halt on the pavement. Jungkook looks at you and you look back at him, letting his question sink into your skin, etch itself into your thoughts. He’s asking you because he wants to know. He looks so genuine, so patient, like he’s trying to find an answer somewhere in your eyes but you can’t give him one. 

“Wouldn’t you be able to tell when you did?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know if it always works like that.”

You smile, soft and small. Musing, you say, “well, when you figure it out, let me know.”

“Do you think you’ve found your person?” Jungkook asks you. 

“You know I don’t think about love like that,” you remind him. 

“Well, how do you think about it?”

You gaze up at him once more, that same soft smile playing on your lips. Who is he to be asking you these questions, you wonder to yourself. What would the point be in answering him? It’s better if you just both moved on. Especially since stuff like this has no relevance to your project. 

“I don’t really think about love at all,” you say curtly. 

“I wish you did,” admits Jungkook. 

The look in your eyes is distant. “Yeah.” You wish you did, too.

“How about we do a couple of quick shots, right here?” Jungkook suggests, pulling out the camera. “Just here, the lighting’s nice.” He jogs back a couple of feet, lining himself up with where you stand, kneeling on the pavement with the camera held up to his eye. 

“What do you want me to do?” You call to him, feeling like a fish out of water in front of the lens, thumbs twiddling. 

“Just smile,” Jungkook requests simply. “Say hi to me.”

Sounds easy enough. Under the twinkling lights of the trees, in the haze of their warm yellow glow, you wave to Jungkook, smiling happily. You aren’t exactly sure what the purpose of these shots are, but you suppose you could always use some artistic frames in your movie. Grinning, you keep your eyes trained on him, on the way you can see him smiling back at you even from behind the camera. His eyes are covered, you can’t see those, but you hope they’re smiling too. 

“Okay, my turn,” you say when a little too much time has passed, when it’s just past the point of filming for the sake of a movie and more for the sake of something else. “Get over here.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you idiot.” You scurry over to Jungkook, taking the camera from his hands and pushing in in the general direction of where you were just standing. Situating yourself, you kneel right where Jungkook was, bringing the camera to your eyes. 

Through the lens, you can see the entire width of the pathway, the grass that borders it, the lights decorating the branches of the trees, and Jungkook, front and center. He looks like he has no idea what he’s doing there, waiting awkwardly as he gazes around, eyes drifting everywhere but exactly where you need them: you. He looks good like this, looks much taller, much more romantic. Like a real movie star. Like a model. His clothes make him blend in with the darkness of the night but his eyes are still shimmering, golden flecks twinkling, even from all the way over here. 

You have to admit it. He’s beautiful.

“Smile,” you say, pressing film. 

Jungkook grins your way. 

Afterwards, you give him his camera back and continue walking, turning the corner as you reach the edge of the park, ready to circle around the perimeter.

“How about we hold hands, too?”

“Excuse you?” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

“Come on, just for a second,” Jungkook pleads. “For the artistry. I’ll film us holding hands like all those Los Angeles boys do in YouTube vlogs.”

You look at him suspiciously. Is he sure it’s just for the artistry? “What a great example.”

“Please? Promise I always put hand cream on,” Jungkook asks, bottom lip turned outwards. 

It’s getting harder and harder to say no to him. 

“Fine,” you cave rather easily this time around. “Just for a minute.”

“Excellent.”

Jungkook lifts the camera up to his eye with his right hand as he holds out his left, palm facing the sky as he waits for you to rest your own in his. You narrow your eyes to the camera before your gaze drifts downwards to his open hand, almost like you’re afraid it’s going to jump out and bite at you if you get any closer. But it won’t, because it’s a hand. And it won’t, because it’s just Jungkook. 

The first thing you realize when your fingers intertwine with his is how big his hands are. They are massive. His left one dwarfs your own, wrapping around it securely, enveloping it like a king-sized comforter. The second thing you realize is how soft they are (he must not have been lying about the hand cream). The third thing you realize is the way they send sparks up and down your body, send tingles through your skin, shocks through your veins. You seize up a little bit at the feeling before your body finds it in itself to relax, letting the sensation wash over you like a wave from the ocean. 

It’s new. 

It’s strange. 

You haven’t felt that way in a long time. Felt those sparks, those jolts of energy. Like lightning has struck. 

Jungkook moves so that your hands are held out in front of you, making sure to adjust the lens just so he can get the exact right angle, but all you can focus on is the way your fingers interlock, the way your hand settles into his. 

You wonder what that means. 

The moment Jungkook lowers the camera you pull your hand away, overwhelmed and scared and shocked all at once. Like you’re afraid that if you reach out to him again, your whole body will freeze in place, shake like the wind. 

Jungkook looks at you, concern lacing his features. “You alright?” He asks, genuine and worried. 

You shake your head, willing those thoughts away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You get the shot?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jungkook says. 

“And how do they look?” You ask because you can’t help yourself. Because you just have to know. 

Jungkook pauses, not sure how to respond. He chews on his lips like he’s running through all the possible answers, trying to figure out which one is right. You almost think he’s not going to reply at all, but then he smiles, and he says this: 

“Magical.”

It feels weird for you to be arriving at Kim Taehyung’s door without Jungkook by your side. Doesn’t sit right in your stomach. 

Of course, Taehyung is as hospitable as always, welcoming you inside with his signature warm grin as he sets up the bar stools by the bedsheet, which you assume he will just not take down until your project’s over. Hopefully he’s getting use out of it otherwise, shooting nudes or whatever it is he said he would do. 

“Thanks for having me,” you say, resting your backpack against the foot of his couch as you set up the tripod, arranging it in just the right spot. It’s not Jungkook’s fancy camera that you’ve got with you, just your own from a couple years ago, but it’ll get the job done. You couldn’t ask Jungkook to borrow his, anyway. You’d pass away before he found out you did this. 

“We might not use this footage,” you warn in advance. “I just figured it’s safer to film everything just in case.”

“Why wouldn’t you use it?” Taehyung asks, genuinely curious. 

“Because I don’t know if this conversation will really have a point,” you say nervously, fingers fidgeting with the settings until everything’s just right. 

“I’m sure it’ll be important,” Taehyung assures you. You’re not so confident. “Ready to get started?”

“Yes, everything’s all set up,” you say, concentrating on your breathing as you make your way to the stool. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Why are you so worried?

“So, Y/N, how are you feeling right now?” Taehyung begins. 

You sigh. “Confused.”

“And why is that?”

“I… I don’t really know what direction I’m going in anymore for this project,” you say, letting yourself be candid and honest because it’s just Taehyung, and because you may not even use this footage, and because Jungkook’s not here. He doesn’t know you’ve asked Taehyung to do this for you. He doesn’t need to. 

“And is this because of Jungkook?”

“Yes.” Another easy answer. 

“How are you feeling about him?”

“I’m…” you don’t know where to begin. “I’m not sure. I just know that something’s changed.”

“Your feelings have changed?” Taehyung isn’t reacting, just asking questions in response to your answers and pretending that everything is normal, that this is just another interview. 

“I guess they have,” you admit. Even just saying that feels like a weight off your chest. A small one, five pounds out of a thousand. But it’s a difference. “I… don’t really know how I feel about him anymore.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Taehyung told you he would ask tough questions, but you don’t know if you can answer these anymore. 

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling yourself growing desperate with impatience. “I don’t feel the same things about him that I used to. He’s different to me now.”

“Do you think he’s changed?”

“Something has.”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’ve changed, too?”

You frown, caught off-guard by his question. No, you haven’t. You haven’t thought about that at all. Why would you? Your stance is the same. Your opinions on love haven’t changed. And neither have your convictions about this project, about the way it will end. 

“No,” you say, nose scrunched up. 

“Well, I’m no expert, but I think there might be something between the two of you that wasn’t there before,” Taehyung says, nodding. “I think that the ways the two of you have changed have brought you together.”

“I don’t know about that…” You trail off. You can feel yourself growing hesitant again, pulling back from saying too much because you’ve never been a very good speaker. Because you’ve always preferred being behind the camera to being in front of it. 

“Don’t you think you should tell him how you feel?”

You scoff. At least that’s got an easy answer. A no-brainer. “No,” you say matter-of-factly, obvious because it is, stern because telling him was never an option anyway. Why else does Taehyung think you’re here without him? “Jungkook said he would get me to fall in love with him and I told him I would never. How could I ever let him think he was actually winning?”

Taehyung sighs.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since your class on Wednesday. Granted, it’s only Saturday, but it feels like it’s been a weirdly long time. Like you’re so used to him barging into your life on the daily that there’s something off about even going three days without seeing him. Maybe it’s just because you’re nearing the beginning of April and your project is finally picking up steam. Between the two of you, you almost definitely have more than two hour’s worth of footage, but the hard part will be paring it down and turning it into a forty-five minute documentary. No doubt you and Jungkook will be spending a lot of time together the week before it’s due. 

Just out of curiosity, you text him. Because you have no idea what he’s been getting up to. 

[March 28th, 1:05PM]

You: Hey, do you think we need to get together sometime this weekend?

Jungkook: i don’t think i can Jungkook: it’s my dance group’s show this weekend

You: Really? You: You didn’t tell me

Jungkook: been too busy

You: What time is your show tonight?

Jungkook: 7pm

You: Sounds good, I’ll be there

Jungkook: oh Jungkook: you don’t have to

You: I want to You: I’ll see you there!

That night, you drop by the grocery store beforehand to pick up a bouquet of flowers. You haven’t been a performing arts show for years now, especially not one where you actually know the people performing, but flowers are customary. Or so you’ve heard. 

You don’t know a single soul who has plans on seeing Jungkook’s dance group either, but the theater is a ten-minute walk away from campus and you’re happy to make the trek alone, especially because you know you’ll find someone you know soon enough. Sometimes it’s nice to walk by yourself, letting the streetlamps above your head illuminate your path, a faceless figure passing by others. It brings peace. And it gives you time to sift through your thoughts, organize them into neat little piles and brush away all of the dust. 

Admittedly, you are not much of a connoisseur of the performing arts. You aren’t even much of a consumer. In another universe, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t blink twice if you heard that one of the dance groups on campus was having their show. But this is not another universe, and these are not different circumstances. 

Jungkook will be there. He is taking something he’s worked tirelessly on and presenting it to the world. Now that you think about it, it’s actually a lot like film. And if Jungkook has devoted so much time, put so much energy into this performance, what kind of person would you be if you didn’t go and watch his creation?

You pick a seat in the far back corner, the venue so cozy that even despite being the furthest away you’ve still got an excellent view, sit down, and wait for it to begin. 

[March 28th, 6:58PM]

Jungkook: hey are you here?

You: I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?

Jungkook: always such a tease

You roll your eyes at that, turning your phone off and stowing it away in your pocket. Two minutes later, the lights dim. 

The moment Jungkook steps out onto the stage, you recognize him instantly. He’s wearing all black again, but it’s not the same skinny jeans and leather jacket he had on when he took you out to dinner. It’s a loose long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips, highlighting the blondeness of his hair, the red in his lips. He’s one of at least a dozen people on stage but he’s the only one you focus on, the only one who your eyes follow. Booming throughout the theater is a Drake song, the beat thick and low, but it’s background noise when compared to the way he moves, the way he twists and turns his body on stage, angles sharp and crisp. 

The whole song goes by so quickly that by the time you find it in yourself to blink the stage is already darkening as they move onto the next song, switching out the performers and changing the spotlight colors to a sultry red. Jungkook disappears for this one, vanishing behind the curtains and forcing you to pay attention to the performance as a whole instead of just him. But you have to hand it to his group: they’re excellent. You’ve been missing out. 

Jungkook returns with the next song, having had just enough time to change into an all-white ensemble. He’s easy to spot even with that ridiculous bucket hat on, blonde hair bouncing with every step he takes, every jerk of his body. You can see it all the way from where you sit, see the way he loses himself in the music, lets the rhythm radiate through his blood, lets his heart match the beat that booms through the speakers. This, all of it, the music, the dancing, the energy—it’s all his. It belongs to him. Jungkook may love film but he is passionate about this. It is something that must bring him all the joy in the world. 

The next hour and a half goes by quickly, the songs jumping from one to another to another, Jungkook dashing on and off stage, each time returning in a different getup than the one prior. Makes you wonder just how many clothes he has. But before you know it the final song is playing and every one, every single member is on stage, jumping and cheering and celebrating a job well done. And they should, because they deserve to. 

When the lights in the theater come on, nobody leaves. Instead, everyone rushes towards the stage to say hello to everybody, congratulate them on their performance and take pictures with their friends. That’s why everyone else is here, isn’t it? Because the people they care about performed tonight. 

Isn’t that why you’re here, too?

Jungkook has plenty of other friends already wrapping their arms around him, giving him high-fives and pats on the back, but you’ve got a bouquet of assorted flowers in your hands and you have no plans on bringing them home. So you squeeze your way through the crowd, push yourself in between bodies, and you shout, 

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks up instantly at the call of his name, the round shape of his lips curving upwards into a smile when he sees you. 

“Hey, you made it!” He exclaims happily. He’s so pumped on the adrenaline that he pulls you into a hug without either of you even realizing it, wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing you tight for a few moments before the two of you remember just exactly who you both are. Quickly, you pull away, chuckling awkwardly. Jungkook scratches at the back of his head. “Thanks for, uh—thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” you say happily. “You were amazing.”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” Jungkook schmoozes, annoying as always. 

You scoff slightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Here, I brought this for you. It’s traditional, right?” You hold out the bouquet in front of you, pink plastic wrapping crunched up from where your fingers gripped the stems. 

“Wow, thank you,” Jungkook says, in awe as he takes the flowers from you, pressing his face into the petals instinctively. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Really?” You say, genuinely surprised at his admission. He’s never been given flowers before? Not even for a performance? You didn’t know that, either. “Then I’m glad to be the first.”

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Jungkook says, though he looks grateful nonetheless. 

You shrug, acting casual. “Aren’t we supposed to be falling in love, or something?”

He grins. 

“Did you guys film this? Maybe we could incorporate it into the movie,” you suggest, thinking it might be interesting to add in glimpses into your normal lives, into the things you do when you aren’t trying to one-up each other. 

Jungkook shakes his head. “We did, but I don’t think we need to add it in.”

“Why not?” It seems like a perfect addition. 

Jungkook pulls out a single flower from the bouquet, a pale yellow daisy, and hands it to you. You smile your thanks, twirling the stem in between your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he says, looking oddly soft, cheeks turning cherry red. He looks at you and it makes your heart flutter, quickens the drum of your chest. “I just think I’d like to keep this moment to ourselves.”

You suppose he’s got a point. You don’t think you’ll forget this night, either. 

The bouquet you gave him sits on Jeon Jungkook’s bedroom windowsill, bathing in the afternoon sun. Taehyung gave him some plant food the morning after you came to his performance, a little bottle that he can spritz into the water whenever the flowers look a little droopy. Jungkook adds some every day, determined to keep them alive for as long as possible. He also makes sure he’s got a rather heavy book or two, something he can use to press one of them when they’ve all shriveled up. 

It was really nice of you to come to his show, he thinks to himself. Jungkook can’t remember the last time someone outside of his group of close friends went to see him perform, not any of his past dates or even that one girl he was seeing semi-seriously for a couple months last year until she told him she wasn’t interested in him anymore. You’re the first one who’s made the effort, who’s told him that you would come and kept that promise. The flowers are just a happy reminder. 

As a celebration for completing their last show, Jungkook and some of the other juniors in his dance crew decide to go out the following weekend, determined to waste away their Saturday nights at a bar just off of campus where they can take as many shots of as many different types of alcohols as they want. The place even has soju, which makes Jungkook’s heart happy. 

Despite the temptation to drink until his brain is empty, however, Jungkook holds off. He’s got a lot of work tomorrow, most of it consisting of editing the footage you have for the project, and doesn’t really feel like staring at a computer for eight hours straight with a headache. So he limits himself. For the most part. 

“Who was that girl that came to the show?” One of his friends, Andrew, asks as he downs another shot of what is undoubtedly vodka, if the smell is anything to go by. “With the flowers?”

“Is she your girlfriend?” Jesse pipes up, red in the face from the alcohol in his system. He’s always been one to turn into a tomato after drinking. 

Jungkook chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head when the bartender offers him another shot glass full of soju. “No,” he says, forcing a laugh. “Just a friend.”

“I don’t know, you guys looked pretty close to me,” Andrew points out, like it wasn’t already obvious enough that Jungkook is head over heels for you. 

“She and I are working on a film project together,” Jungkook explains, though that does absolutely nothing to convince his friends of your completely platonic relationship. 

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, swallowing another shot and wincing. “It was nice of her to bring you flowers. My girlfriend didn’t do that.”

“Shut up, your girlfriend is studying abroad in Paris right now,” Andrew says, giving Jesse a good-natured shove. “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“What, please don’t—”

“She’s not my girlfriend, guys,” Jungkook repeats himself, feeling his cheeks heat up the longer the conversation drags on. He chalks it up to the soju in his system and the fact that it feels like a sauna in here. “Seriously, we’re just friends. People can be friends and bring each other flowers.”

Jesse pumps his fist in the air. “Yeah!” He rounds on Andrew. “Where are my flowers, hey Andrew?”

The two of them start bickering as Jungkook laughs, shaking his head fondly. At least he’s not drunk, so he can remember nights like these, ones where he’s drinking with his stupid idiot friends, celebrating a show well done. 

Jungkook stays at the bar until eleven that night before he makes the executive decision to go home and sleep, because as much as he would like to party until three in the morning, he’s got a pile of work that’s telling him to be a real adult. So he bids his friends goodbye and begins to make the trek back to his apartment, passing by the row of frat houses on his way. 

Even though he’s out on the sidewalk, Jungkook can feel the ground rumble from the music, every frat on the block joining together to make some booming, bass monster. From here he can see the flashing blue and purple lights in the windows, see the brothers standing on the steps of each house and turning away whoever they deem unfit to enter. 

In a weird way, it makes Jungkook nostalgic. Reminiscent of when he was a freshman, when he would group up with all of the people in his hall and parade around the frat row on Saturday nights like they owned the place, getting drunk on shitty tequila and jumping until they sweat out their body fluids. He remembers those nights in flashes, bits and pieces that make up his memory of freshman year as a whole. Remembers kissing other girls, other girls kissing him. Remembers the way he would lock lips with them for a second and then forget about it by the next day. 

Jungkook wonders why he ever thought he would meet his soulmate at a frat party. 

He’s just passing the last frat house now, nodding to the guy on the step when they accidentally meet eyes, when he hears you call his name. 

“Jungkook!”

He whips around to see you on the other side of the road, waving at him excitedly while your friends all laugh, sending smiles Jungkook’s way. 

Jungkook isn’t exactly sure what the protocol is for a scenario like this, so he does what he thinks is right and waves back. 

“Come over here!” You shout at him, loosely gesturing for him to join your group. Jungkook is hesitant, not sure if that’s necessarily the best course of action because even from here he can tell that you’re drunk, leaning over to one side and giggling at nothing. But even if he isn’t sure what will happen he can’t help but fall into the way you’re beaming at him, waving excitedly because you saw him on the street and you wanted to say hello.

He’s never been able to resist you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He says as he jogs over, greeting the rest of your friends with a patient smile. 

“Went out with my friends,” you say. Jungkook can smell the alcohol on your lips. “And then I saw you, which made me happy!”

You stumble over nothing, shoes skipping as they drag along the pavement, and before any of your friends can react Jungkook is reaching his arms out, catching you before you fall flat on your face. Your hands press against his torso as he lifts you back to your feet, and all Jungkook can do is pray that you can’t hear the way his heart races, beat drumming in his ears. You giggle in his hold, disoriented but not at all uneasy, looking up at him as your eyes sparkle in the glow of the streetlamps. 

“Thanks,” you manage to cough out. 

“Sure,” Jungkook says, breathless. He stands you up and tries to let you go, but you keep your hands tight around his wrists. “I think we need to get you home.”

“Can you come with me?” You ask innocently, eyes wide. 

“Y/N…” One of your friends says, voice hesitant. She places a hand on your shoulder, looking concerned. Jungkook doesn’t take any offense to it, he doesn’t know your friends well and imagines that they would much prefer being the ones to drop you back at your place. 

You shrug her off. “No, it’s okay, Ruby,” you assure your friend, hand inching down Jungkook’s wrist until it rests firmly within his palm. “I’ll go with him.”

Ruby eyes Jungkook suspiciously and her gaze is so intense that it actually makes him doubt his ability to walk you home for a moment. But you seem intent on walking with him, and the sooner you go home the better, so Ruby relents and lifts her hand from your shoulder. “Alright, if you want to.” She keeps her eyes trained on Jungkook. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will, I will,” you say, brushing her off and waving her away. “Let’s go, Jungkook. I’m sleepy.”

“Okay, come on,” he says. You smile happily at your friends as you say goodbye, cheerful and drunk and tired, all at once, and you begin to walk towards your apartment. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” you tell him, positively filter-less. 

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” Jungkook assures you. “What did you have to drink tonight?”

“Not sure,” you admit happily. “Just a lot.”

“I can tell.” Jungkook nods. “Were you at a frat party?”

“Several,” you correct him. “They weren’t that fun but at least the drinks were free.”

“Why were you at a frat party if you don’t like them?” Jungkook asks you, nose scrunched up. You certainly aren’t the kind of person to hide your distaste for things. That is something that Jungkook is intimately familiar with. 

You shrug. “It’s the cheapest place to get drunk.”

“Why did you want to get drunk?” This is seeming more and more out-of-character for you. Going to a place you despise, taking shots until you can’t walk straight, meandering around campus with Jungkook. All of these are things Jungkook could never in a million years picture you doing out of free will. 

Well, all of them except maybe the last one. You did come to his dance show, after all. 

You sigh. It’s thick and heavy and Jungkook has a feeling you won’t want to divulge any more. “I just wanted to forget.”

But the curiosity is eating at him. 

“Forget what?”

Your grip on his hand tightens. Jungkook fully expects you to dodge the question like you’ve dodged all of the ones prior, say something else to change the topic so you can sweep this discussion under the rug like all of the other ones you’ve had. But you don’t. 

Instead, you say, “You wanna know why I don’t love love the way you do?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jungkook quickly assures you. 

“I had better options than this place,” you say, voice hollow and empty. “There were better universities that accepted me. Ones with higher-ranked film programs and bigger scholarships. I could have gone to any one of them and been just as happy. Maybe more.”

“But you didn’t,” Jungkook clarifies. 

“My ex-boyfriend goes to school ten minutes away from here,” you say, words that are most certainly news to Jungkook. You had a boyfriend? “He and I dated all throughout high school. I thought I was gonna marry him.”

The words sound so sad. It sounds like they don’t even belong to you. Like you’re recalling the memories of a different person, someone you’ve killed and buried, someone you were certain you would never have to face again. Yourself. Your past self. 

“And then he broke up with me at the beginning of last year and it was too late to transfer out.” Your words are slurred and garbled, like all you want is to get over with saying them in the first place. It’s not a dramatic revelation. It’s not something you’re crying about, sobbing into Jungkook’s chest as you remember, miserable, a time where you were once happy. You just sound lifeless. 

Jungkook blinks at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. It doesn’t feel right for him to speak up. Not when you’ve just revealed to him something so personal, so drunk that you probably won’t even remember saying anything when you wake up tomorrow morning. 

What is he supposed to do with this knowledge? What is he supposed to say? To do? It’s not like Jungkook can change your past. It’s not even as if he can change the near future. Your project is almost finished—the semester is almost over. And then you will return to the time where you never even knew each other. 

“You can say something,” you tell him.

“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook says. 

“Something to make me feel better, because now I’m sad,” you request simply. “Seeing you made me happy.”

“Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and smile, then,” he muses to himself. 

“No, please keep talking,” you plead, leaning into his body with your bottom lip puffed out, eyes big and round and desperate. “Listening to you gets me to stop thinking about this stuff.”

Hearing that, Jungkook says the first thing that comes to mind. And that is, “You don’t have to think about that stuff anymore at all.”

“Hmm?” You murmur into his chest. Jungkook sees your apartment building up ahead. Just another block or so. 

“Well, that was your old love story,” he begins tentatively. Jungkook’s almost fully sober by now but he feels like he won’t ever get another opportunity to say this, and maybe whatever soju is left in his system is enough to get him through this conversation. Enough for him to muster up the confidence to tell you what he’s been wanting to tell you for a while now. 

Even if you forget it by tomorrow. He knows this is his only chance. 

“And it didn’t have a happy ending, but that’s okay. Because ours will.” 

You’re just coming up to your apartment complex, the rusted gold doors of the entrance sticking out against the beige of the building and the sidewalk, shimmering in the light of the streetlamps. You pause right outside, taking cover underneath the red awning above your heads. Looking up at him, you blink expectantly. 

“How do I know you mean that?” You ask. 

He almost does it. 

Jungkook doesn’t really know what washes over him in that moment, what takes his heart and mind prisoner for a split second, grip tight and unforgiving. But he’s staring straight into your watery eyes, glossy and glimmery and glowing, lost in the way you press your lips together, the way you gaze up at him and wait for him to tell you what he’s always wanted to say, and he almost does it. His hands press at your sides, holding you close, like he’s afraid that if he lets you go you’ll vanish without another trace and this night will all have been for naught. 

But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t for a lot of reasons. You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow, you will not remember this conversation. But Jungkook will. And if he does it, if he kisses you, if he presses his lips to yours it will be burned into his thoughts, carved into his heart, and you will be none the wiser. Jungkook can’t do that to himself. And he can’t do that to you, either. He will never take advantage of your company. He never has.

“Because,” Jungkook says instead, having hesitated for far too long. “I promise you.”

It’s good enough for him. 

He tucks you into bed at 12:17AM that night, feet padding along your hardwood floor so he doesn’t wake up your neighbors, guiding you to your bedroom and reminding you to text Ruby that you made it home safely. Jungkook’s never gotten a very good look at your place, and even now it’s hard to make out most things without the main ceiling lights on, but he doesn’t really want to snoop. Even though you invited him in, he still feels like he’s intruding. You’ve always been so private. There were a lot of things said tonight that Jungkook is going to have to reckon with. 

Once you’re curled up beneath your sheets, eyes drooping, Jungkooks turns off the light on your nightstand and nearly, just about nearly, presses his lips to your forehead. He manages to avoid doing that, too. 

Instead, he pulls up your duvet and heads towards the main room, making a beeline for your front door. But before he can leave the room, he hears you mumble out his name. 

“Jungkook?” You call, voice groggy. 

“Yeah?” He looks back at you from where he stands in your door frame, one hand on the knob, ready to pull it closed. 

You smile, eyes fluttering. “Thank you,” you say. 

Jungkook grins. 

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and three missed calls from Ruby, which undoubtedly means that something positively terrible happened last night. Unfortunately, you have no idea what happened at all last night, good or terrible, so whatever Ruby has to say will be news to you. 

Rubbing your eyes as you wrack your brain in the hopes of figuring out how you even ended up back at your apartment (when you swear you told Ruby you would stay at hers), you press on Ruby’s contact and call her. 

“Y/N? Hello? Are you there?” Ruby answers on the first ring. 

“I’m here,” you mumble out, words jumped and barely intelligible. You wince as your eyes adjust to the harsh blue light of your phone screen, squinting as you look at the time. 

Shit, it’s 11:43AM and you’re meeting Jungkook for coffee at noon. 

“Good, I called you three times last night after you texted,” Ruby wastes no time diving into her interrogation. 

“Why?” You ask, scrambling out of bed with your phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear. Your head throbs so you quickly take some Ibuprofen, splash your face with water, and start looking for something clean you can put on. 

“Because texting me ‘home’ is not enough!” Ruby exclaims. “Jungkook walked you home last night, I wanted to make sure you were tucked in bed and feeling alright.”

You frown. You don’t remember that. Granted, you don’t remember a lot of things, but you can’t recall Jungkook walking you back. You saw him last night? You didn’t even know. Scratching your head, a part of you vaguely pictures him standing in your apartment in the dark, resting against the door frame to your bedroom in the warm yellow light of the lamp on your nightstand. Can just barely see him tucking you into bed, placing the sheets over your figure and making you text Ruby that you’re home. You thought you were just imagining it at the time, but it must have happened anyway. 

“Jungkook walked me home?”

“Yeah, you insisted,” Ruby says. “You probably don’t remember, though.”

“No,” you say dumbly. 

“Well, I appreciate you texting me that you were home but I would have preferred something more explanatory,” scolds Ruby. “I thought maybe Jungkook was gonna do something.”

“Oh my goodness, no,” you immediately interject, pulling on your shoes and stuffing your laptop into your backpack. Just the thought of Jungkook doing something like that sends your stomach for a whirl. “He would never do that. I trust him.”

“I mean, I see that now,” Ruby points out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Everything’s good.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ruby says, still sounding a bit like an overprotective mother. You love her, though. You know she just wants the best for you. “Take it easy today, okay? You had a lot to drink last night.”

“I will,” you assure her. “I’m just on my way to meet up with Jungkook now. Getting coffee.”

“Make sure to eat, too,” Ruby reminds you. “And tell Jungkook that I said thanks for walking you home.”

“Anything else, Mom?”

You can practically see Ruby frowning on the other end. “Oh, shut up. I’ll see you, okay?”

She bids you goodbye just as you’re dashing out the door, your usual stride quickening so you make it to the cafe in time, not wanting to keep Jungkook waiting. You make it there in a record five minutes, pulling open the door frantically just as the clock strikes noon. 

Jungkook’s already there, of course, sitting by a little round table in the corner of the room with two americanos on the table. He waves when he sees you standing by the entrance, and the mere sight of him makes you smile, shoulders relaxing. 

“Hey,” you greet, a little out of breath as you settle into the chair across from him. 

“Hey,” Jungkook says back. “How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me, but other than that I’m alright,” you admit, taking a sip of the drink. It’s piping hot but just the right amount of scalding, warming your insides after a night of filling them with pure poison. 

“Good.” He grins. “It’s nice to see your face.”

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which,” you say while still on the topic, “did you walk me home last night? I can’t remember.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, I bumped into you and your friends while I was on my way back from a bar.”

You wince. The fact that you don’t even remember that happening tells you enough. “I was super drunk, wasn’t I?”

Jungkook, nice as always, says, “I’ve seen worse.” It only makes you feel the slightest bit better. 

“Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing,” you say, knowing you have a tendency to lose your filter almost entirely when you get wasted, letting any sort of mental reasoning fly out the door the moment you down another shot. And the thought of having told Jungkook something deeply humiliating or personal, or even him witnessing something stupid, makes you feel weirdly exposed. 

Jungkook freezes for a split second, almost like he’s buffering, like he’s about to say something but it’s just taking him an extra step to get the words out of his mouth. Then he takes a quick sip of his americano and shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. You were just very drunk. And clingy.”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” you apologize. You can’t imagine the hell you must have put Jungkook through last night. 

Jungkook laughs. “It’s okay. I’m glad we got you home safe.”

“Me, too.” You nod. You send a grateful smile his way. “Thanks for walking me, by the way. I really appreciate it. Ruby says thanks, too.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says. It doesn’t sound like something that people say just to say it. The way that people say ‘anytime’ just so they can be friendly and amicable. He says it and he means it, says it genuinely and honestly, like it’s a real promise that he’s making. That he would be happy to walk you home again. No matter the hour. No matter how drunk you are. No matter what he’s doing. 

And that means a lot to you. 

“We should probably wrap up filming soon, huh?” You say, getting onto the topic at hand. Of course, the project is the whole reason you’re even talking to each other in the first place. “It’s due in three weeks.”

“Yeah, I was thinking of another outing? And maybe one more thing with Taehyung?” Jungkook suggests. 

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “‘Another outing’, Jungkook? What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins. 

This time, Jungkook is the one with the flowers. 

When you open your front door they’re the first thing you see, an enormous bouquet of an assortment of spring flowers in a variety of colors—pinks and purples and oranges and yellows—gripped neatly in Jungkook’s hand. They stick out against his otherwise rather formal attire, a simple black dress shirt and jeans, nice shoes that compliment his figure. Black truly is the world’s most slimming color, and Jungkook is no exception. He looks good. 

“For you, m’lady,” Jungkook says dramatically as he holds out the bouquet in front of him.

“How thoughtful of you,” you muse to yourself, grinning. You take the flowers and press your whole face into them, breathing in the fresh scent. “The one I gave you wasn’t nearly this big.”

“Go big or go home,” Jungkook teases. “You look nice, by the way.”

“You always sound so surprised when you say that,” you comment snidely, shaking your head as you grab your bag from the shelf next to your door. “What are we doing tonight, Jeon? Gonna keep it a secret from me like last time?”

“That depends,” Jungkook says knowingly. “Do you like secrets?”

“You should know what I like by now,” you remark. 

“Then prepare to be wowed.” He grins, taking your hand in his as he pulls you out the door. 

The restaurant you go to this time does not require a ten minute drive to the center of town. Instead, it’s a five minute walk from campus and actually happens to be a place you’ve been to before. It’s a busy little thing on a Friday night, waiters bustling about with trays in their hands, people laughing and smiling under the dim light of the chandeliers. You’ve only been here once, long ago, for a club dinner paid for by the finance chair, and for good reason. It’s not the kind of place cheap college students looking to get the most food for the least amount of money go to. 

“Isn’t this a bit out of budget for our rom-com?” You ask as the host seats you at your table, a little booth in the middle of the restaurant, lanterns resting on the corners of the seats. 

“I thought this was a mockumentary,” Jungkook jokes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, resisting the smile that fights its way across your face. Trust you to make that sort of blunder in front of him. “I mean it, though. This place is expensive.”

“It’s manageable,” Jungkook promises. “I’ve been saving up. Plus, I thought you deserved a nice night out.”

“How generous of you.”

“Oh, come on, I know you’re excited,” he narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t have to act like a stone-cold robot anymore.”

“Well…” you suppose enough is enough. Jungkook can see right through you anyway, so there’s no point in keeping up this indifferent facade of yours. “Only because you’re treating me so nicely.”

“Just please don’t order the steak,” he requests simply. 

You laugh. “No problem. Maybe we could just share a couple of appetizers?”

Jungkook likes the sound of that. 

Luckily, this is not one of those restaurants where the appetizers cost an arm and a leg and are the size of your pinky finger. You and Jungkook split three different ones, happy to scoop out portions for each of you and indulge in them together. 

Dinner dates—of which this is only sort of one—are always awkward because you spend half of the time shoving food into your mouth, but you and Jungkook don’t seem to mind the silence at all. Only, Jungkook does look sort of like he’s holding back.

“Is this enough food for you?” You ask him halfway through, distantly remembering how he absolutely devoured a whole plate of pasta last time and still having enough room in his stomach to finish yours. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks over a mouthful of vegetables. 

“You ate so much at the Italian place, I just want to make sure you aren’t still hungry,” you point out. 

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, swallowing down the bite in his mouth. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for thinking of me, though.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should say anything else. But what the hell, right? It’s Jungkook. It’s Jungkook and he walked you home when you were drunk, he gave you flowers, he let you borrow his jacket. And you feel as though you must return the favor. “Anytime.”

He smiles. 

Despite the pure ecstasy you both experience when eating delicious food, Jungkook makes sure not to waste this time and grabs a few frames of you eating with his camera. He always seems to have that with him whenever he’s with you, hanging around his neck or stuffed into his backpack or crammed into his pants pocket. Sort of makes you wonder just how much footage the two of you have of each other. 

He insists on paying but you send him some money anyway, just because letting him shoulder the burden of a place as expensive (for college students, at least) as this just doesn’t sit right with you. Whenever he receives the Venmo notification on his phone, Jungkook frowns and says that he’ll send that money back to you, but he never does and you can tell that he really does appreciate it. 

You don’t think you have any plans on stopping that for a while. 

The only downside of going to this restaurant is that there is no gorgeous, light-strung park in the vicinity the two of you can wander around. Just your campus, which you have no doubt walked a thousand times over, and the streets surrounding it, which you have memorized like the back of your hand. 

It almost makes you think that Jungkook is just going to drop you back off at your place and the night will end there, but you know better than to expect something like that from Jungkook. Instead, as you’re walking, you point out the cafe that you and Ruby always go to, see that it’s closing in half-an-hour, and Jungkook decides then and there that it’s your next destination. 

“You’ve never been here before?” You ask when you walk inside, eyes immediately drifting to the display of pastries beside the register. 

“I’m not normally on this side of campus,” Jungkook admits. “You’re the only reason I’m ever here.”

“Then hopefully after finding this place, you’ll have two reasons,” you say cheerfully. The baristas behind the counter know you on a first-name basis, are happy to help you out even though they’ve no doubt been working long hours and are ready to close up shop and go home. 

You split a tiramisu and sit at that same corner table you and Ruby always pick, empty now that it’s so late at night. Other than the employees, you and Jungkook are the only ones in here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the restaurant, filled to the brim with people, the smell of cooked food wafting through the air. 

 The tiramisu isn't as fresh as it would be bright and early in the morning, but you suppose that that just means you and Jungkook will have to come back. Besides, Jungkook obviously does not seem to mind, scarfing it down ruthlessly. You’re in and out just as they close up shop, the employees bidding you goodbye like old friends, sending you on your way. There’s not really much else either of you have planned for tonight, and Jungkook isn’t coming up with any new ideas as he checks his phone. Instead, you just begin to head back to your apartment, all wrapped up in each other. You place your hand in his own and feel yourself relax when he squeezes, a silent little reminder that he’s still here, and that so are you.

Funnily enough, holding hands feels natural to you at this point. 

“Tonight was fun,” you comment, breaking the quiet.

“Yeah, glad we could do this,” Jungkook agrees. “Makes me kind of sad to know that this thing is almost over.”

“What, the project?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Yeah. And the class. And the semester. It’s kind of scary. We’ll be seniors next year.”

You chuckle. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I still have no idea what I’m going to do after we graduate.”

“You don’t have to know everything,” Jungkook reassures you. “As long as you’re happy with what you have now.”

“Are you?” You inquire, looking up to meet his eyes. 

Jungkook beams down at you. “I am.”

The walk from the cafe to your apartment is short, just under five minutes, but it feels like it takes you an hour, footsteps slow and languid, like neither of you want the night to end. You hit every red light, round every corner, drawing out the evening for as long as you can. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can do on a five-minute walk, and before you know it, you’re home.

“This is me,” you say, stopping outside the gold doors of your apartment complex. “Thanks again for tonight.”

“Anytime,” Jungkook says, a common thread in your conversations. 

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “Our project’s almost over.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to stop doing this,” Jungkook says. 

You narrow your eyes. “What are you implying, huh, Jungkook?”

“This.”

Before you know it, he’s wrapping one hand around your waist and pulling you in close to him, your palms splayed out against his broad, toned chest, pressing his lips to yours. You gasp a little into the feeling, somewhat shocked he would dare be so bold even after all this time, but find yourself sinking into the touch. He tastes like coffee and cream, like peppermint from his chapstick, like the wine you shared tonight. You cave into the way he holds you, hands wrapped around your body, palms pressed firmly against your figure. He holds you like he’s afraid to let go, like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real and here and that you are kissing him back, like he’ll forget once the moment ends. 

But he need not worry about that. 

When you part, you don’t even bother wiping off the stupid smile on your face, kiss-drunk and filled with glee. It’s been a long time since you felt this way. And Jungkook makes you feel things you don’t even think you can explain. 

“How bold of you,” you comment, noses touching, barely an inch away from each other. 

“I figured I’d shoot my shot,” Jungkook says. He shrugs, pretending to be casual, but you can see the way he’s grinning, beaming, down at you. 

“You scored,” you remind him.

“How observant of you,” teases Jungkook in return. You pout a little at his playful mockery, heart fond. “Think we can do it again?”

“Hmm, I would tone down the ego first,” you say, already leaning back in to press your lips against his. 

“Never.” He smiles wickedly. 

It’s a quicker kiss this time, a short peck against his cherry red mouth, but it still makes your heart beat something terribly fierce. 

“See you soon?” You ask when you finally pull away, knowing that as much as you’d like to, you can’t just stand out here kissing each other forever. 

Jungkook nods, cheeks pink and warm to the touch. He looks so sleek in his formal black outfit, crisp button-down and slacks, hair all styled, but the way he’s grinning at you makes him look so young, so sublimely happy. It’s nice. 

“Anytime.”

“There’s my favorite couple!” Taehyung greets excitedly when he swings open the door to his apartment to reveal you and Jungkook standing on the other side. 

“What’s it to you?” You comment snidely as he lets you inside, the black sheet still taped up along his wall. It looks a little more wrinkled than when you last saw it. 

“Oh, nothing,” Taehyung singsongs. He definitely knows a lot more than he cares to tell either you or Jungkook, but whatever. The project’s almost over and he’s almost finished with university entirely. “You guys are just cute together, that’s all.”

“Like you even know the half of it.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes. 

Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows. “Ooh, do tell.” He grins that greasy, comic-book-villain grin of his as he starts moving his bar stools back to where the sheet lines his cream-colored wall. 

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Jungkook poses, making you laugh from where you’re seated on the couch, watching Jungkook set up his tripod in exactly the place he wants it. You smile at him as you recline against Taehyung’s poor old leather couch, so worn-down from use that the back cushions fold in when you press against them, and Jungkook peers out from behind the camera to blow you a kiss. 

You send him one back without even needing to think. 

Taehyung misses the whole scene, but no doubt he’ll be putting two and two together pretty soon. You and Jungkook agreed that for the last interview you would be questioned together, long before Jungkook actually managed to romance you off your feet, and there’s not a doubt in your mind that the two of you being interviewed side-by-side will make things much more interesting. 

Nevertheless, Jungkook sets up the camera and sends a thumbs-up your way when he’s ready, Taehyung sitting on the bar stool just outside of the frame with a couple of index cards in his hand. 

“Let’s do this,” you say, hauling yourself onto the seat. Jungkook does the same shortly after, scooching onto the one next to you as you stare at Taehyung, waiting for him to start. 

“Looking forward to this one?” Taehyung asks knowingly. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Just a little.”

“Excellent. Shall we begin?”

You and Jungkook nod. 

“Alright. Well, this is presumably the last thing the two of you will be filming for your project. How are you feeling about it?”

“It turned out better than I thought it would,” you admit. It will come as a shock to no one that you did not have very high hopes for this project when it was first assigned. 

“Of course it did, I’m your partner,” Jungkook teases, poking you in your side. “Would you ever doubt me?”

“Always,” you say.

Taehyung chuckles. “Sounds like it’s been good so far. Did you enjoy filming it?”

You nod. “Yeah, it was actually kind of fun. Except for when Jungkook spilled coffee all over me, that was not cool.” You turn to face Jungkook directly, and all he does when you say his name is wink and point at you. 

“It was for the rom-com, I don’t know what you expected,” Jungkook said. “I gave you my jacket, too.”

“How gentlemanly.”

Taehyung chuckles, warm and low. “I’m sure Jungkook learned his lesson,” he muses. “What was your favorite thing to film?”

Not when I randomly texted you five minutes before I showed up at your door to make you ask me questions about how I feel, you think to yourself. Jungkook still doesn’t know, but you think you’ll put it into the movie just for the hell of it, so he’ll find out then. Find out that you were grappling with your feelings for him long before you ever let on.

“The serenade was a blast, a special shoutout to the Eighth Notes for doing that for me,” Jungkook says immediately. Obviously that is at the top of his list. “Plus, I just like seeing Y/N all flustered.”

“Shut up, you’re so annoying,” you chide. “I guess the serenade was kind of cute. I liked going out together, though. On our not-date.”

Jungkook objects to that instantly. “It was a date, Y/N!”

You look back at him, equally as scandalized as he. “Whose turn is it to talk?”

“Mine, actually,” Taehyung interjects. “Did you like going out together?”

You sigh a little, wondering if you’re really about to turn into a softie in front of a camera for a movie to be shown to your twenty classmates and professor. “Yeah,” you say, real and true because that’s what you agreed on, you and Jungkook. To be candid. To be honest. To say how you felt. Really. “It was really nice. I hadn’t gone out with someone like that in a long time.”

“And were you happy because of the project, or because of Jungkook?”

“Well,” you begin, not exactly sure where to start. “I guess, it’s like… you know, I didn’t even know Jungkook before this project. I mean, I knew who he was, he would always respond to my discussion board posts and object to everything I said in class. But I didn’t know him as a person. But as we worked on this project together, planning and filming and editing, I started to. And we did so many things together. And I guess I just really enjoyed the time we did spend as a pair.”

“Would you say the same, Jungkook?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says easily. “That’s what I wanted. To get to know Y/N, to spend time with her. I was glad we had this project. Otherwise, we might never have done something like this.”

“You both seem very happy.”

“I think we are. This project was actually sort of a blessing in disguise. I know him a lot better, now,” you say. “I’m glad that I do. He makes me smile, and laugh, and I always feel happy when he’s around. I don’t know. He did it, somehow.”

“Jungkook?”

“It wasn’t just me. Y/N and I did this together. We made this. This project. Us. It wasn’t just her, or just me. It’s ours.” Jungkook grins.

“Are you glad you did this project?”

Of course. It was fun, and I liked filming it, and I feel like I got something really important out of it. I know it’s just a short rom-com mockumentary, but it really feels like there was a happy ending, you know? A happily ever after.”

“You seem really certain about that.”

“Well,” Jungkook says with a little scoff, “what else would you call it?”

“As you can see, obviously Y/N fell head over heels in love with me thanks to this wonderful project—”

“Why are you always so full of yourself—?”

“Hey, you’re ruining the voiceover! As I said, as you can see, Y/N fell head over heels in love with me, but that wasn’t just because of my dashing good looks and amazing singing skills.”

“The ends of your hair look like hay—”

“It was because we were honest with each other, and because we spent meaningful moments together, and because we kept our hearts open. And I guess that’s the truth of it all, isn’t it? Love, romance, relationships? If you close yourself off, you’ll never get to experience them. But if you take every opportunity with an open mind, then you never know what might happen. Like falling in love with your discussion board nemesis.”

“Who, me?”

“Just let me finish, come on. There��s like one paragraph left. I know this was a mockumentary, not a scripted rom-com with professional actors and screenwriters and a whole team of editors. But that was the whole point. To make it real. And to make it between two people who aren’t just characters on a screen. We’re real people, and this happened to us. And it makes us happy. And it can happen to you, too. I think we all learn something every time we watch a new movie. Whether it be about loss, or promises, or other people. This time, we learned about love. Real love. How it can be rocky and strange and come straight out of left field. But also how happy endings aren’t just for movies and fairytales. We all deserve them. And Y/N and I found our own.”

“Are you gonna say it?”

“And so… they lived happily ever after.”

You look up at the screen, expecting to see the credits roll, but instead it’s a shot of the two of you kissing outside of your apartment building, a shot of you wrapping your arms around him as you press your lips to his. It lasts for only a few seconds, but you find yourself entranced in the moment, shocked that Jungkook somehow managed to capture it on film. He didn’t even have his camera with him that night. 

Pollack turns on the lights in your classroom as your fellow classmates applaud, all of them looking genuinely pleased that your rom-com had such a wonderful ending. Pollack herself looks rather proud, nodding to herself as she smiles at the two of you. 

“You filmed us kissing?” You hiss to Jungkook as your classmates clap, hoping the sound of it will drown out your conversation. 

“I got Taehyung to,” Jungkook whispers back. “Why?”

“I just… I thought that night was just for us.”

“The rest of it is. But I thought the kiss would be a cute way to end it. You know, happy ending and everything.”

Alright, if Jungkook insists. You nod, tensing up slightly. You hadn’t even noticed Taehyung down the street, standing behind some utility pole with the camera raised to his eye. Had Jungkook texted him in secret? Asked him to meet you outside of your apartment? Was he planning on kissing you from the very beginning?

You shake your head, willing away the thoughts as Pollack commends the two of you for a job well done. Jungkook and you stand at the front of the room for a few more seconds, getting stared down by your fellow classmates while Pollack speaks. The period ends just as she finishes up, the minutes changing the moment she closes her mouth. Within a minute or so, the whole class has emptied out, some of them congratulating you and Jungkook on the way out. 

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” Jungkook says, eyes bright and filled with that same wonder he’s always got. 

“Yeah,” you say distantly, nodding to him as he disappears out the door. 

“You did an excellent job, Y/N,” Pollack praises, and it goes right to your head, if you’re being honest. “It was brilliant.”

“Thanks,” you say, suddenly rather shy. “That means a lot.”

“Don’t tell anyone else this,” she says, voice quiet, “but I was secretly hoping the two of you would fall in love.”

“Pollack!”

She laughs. “What? I thought you’d make a cute couple. And you do, so clearly it all worked out anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s against the code of conduct,” you say, even though you know you can’t be too mad at her. After all, you wouldn’t have Jungkook if it weren’t for her. 

“Y/N, I’m tenured. I don’t care.”

“Wait…” you pause, eyes narrowing, “how many of your students have you set up with each other?”

Pollack grins. “I never reveal my secrets.”

Your mouth drops open. 

She chuckles, shooing you out the door. “Go on, go be with your boyfriend. You can tell him you both get A pluses for your project. It was excellent. One of the best I’ve seen in a very long time.”

“Thanks, Pollack,” you say, smiling gratefully. “You’re the best.”

She points at you proudly as you head out the door. “So are you.”

Jungkook is waiting by the tables where you always sit, half a flight down from your classroom. He’s leaning against the edge of them as he scrolls mindlessly through his phone, so engrossed in the Instagram explore page that he doesn’t see you walk up. 

“Guess what,” you say, getting all up in his face, just because you can. 

“What,” Jungkook says, an eyebrow raised. 

“We got an A plus on our project!” You exclaim happily, cheering. Jungkook laughs at your exuberant reaction, watches as you jump around, clapping loudly. 

“Hell yeah, we did that!” Jungkook holds his hand up for a high five, one you gladly take. Your palms smack together and the sound reverberates around the hallway. 

“You know, you and I—” you begin, placing your palms on his cheeks as you pull yourself in for a kiss, “we make a pretty good team.”

“Only because you’re so good at editing,” Jungkook says. You’re both not too bad, if you do say so yourself, but since Jungkook did so much of the filming you thought it would be better if you carried more of the weight when it came to post-production. 

“Says you,” you tease, pressing your lips to his button nose. “The happy ending thing was a nice touch, I liked it. Makes me feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”

“I’m glad,” Jungkook says with a chuckle, admiring the way you beam at him. “You know, I was really worried that you might think we didn’t have a happy ending after all, especially after everything.”

“What do you mean?” You look at him curiously. 

“Well, I just really wanted to make sure that we had a happy ending, because you’ve been through so much.”

You pause in place, eyebrows furrowing as you look up at him. Been through so much? Does Jungkook know something you don’t? Wait, no, did you… did you tell him—?

“You knew?” You ask, the realization piercing you like an arrow. “All this time, and you never said anything?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. 

“How long have you known?”

He winces. “Since I walked you home when you were drunk. You told me.”

You did?

Shit.

“And you didn’t think that maybe you should have told me that you knew? Especially when I asked you if I had said anything embarrassing?” You cry out, indignant. “What, were you just planning on never telling me?”

“I was going to, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to know that you had admitted all those things to me,” Jungkook admits, growing desperate. “They were really personal things, I thought you might react badly.”

“Oh, so you just decided to keep it a secret instead? Look how well that worked out.”

“What was I supposed to do, Y/N? I know you would have been upset.”

“Tell me!” You exclaim. “I asked you if I had said something embarrassing that night and you said I hadn’t. And I believed you. Better to have known then than now!”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t just tell me. Didn’t we say we would be honest with each other? But instead, you just let me assume that all of the nice things you did for me were because you actually cared, and not because you felt bad for me?”

“I don’t feel bad for you!” Jungkook shouts. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I took you out on dates and gave you flowers and held your hand. I do care about you.”

“Oh, so filming us kissing was just because you actually cared, too, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re so hung up about that,” Jungkook points out. 

“Because I thought it was a private moment,” you remind him. “You hadn’t filmed anything the whole night. I thought we were just going out on a date like two people who cared about each other did. Us kissing was personal. But you texted Taehyung and told him to show up with his camera anyway, right? Because you were planning on kissing me from the very beginning. Because you knew, Jungkook. You knew and you had absolutely no intention of telling me.”

“Y/N, wait, I didn’t do those things just because I pitied you,” Jungkook says, reaching out for your hand. 

You pull away. “You didn’t? Then why did you film us kissing, then?”

“Because…” he flounders. You aren’t at all surprised. “Because—”

“Enough, Jungkook. I get it,” you stop him, shaking your head. “Everything we’ve done since that first date we had, when we went to the Italian place, everything since then—it was all played up. Because you felt bad for me. I had a shitty experience with love and you wanted to make me feel better. Whatever.”

“Y/N, it wasn’t like that,” Jungkook chases after you as you begin to walk down the stairs, towards the exit. “I didn’t pity you. I still don’t. I did those things because I care about you, and I wanted you to be happy.”

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you say, arms crossed over your shoulders as you push your way out the door. “I was so happy when I was with you.”

“Wait, Y/N—”

“Bye, Jungkook.”

The door slams shut behind you. 

“How many finals do you still have left? You finished your movie, right?”

Ruby is stirring herself a cup of earl grey tea as she sits down on the couch next to you, where you’re very obviously sulking as you scroll through the Feel Good Rom-Coms category on Netflix. 

“I just have a couple essays and a presentation,” you mumble out. “You?”

“Ugh, I still have all of my final exams to take,” Ruby tells you with a thick, heavy sigh. Clearly, she doesn't feel like talking about them now. Or at all. “The life of a biology major.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wants to be a doctor, not me,” you remind her crudely. “You better know your shit, or I’m never taking my kids to your practice.”

“Rude,” Ruby says. “There goes my family and friends discount offer.”

You laugh to yourself, a small smile inching its way across your lips. Ruby’s always known how to brighten your day, even when you feel like absolute shit. 

“What are we watching, hmm? I’m cool with anything.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, flicking through all of the rom-com options and feeling very unhappy with all of them. “I feel like you’ve seen all of these.”

“Yeah,” Ruby says. “Whenever I’m not studying, I’m watching Netflix or The Bachelor.”

You nod. Maybe you’ll just settle on some old NCIS reruns and call it a night. 

“Oh!” Ruby exclaims suddenly, a lightbulb going off above her head. “How about we watch your movie? The rom-com you did with Jungkook! I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I don’t know…” You begin, the mere thought putting a bad taste in your mouth. For obvious reasons. 

“Come on, please? I really want to see it, you were so excited about it,” Ruby begs, getting all antsy as she climbs all over you, literally pulling your arm to get you to cave in. “It’s short, too, isn’t it? Like forty-five minutes long? We can watch whatever you want afterwards. Please.”

You huff out a breath. If it were up to you, you would move that film onto a flash drive and toss it into a dumpster on fire. But it’s not just up to you. Ruby has been asking you about it since the day you told her you were filming it, and now all she wants to do is see the final result. And it’s only forty-five minutes long. What’s that when compared to the rest of your life?

“Fine,” you relent, not wanting to fight about it any longer. “Let me get my computer.”

Ruby cheers. 

You bring your laptop over to your coffee table, turning off the ceiling lights as Ruby tucks herself underneath a blanket, hands warmed by her steaming cup of tea. You pull up the movie file and, taking a deep breath, press play. 

It opens with your first interview with Taehyung, a muted, royalty-free lo-fi hip-hop song playing in the background. You had edited it so that it would jump back and forth between your answer and Jungkook’s, highlighting the contrast between the two of you. It was mostly for comedic purposes, just because seeing you deadpan about how love doesn’t exist and then quickly switching to Jungkook wax poetic about it is amusing, but watching it now just makes you want to curl into yourself. 

You should have known that this would have never worked out. Should have kept that same jaded attitude. You let your guard down for one second and look at what’s happened to you.

The next scene that Jungkook shows is, of course, the moment he spills burning hot coffee all over you in the middle of the Starbucks, comedically panning up to your positively-flabbergasted face just to add to the shock factor. Next to you, Ruby laughs at the mishap, obviously amused by the fact that the two of you are now drenched in coffee and scrambling to clean up the mess. You try to focus your energy on how peeved you were at Jungkook after he did that, but get distracted the moment he films himself wrapping his denim jacket around you, placing it over your shoulders and making sure it’s just right. 

He didn’t have to do that, and the two of you both knew it. But still, he sent you off your class all bundled up in a jacket that smelled like him, smelled of that boyish aroma that you couldn’t get rid of, even when you put it in the wash with your lavender detergent. All of Jungkook’s clothes smelt like that no matter how much cologne he put on, always smelt woody and thick. It would consume you, that scent, a cloud surrounding your figure whenever you were near him. 

The movie keeps playing, and you keep thinking about how much of a fool you must look like in it now, all giggles and smiles as Jungkook sings Frankie Valli to you while he hands you a rose, that same sly little smile dotting his features. Hearing the song again makes you feel like you’re choking, like something’s smothering you, and you’re not sure what it is until you realize that it’s the sound of Jungkook’s voice. 

You haven’t heard him sing since he serenaded you. 

Then it’s your first date, the one Ruby told you to wear the yellow dress to (“Hey, I told you you looked amazing in it! Wow!” Ruby exclaims when she sees you). You remember when you edited this, putting the clips together of you eating at the restaurant, wandering around the park, posing underneath the trees, holding hands. You were smiling so hard your cheeks hurt while you were editing, grinning from ear to ear at all of the things the two of you did together. They were so picturesque, those scenes, so perfectly shot, so romantici—t did a fine job of convincing you that it was all real. 

You even put in the little clip of you and Taehyung talking. A mistake, now that you look back on it, of course. It was so vulnerable, so real, so candid and honest like you said you would be, and now it’s all blown up in your face. You must have looked like such an idiot to Jungkook when he saw this scene for the first time in class. You remember the wide-eyed look on his face when it popped up. Like he couldn’t even believe you had done this in the first place. 

Scoffing, you shake your head. You either. 

The rest of it you can hardly bear to watch. Just a wrap-up of your relationship, a compilation of all of the small moments you shared when you didn’t realize that Jungkook was filming, when you dared whip out your camera to shoot for a second or two. Little clips that jump from scene to scene, shots of you laughing and eating and skipping along campus as you held hands. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that it’s all over. 

You don’t even listen to the final interview, not bothering to pay attention to what you or Jungkook have to say when you were there, when you can recall every word he’s ever spoken to you at the drop of a hat. 

The truth is, you were always a goner for him. 

And look how well that played out. 

By the time the kissing scene comes up once more, you’re ready to set your whole laptop alight. 

The screen turns black as it ends, fading away into nothingness, the instrumental slowly disappearing alongside the image. You shut your laptop when it’s all over, a little too angry for your own good, but you wrestle the scowl off your face as you take a drink of water from the glass sitting on the table. 

“Wow,” Ruby says, speechless. She blinks at your closed laptop. 

“Did you like it?”

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” Ruby says, which is a first. “It was amazing, Y/N. Seriously. Gorgeous. Like, cinematographically? Stunning. The shit on Netflix isn’t even as good as that.”

Even if you did have to sit through your stupid movie one more time, the compliments make you feel a bit better. “Thanks,” you murmur. 

Ruby nods enthusiastically. “It was incredible. I’m just—I’m in awe. You and Jungkook have a gift, dude. It was seriously one of the best things I’ve watched in a really long time. And, like, not even in a cheesy, yucky rom-com kind of way. It was so… so genuine. So real. Wow.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“You’ll have to tell Jungkook, too,” Ruby says. “He did really well.”

“Yeah, he’s a great actor,” you say, a little too bitterly for your own good. 

“What do you mean?” Ruby raises an eyebrow your way. “I didn’t think he was acting at all. It looked pretty real to me.”

You frown. “It did?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ruby says with an honest nod. “I mean, you did tell me it was a mockumentary and not just a run-of-the-mill rom-com. So wasn’t everything supposed to be real, anyway?”

“Yes…” you trail off, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

“Well, if you ask me,” Ruby says, all matter-of-factly, “I’d say he definitely fell in love with you.”

Something rushes through you. Something warm and bright and full of energy. 

Hope. 

Even though you have finished one of your finals early, finals week is still just as much of a slog as it always is. Three essays and two presentations deep, you aren’t finished any of them and the due dates are slowly creeping up on you, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes twelve. 

Eh, it could be worse. You could be Ruby and have six timed, proctored final exams on biology, anatomy, and chemistry. So you suppose you can’t complain too much. 

Finals week sees you all holed up in your apartment like always, but more so this semester than any previous ones because you don’t feel like going to the library and risking seeing Jungkook there. Or anywhere, really. Since you presented on the last day of classes, you haven’t spoken since, and hopefully you can keep that streak going forever. You had made it until this semester without ever crossing paths despite being in the same major, so hopefully that luck will follow you. 

It’s almost midnight when you finally decide to call it quits for the night, having at least gotten mostly through two of your essays (just have to edit and proofread!) and worked on about half of your two presentations. Sighing, you get up from your couch and stretch, feeling your bones crack from sitting in the same place for hours on end. 

You lean over to the floor lamp by the edge of the couch, ready to flick it off and head to bed, when you hear something outside. 

“You’re just too good to be true…”

“Can’t take my eyes off of you…”

You freeze.

The voice is soft and mellow, a little muted because it’s making its way through your wooden door before it reaches your ears, but it is unrecognizable. Even without the acoustics of the Eighth Notes, you know who’s on the other side. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch…”

“I wanna hold you so much…”

“At long last, love has arrived…”

“And I thank God I’m alive…”

Unable to resist, you wander to your front door, basking in the sound of him, in the way the notes float through the air as if on clouds, dancing along the walls as they sink into your brain. He sounds so sweet, voice warm like tea on a cold night, just singing his song on this empty, lonely night. But it’s not just his song, is it? 

It’s yours, too.

You pull open the door. 

“You’re just too good to be true,” Jungkook sings, a honeyed melody that calms the waves of your stormy heart, “can’t take my eyes off of you…”

But just because he’s here, serenading you once more, doesn’t mean he’s going to get it any easier from you. You fight to keep the smile off your face, pressing your lips together as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“I love you, baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night…”

“I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…”

He meets your eyes with his own, and they aren’t glinting in the way they normally do, the way that they do when he knows he’s doing something to grind your gears, when he’s got a trick up his sleep. They gleam like pearls as the dim glow of your apartment lights up his figure, warm yellow mixing with the caramel in his irises.

“Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, I pray…”

Oh, pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay…”

“And let me love you, baby…”

From behind him, Jungkook brings out a single red rose, twirling it between his fingers as he holds it out to you. 

“Let me love you…” He trails off there, voice delicate as vanishes into the chilly night air, disappearing between the two of you. 

You can’t help but take the flower from his hand. What else are you supposed to do?

“So?” Jungkook asks, hopeful. 

“Don’t think you can just show up at my apartment and woo me back by singing to me,” you chide, even though he definitely can. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says simply, because there really is nothing else to say. “I should have told you.”

“I watched our rom-com again,” you tell him. “I should have believed you when you said you cared about me.”

“I always did,” Jungkook says. “I just wanted you to know that love was real, and that it was there for you.”

“I should have known,” you agree. You look up at Jungkook through lidded eyes, musing to yourself. “You know what I learned?”

Jungkook tilts his head in curiosity. “What?”

“That love isn’t a feeling. It’s a person,” you explain, sighing pleasantly. “Love comes to us through the things we share with other people. That’s what it is.” Your thumbs twiddle in front of you, the pads of your fingers rubbing at the stem of the rose.

He takes a single step forward, reaching out to take your hand in his own. “And are you pleased with who you’ve found?”

You roll your eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me already, you idiot.”

Jungkook obliges without a second thought. 

There is no one to film you this time, no project to work on. There is only you, and there is only him. And there is only a lifetime that the two of you share, a story that you have told together, piece by piece, frame by frame. Your movie didn’t end once you finished editing. Nor did it end the moment the screen went black in Pollack’s class. It wasn’t even over when you watched it a second time with Ruby. 

No, it continues on. Forever and ever, so long as you are with him. There will always be something new to capture, to burn into a disk so you’ll have it for eternity.

He pulls you in for a kiss and it’s not the end of the film. It’s the beginning of a brand new part, a new installment in the series that is your life with him. That is the relationship you have created together. His lips aren’t the fireworks as the credits roll. They are the scene where the two characters meet for the very first time and know that they were meant to be. The scene that sets all of the other ones in motion. That is who Jungkook is. That is what you are sharing, right now. 

A brand new frame. 

When you part, you press your forehead against his, soft blonde locks framing his face as they tickle your face, dancing along the skin of your cheeks.

“You called it a rom-com,” Jungkook points out randomly, just remembering now. 

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know…” Jungkook says, pretending to think about it as he rocks on the back of his feet. “Did it have a happy ending?”

You bring your lips to his once more, arms wrapped around his neck as you clasp the rose between your fingers. You make a mental note to press it later. Something else to remember him by. Something other than your movie. 

Jungkook pulls you into him once more, hands resting firmly on your waist, letting his body press against yours as you stand there in the muted light of your apartment’s living room, letting the cool spring breeze wash over you. You smile against his lips, feeling your heart race when he grins back. 

“Yes,” you declare proudly. 

And so, they lived happily ever after. 

↳ thanks for reading! don’t forget to let me know if you enjoyed it!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the art of the rom com #dudes this fic is so long my keyboard is lagging HAHAHA

[tarydarrington]

This is the third time this week.

The Archmage of Civil Influence sits slumped over her pristine, deep red desk with her head in her hands. She can handle Ludinus. The man gives her a long enough leash, so long as she gets the right things done with it. She can even handle Professor Widogast, absurd as his new name might be, tiring as his constant pushing of the line between acceptable lesson plans and light treason might be. No, it’s not him. It’s his friend.

“Hi, Astrid!”

She presses her fingertips into her temples. Twenty-five words feels like more than one might think. Twenty-five and then twenty-five more and twenty-five more and on towards infinity feels like an eternity. Occasionally, for a while after Ikithon’s trial, she had received a friendly hello from Ms. Lavorre. That had been irritating enough. But from what she understands, the tiefling and two others are now at sea dealing with their own issues.

Veth Brenatto, on the other hand, seems to have absolutely nothing else for which to use her spells.

“How ya doing? Just checking in about that little get-together we talked about.”

Talked about is a generously mutual way to put it. There is an event planned for the end of the week at the dance hall she and Bren used to frequent. Brenatto is of the persistent opinion that she ought to attend with Professor Widogast. As his date.

Ridiculous, as she had snapped to Eadwulf last night, because if anything he would be her date - but that is beside the point.

“I know Caleb is waiting to hear a ‘yes,’” the voice in her head continues in its usual overly chipper tone.

Astrid does not believe for a second that “Caleb” is doing anything of the sort. They pass one another in the halls of the Soltryce occasionally, and their interactions are always a coin-flip between professional and very awkward. The only other time they see one another at all is when he’s dragged into her office for going on one of his famous little tangents in class, and he hardly seems interested in her authority, let alone her companionship.

“Good afternoon, Frau Brenatto,” she says smoothly, thankful that the woman can’t see her face. “As I have previously informed you, I would be happy to discuss this with Bren himself. Do have a pleasant day.”

She hopes it sounds sufficiently final, but allows herself a sigh as the halfling’s voice filters back into her mind a moment later.

“Caleb is very shy,” she says. “I think you intimidate him - which is silly, because he’s extremely powerful - but if you could just give me your answer--”

Astrid cups her face in her hands, fingers splayed. Only three more days until the dance has come and gone, and then she won’t have to deal with this anymore. Until the next time, of course. Or until Brenatto comes up with some other pretense to push them at each other.

“As I have said,” she says pointedly, “I would like to be sure that this invitation is coming from Bren. If he wishes to speak-” and he will not- “then we may.”

The next message is almost immediate this time, and Astrid resists the urge to bang her forehead onto the desk.

“Why don’t we go visit him together?” Brenatto asks with renewed enthusiasm. “Have some lunch, talk a little… I can leave you alone, if you two lovebirds are getting--”

Never before has she been so grateful for the limits of a Sending spell. She clears her throat, eyes falling on the stack of paperwork waiting in front of her. There is actual work to be done. Actual important work that does not involve a halfling jabbering in her head all afternoon. And, well, if confronting Bren directly about this nuisance could put an end to it?

“Very well,” she says on a sigh. “When shall we meet?”

Astrid wants to groan out loud at the ecstatic tone of the next message. They plan to meet tomorrow evening. Brenatto is already in town, for some reason Astrid doesn’t bother remembering, and they’ll arrive together at Bren’s little residence on the outskirts of the capital at sunset. Ostensibly, Veth will treat them all to a meal at Bren’s favorite establishment - but Astrid suspects things won’t get that far.

At least she can finish her paperwork, now.

She buries her face in Eadwulf’s shoulder that night and groans, “Why does she never do this with you?”

The following evening, she finds Veth Brenatto on the road outside Bren’s place, waving on her tiptoes with a wide grin splitting her face. Astrid gives her a tight, mirthless smile in return. Better to get this over with.

“I’m so happy that the two of you are getting some proper time to get to know each other again,” Brenatto says as they approach the door together.

Astrid will ignore the suggestive tilt of her eyebrows.

Bren’s place is smaller than those of most of the Academy’s faculty. He is one of the only professors who has chosen to live outside of the city center, opting instead for a little-travelled section of Rexxentrum to the northeast. The house itself is small and nondescript; she would never have picked it out, if she didn’t already know it was here. Astrid wonders sometimes about the secrecy, but she will let him have his privacy. She owes him that much, at least.

She shakes herself from her thoughts just in time to notice Brenatto reaching for the doorknob, but not soon enough to stop her from opening without a single knock. By the time she’s reached out to stop her, the door is already wide open.

And oh, this is rich.

“Caleb! I brought--” And then Veth sees them, too.

The man in question - Caleb or Bren or the physical manifestation of regret, whichever he pleases just now - has just fallen off the couch. Brought tumbling down with him is the drow with whom he’s intimately tangled up, face twisted into such a comical mix of shock and mortification that Astrid actually cracks a smile.

“Ah,” Bren says, pulling a blanket from the sofa to wrap around his partner’s shoulders, “Hallo, ja, come right in.”

The drow, for his part, has already waved a hand and magicked them both some clothing. Brenatto, for hers, has begun sputtering incoherently - which, after the week of endless pestering Astrid has had, sounds about like music. Astrid gives her a smug look, and gestures with one hand towards the two men hastily righting themselves.

“I believe this settles the matter,” she says coolly. “Thank you for the invitation.”

She gives Bren a knowing look, and he gives her a tired nod back. She doesn’t envy him the interrogation he’s about to endure. With a parting glance at the drow, who has retreated toward another room with his real clothing clutched just a bit too tightly in his hands, she turns on her heel and steps back out into the dusk.

That explains the secrecy, then. She hopes he’s good for Bren, whoever he is. He deserves something good.

Just as the teleport whisks her away, she hears Veth Brenatto screech, “Him?!”

#this has been kicking around in my head ever since the week of the finale #very silly but hey #shadowgast #astrid beck #veth brenatto #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #mine #mine:fic #also i feel like i should say: yes i am aware astrid and essek were in the blooming grove together for a While #but astrid was pretty preoccupied so i'm playing with this anyway #astrid #veth #caleb #essek

[skzsauce01]

For You

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You and Minho are a little more than just an heiress and her bodyguard, but you know your parents would never approve of a relationship like this unless...

Warning: anxiety, injury

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x bodyguard!Minho

He is buttoning up his shirt after a warm shower when his phone buzzes. He smirks at your caller ID on the screen before picking it up. “What, miss me alr—”

“Hi. Sorry to bother you.”

Minho drops his smile and grips his phone tighter at the tone of your voice. Panic bubbles in his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s not like that. I’m just… out right now, and it got dark a little quicker than I thought. I know you’re off the clock on Sundays, but—”

“It’s okay. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?”

“I’m near the 7-11 near your house. The one with the blue umbrellas in front.”

“Okay. Go inside for now. I’m coming.”

“Alright. Thank you, Minho. And sorry.”

“Don’t be; it’s my job. Call again if something happens before I get there.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be there shortly.”

Minho doesn’t even bother drying his hair and dashes out the door. He runs and runs, unease crawling up his skin, but when he sees you through the window of the convenience store, his stomach completely drops. There you stand with your shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around yourself, and knees bowed in, a stark contrast to the proud heiress he is used to seeing. 

The worker who is leaning over the counter seems to be saying something as Minho bursts in. “If you aren’t buyin’, pay for your loitering with cha number, sugar.”

Minho slaps a bill on the counter and takes a bag of chocolates. “There. She’s a customer,” he hisses. Turning to you who looks shocked by his sudden appearance, he asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod dumbly. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” He puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the door, using himself to shield you from the eyes of the worker.

He thought you’d relax a little after getting away from the creep, but your posture remains closed off. He wants to ask why but does not know if you’re ready for that yet. Instead, you break the silence first.

“Thank you for coming, and sorry for ruining your Sunday.”

“Y/N, you know I’m always ready to be by your side.” 

He looks for clues. You have on a deep blue dress, minimal jewelry, and light makeup. In other words, effortlessly enchanting, but that’s not important; you went to something fancy but not overly formal. A first date? Minho’s heart starts racing at the thought. He needs to know. “What were you doing out here by yourself?”

You bite your lip. Instead of answering, you tug on the cuff of his shirt gingerly with the tips of your fingers. “I-is it alright if I don’t talk about it?”

His chest breaks at how fragile your voice is. He stops in his tracks and looks at you.

“I-is it not?” you squeak.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why are you—”

“You look like you need this.”

He steps up to you under the streetlight and wraps you into a hug, gently stroking your back.

“Minho!” you gasp. “What if someone sees?”

You’re an heiress. Your choices of men are Chan from JY Group, Changbin from Seo Enterprise, or even Jisung from Han Motors. Lee Minho the bodyguard is definitely not on that list even if your heart is taking flight from this small gesture of endearment.

“Why does that matter?” he hushes you.

“If Father finds out, you’d lose your job.”

“I’d rather that than not be able to be here for you when you need it,” he says plainly and holds you tighter when you try to push him away.

Gradually, he feels you give up and give in to his embrace. Finally, he feels you begin to shake as tears escape your eyes.

“It was so scary,” you whimper. “I was so scared.”

Your words are like hammers battering his chest,making it impossible to breathe. He holds you tighter and speaks quietly, letting the vibration of his voice calm you.

“It’s okay. You’re okay now. I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

You arrive at the gates of your house, an empty bag of convenience store chocolates between your fingers.

“Minho?”

“Yes?”

“Father can’t know what happened. Are my eyes swollen?”

He turns you by the shoulder so he is directly looking into them. “Not at all. They’re—”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your father approaching, and cuts his sentence short. “Good evening, Mister L/N,” he greets.

“Ah, Minho. What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“I found Miss Y/N around my neighborhood and thought it best to escort her home.”

“You found her around your neighborhood?” 

“Yes, I was just taking an evening stroll.”

“Evening stroll?” he echoes yet again. The old man looks at the younger one’s wet, unbrushed hair.

Minho can’t do a thing but cough nervously, knowing how weak his lie is.

Thankfully, your father does not comment further. He looks between the two of you and smiles to himself. “Alright. Since you’re here, you should escort her all the way to the house.”

“Yes, sir,” Minho bows. When he straightens up again, he grins at you. “Shall we go?”

You nod with a smile of your own. “Thank you, Minho. Really.”

“Like I said, I’m always here for you.”

He cheekily takes your hand in his and hides it behind his back in case your father turns around.

“Oh, and Y/N?” he whispers.

“Hm?” 

He swipes an eyelash that fell with your tears from your cheek. “They’re not swollen; they’re beautiful.”

Your father coughs loudly in front of you.

The following week, you accompany your parents to a showing of the latest models of Han Motors. Of course, this means Minho is to lurk around in the shadows and follow you all night. At least, that’s what he’s supposed to do instead of being dragged out to the main floor by you to discuss which refreshment tastes the best.

“You know, if you wanted to spend time with me, you could have just said so,” Minho teasingly whispers into your ear.

“Shush and try this.” You roll your eyes and stuff a truffle-topped cracker between his lips. 

Minho chews for a moment before commenting, “Not great. Better than the cherry thing earlier, but the truffles your uncle gave you last time was better.”

You take one and mull over it yourself. “You’re right. This one’s too sweet.”

“Like someone I know,” he sighs off-handedly.

You snort. “I can’t tell if you’re talking about me or yourself.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, so you think I’m worthy of being called ‘sweet?’”

“Good gracious,” you roll your eyes.

The two of you have tried less and less to suppress your flirting. Thankfully, most of your comments are made in indecipherable whispers or behind closed doors, so most people haven’t noticed, but those who did definitely have a thing or two to say about it.

“Y/N!” Your mother’s voice breaks your conversation. 

You walk quickly past displays of shiny luxury cars to where she is. “Yes, Mother?”

She looks past you at Minho. “This does not involve you.”

Without missing a beat, he bows. Before he leaves though, you flash him a hand signal. Stay nearby. 

“You should meet the Hans’ son tonight,” your mother tells you after Minho is gone from her sight.

“Mother, I’ve already met him at my birthday party last year.”

“Yes, but this time, meet him as a man like you’re supposed to, you understand?”

“Mother, Jisung already has his eyes on—”

“Madam Han!” your mother calls before you can even finish your sentence. You close your eyes to roll them and let your shoulders slouch, knowing exactly what is going to happen.

The said woman walks over, her son in tow to help his mother introduce new cars. “Madam L/N! It is good to see you.”

First the sweet talk.

“Your face is smaller every time I see it. How do you do it?”

“Oh, you flatter me!”

Then an indirect indication of true intentions.

“It’s the truth! You simply must tell me your secrets. In the meantime, let’s have our children play amongst themselves.”

Madam Han quickly understands her implication. “Of course! They must be bored being around us old ladies. Jisung dear, take care of Miss Y/N, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” he promises obediently.

You watch as the two women walk away in a fit of faux compliments. Despite leaving the two of you alone, you know they have hawk eyes on you to make sure you do as they intend.

“So,” you decide to play along, “we, uh, meet again, Jisung.”

“Yep.” He clasps his hands in front of him and looks around nervously. Not much of a conversationalist, you note.

“Tell me about this car.” You motion towards a blue SUV nearby.

“Ah, yes!” You can see the boy light up from having something he can actually talk about. “This is the Model YG. It is a family car, but it certainly does not leave out the power and class of a…”

You soon tune him out. You both know you have no interest in cars anyway, and he’s just glad to have something to fill the silence with. Your eyes begin to wander, and you catch sight of something darting around. You first pass it off as your imagination, but when you see it again, alarms go off in your head.

You grab the arm next to you. “Minho.”

Jisung looks at you inquisitively. “I’m Jisung.”

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I need to find my bodyguard. I think there’s something—”

Just then, a low whistle cuts through the air. You look up and see the giant chandelier above you beginning to tilt.

“Run!”

Unfortunately, you are right at the center of the whole structure. You bolt away right behind Jisung, but there is just no way your stupid heels can keep up with his powerful strides. There isn’t much time. You aren’t going to make it. You can hear the lower hanging parts of the light structure crashing and shattering when someone tackles you to the floor, shielding you with his own body.

“Minho!”

He lets out a hallowed gasp as a metal rod strikes him in the back. He struggles to regain his breath but keeps his eyes trained on you.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” you repeat, knowing that’s what he wants to hear most. 

It’s your turn to worry about him now as he continues struggling to breathe. You help him sit upright, trying to avoid touching the million shards of glass impaling his skin. 

“Miss L/N!” You turn and see Jisung calling you from the perimeter of the mess. Thankfully, he does not look too scathed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Get away from my daughter!”

Amidst the panic and army of security running about, everyone looks up at your mother fuming on the second floor. It is only then you realize how intimate your position with Minho is. You’re seated between his legs, turned towards him, and he has his arms around you, using your body to press on his spazzing diaphragm.

A new voice directs everyone’s attention. “Are you crazy?” It is your father this time, pulling his wife away from the railings. “He just saved her! What are you doing?”

“Jisung was supposed to save her!”

“Jisung saved himself! Can’t you see? Minho’s the one who’s willing to risk himself for our daughter. What more do you have against that?”

You blush under the eyes your parents’ conversation has put on you, but Minho does not back down. He keeps you covered as you shrink in embarrassment. 

“Jisung just needs more time with her!” your mother continues. “He’ll learn to love her!”

“Like you ever learned to love me? How many years have we been married? How many years have we tried to learn to love? Do you really wish the same thing for our daughter?”

A wave of gasps ripple through the building. Security has caught the criminals who sabotaged the convention, but no one cares. You can feel your stock prices dropping. You and your family are going to be on the front cover of every gossip magazine tomorrow. You struggle to find something— anything— to distract the crowd from what was just said. You need something big— something even bigger than your father’s confession.

In the midst of your dilemma, it is Minho who speaks first. “Let’s date.”

Another gasp echoes across the crowd. At least that did the trick.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-scream at him.

“What?” he says not-so-quietly. “Your father’s giving me permission. We might as well make it official. I promise to protect you and cherish you for the rest of our lives. What do you say, Y/N?”

Jisung is the first to start chanting, “Say yes! Say yes!” and is soon joined by the rest of the party-goers. Your mother nearly faints and your father beams proudly.

“Okay,” you finally agree.

“Then kiss me,” he prompts, and you do. 

#lee know #lee minho #stray kids #minho fic #lee know fic #stray kids fic #lee know imagin #stray kids imagine #lee know fluff #minho fluff #stray kids fluff #bodyguard!minho #bodyguard!lee know #stray kids bodyguard #fem reader #anniversary special #20210817

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 1

Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less. 

AO3 mirror

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

���Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.  

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Unknown Number:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

 Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #bnha fanfiction #tomura shigaraki imagines #fem!reader #incel!shigaraki #college au #bee.writes

[lordoftherazzles]

A request from @i-did-not-mean-to​ centered around our favorite soft dwarf, Ori!! I’ve placed this little one shot in the AU-verse of “Bookbinder//Songwriter”, as we’ve not met him yet in that fic, and I’m excited for the day he does make his appearance!! 

I hope you enjoy this little one shot, my friend! And thank you so much for your love and support ALWAYS.

Peace and quiet was a hard thing to come by within this house. So when those few moments of silence truly hit, Ori knew he had to make the most of it. If it wasn’t Dori’s fussing over the usual–how the house looked, what Nori was up to, if Ori was focusing on his life goals, etc–then it was Nori’s constant shenanigans. Both of Ori’s brothers were loving, just as they cared for one another, but they were like night and day most times, and that could make for a very loud environment.

Especially when they were already loud to begin with!

Ori was typically stuck in the middle or sitting on the sidelines whenever those loud discussions happened, or whenever there was chaos of another sort unfolding, but nine times out of ten he wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, if he could just get Dori to stop smushing his cheeks as if he were five again, that would be lovely!

Silence. It was perfect for concentration. Ori had been working on setting up a proper portfolio with his drawings and design work that often were made into all sorts of different crafts. There were crochet and knitting patterns, but where his talent truly shined was with a pen. A beautiful pristine white stylus that grazed its way across a digital drawing pad with ease, guided by Ori’s steady hand and bright imagination.

Art was Ori’s niche in many forms. Weaving, drawing, and even a little bit of poetry on occasion, but where it truly mattered were the lines. That’s where this portfolio was coming into play. To compile a collection of drawings and new examples that might one day launch him into the big working world of animation and design. For now, Ori would just have to suffer working at the local tailor shop with Dori and using this quiet time to work on one of many side projects.

Or that was the hope until it all shattered with a yell that Ori should have been expecting.

“Little brother!”

The grimace that crawled across Ori’s face was inevitable as his head ducked some, clutching his tablet close to his chest and whining something fierce to himself. Again, he loved his brothers, but his brothers loved him just a little too much to leave him alone.

“Of course I’d find you holed up in your cave,” Nori’s overly cheery voice rang out as the door flew open. An auburn-haired storm was rolling through the house, sporting a wild grin and even wilder ideas, as always.

“Hi Nori,” Ori greeted with a voice that oozed patience, even if he didn’t feel it on most days.

“Working on something important, I wager? Or something perhaps naughty? Is that why you’re clutching your tablet so close to your chest?” One brow arched, Ori blushed, and Nori considered that a mission accomplished.

“No! Nothing like that, why do you always assume–” Ori bit the inside of his cheek, head still ducked and face aflame. “You’re teasing me…and I should know better.” Uncurling from himself and pulling the tablet away from his chest rather gingerly, Ori showed off his current project. A landscape piece with many colorful flowers of different shades and shapes.

“Oh, that is really nice.” A genuine response.

“Thank you. I’m trying to put together my portfolio, any exposure–and before you say it, not indecent exposure–is good.” Setting the tablet down and frantically moving a few papers from his desk before Nori’s ass decided to land on them, the younger brother of the household couldn’t help but huff a bit at the sudden seat occupied on his desk.

“I have some decent exposure work for you if you’re interested! It’s time to break out the ol’ needle and ink again–”

“For the last time, I am not signing your name or your initials on Dwalin’s…backside.”

“No, no, not that, though one day. But, a new fella is easing his way into the little Desolation group. Thorin’s found himself a new man.” Nori’s brows waggled with mischief, a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he gently kicked his legs and looked far too amused than he should have with someone else’s love life.

“I’m not signing his name either,” Ori teased, knowing full well that Thorin was far more reasonable with things like tattoos. Though maybe not piercings from what Ori had heard over the years. “What’s he like?”

“Short, but he’s assertive and feisty beneath that little sweater vest of his. Perfect for ol’ Thorin and a far cry from the string bean he was with before.” Which was good news, indeed, and the sentiment was shared between the two of them with a small nod. “He was asking us to recommend a guy to do some ink, and of course, I have to promote my little brother.”

“I’m not an actual tattoo artist…you got me the tools and told me to have at it…”

“You’re the only one I know with a steady hand and can do great lines. I mean, look at your landscape there! Anyway, I don’t know, maybe you could work out a deal with him? He and his mother own the new bookshop on the corner of Main, perhaps there’d be a place to display some of your pieces? Or promotional work, advertising, whatever it is you want to call it.” 

It didn’t sound like a bad idea. As Ori had said, any exposure was good, and to have people outside of the web see his designs and get a taste for them, put a small fire in his chest as he glanced down towards the landscape he had been sketching. 

Worrying his lower lip with his teeth for a moment, Ori finally then lifted his gaze and seemed to mirror a bit of Nori’s confidence in his expression. “That’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time, so long as he’s not wanting something…crazy complicated that he’ll have to suffer with for the rest of his life, I mean.” Ori was an artistic sort, but even his creative style knew no bounds. You couldn’t exactly erase the lines of a tattoo as you could a digital one.

“I doubt he’ll go for anything too crazy. Doesn’t seem like the type, but, I’m glad you’re on board. I never fail when I say ‘I know a guy’, though in this case, I know the best guy.” Nori reached over to ruffle at Ori’s hair, which earned a small lean away in defiance before the older of the two was on his feet. “Say, once this is all done and over with, now that we have Thorin settled on his happily ever after, I’d say you’re next!”

“What? No, no that’s okay…I can manage that myself…” Ori sputtered a bit, unwilling to look Nori in the eyes so that the more sly figure could catch him within a lie. “I’m far too busy right now to worry about that anyway.” Though Ori would not be mentioning the cute barista he had spotted during one of his many frappe runs. What was her name again…? Mari? A pretty thing with dark hair like the earth, and a smile that shined like the sun.

“Ori?”

“I’m here!”

“Are you sure? It looked like you were on your way to outer space with that thoughtful look on your face. Is there something you’re not telling me?” Something in Nori’s tone was suspicious, but far be it from him to needle any further…for the moment.

“No, I’m fine. Just…thinking about landscapes, which I really need to finish if I’m going to have this portfolio put together sometime this year at this rate…”

“Alright, if you say so, but remember, you can tell me anything that’s on your mind. Even your deepest darkest secret.” Nori was well aware that something was amiss, and his words and voice hinted at such, but considering it was Ori, it likely had to be pretty mild–whatever it was. “And if you need help out of any trouble…I know a guy.”

“As always.”

“Nori! What on earth is this THING in the front yard?” Dori’s voice barked from the floor level below.

“It’s called artwork! Use your eyes!”

“It’s bright and plastic and doesn’t match my peonies! It’s not ARTWORK. Where did you even get it? Are you stealing from the neighbors again?”

“For your information it’s Dwalin’s!” Well, more like Dwalin’s neighbor’s.

Ori sighed. Just another day at home and another quiet moment come and gone–and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Though now that he was thinking about it…that coffee shop was pretty quiet…and had quite the inspirational view.

#the hobbit #ori #nori #dori #modern!au #i-did-not-mean-to #fic: bookbinder//songwriter #It was so fun playing with characters outside of thorin and bilbo!! #though of course they were mentioned slightly ehuehuehue #razzywrites #razquests #ori's an artist jack-of-all-trades type and i love him #one day i'll compile a proper Extras series for bb//sw

[hannie-dul-set]

WHAT BEST FRIENDS DO | n.jm

PAIRING. best friend(ish)! na jaemin x g.n. reader GENRE. high school! au, maybe secret relationship! au hihi, FLUFF, light humor WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of food WORD COUNT. 988 PROMPT(S). “i need a hug” NOTE. the drabble isn’t actually centered around the prompt i’m so sorry ; - ; but i still hope you liked this, anon who requested ><

When Jaemin entered the classroom, uniform freshly pressed, hair styled neatly, the first thing he saw was the ghostly apparition of you, sitting on your usual seat beside him— front desk, middle row— head down with your unbrushed hair covering your entire face. He shook his head, a minuscule smile on his face as he walked up to your unsuspecting figure.

“Morning.”

You did not answer, not even a slight budge or tell that you had heard him, save for the faint rocking of your head back and forth. An indication that you were almost, if not already, fast asleep.

“They’ve been knocked the fuck out the moment they sat down,” Donghyuck announced his arrival, dragging out the empty seat from the desk beside you, a smug grin on his face. “What did you do to Y/N last night, Jaem?”

The insinuating question caught the interest of the students sitting around— including the rest of Jaemin’s friend group, all huddling around the two seats in front with idle curiosity, minding their own business as if they weren’t listening, but it was an obvious fact that they were. You were barely hanging onto your consciousness as all of this stirred around you.

“Oh, Y/N did homework until two in the morning—”

It was evident from the disappointment on Donghyuck’s face that Jaemin’s reply was not what he, or any of them, wanted. Oh, how they were hoping that there was finally something between the ship that the entire class was rooting for, and so they dispersed back into their seats, save for Jeno, Renjun, Jisung, and Chenle who remained surrounding the both of you, clearly unimpressed.

“—fell asleep during our call.”

With that, Jaemin shook off his grey uniform coat, folding it into a neat square, which elicited a few questioning looks from his friends. He placed it on top of your desk, right before placing a hand behind your head, the other barely grazing over your jaw, as he lowered you onto the makeshift coat pillow, brushing the hair out of your face so you wouldn’t wake up to having your face tickled. The five exchanged a few glances. Jeno cleared his throat.

“Friends don’t usually do that,” he prompted with a cough, sliding onto the desk directly behind Jaemin. The rest of the bots murmured voices of agreement, trying to provoke their soft-hearted friend just to get something out of him.

“Oh, yeah?” Jaemin simply answered dismissively, focused on the affectionate caresses he was giving you head when you squirmed in your sleep. They all shared knowing glances.

There weren’t even any protests this time. Not a single hint of disagreement. At this point, there was no denying it.

But before they could pry out any information from Na Jaemin, he suddenly stood up.

“I’ll be back. Don’t make too much noise, please.”

The moment he left, the rest of the boys dispersed into a hushed discussion because there was in no way that you and Jaemin were just best friends. It was not a secret that their friend was overly affectionate, overly doting, and overly adoring to the point of gags and barfs, but this was different, okay? They knew it was different, but why won’t either of you two just admit that you two were more than anything you claimed?

Perhaps it was from the bickering surrounding you that you woke up from your oddly comfortable nap.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Luckily for the rest of the boys, Jaemin came at just the right moment. You stared at the bag of milk and container of sliced fruit that he placed on your desk with a hint of confusion, leading you to notice the wrinkled uniform coat that you were sure wasn’t yours, and were also sure that you’d been sleeping on it. At that moment, your head snapped back to Jaemin— realizing that he was only wearing his undershirt and tie.

You quickly unfolded the coat and smoothed it out before throwing it back to him. “Dude, why would you do that?”

Jaemin sat back down beside you, putting the rest of his uniform back on. “Didn’t want you to sleep uncomfortably.”

“But now your coat’s all wrinkly”

He sent you a sweet smile. “But you had a nice sleep.”

It was as if there weren’t any prying eyes looking at you at that exact moment. The five couldn’t butt in— none of your classmates could butt in because it would feel like an intrusive crime if they did so.

Sighing, you slipped off your own coat because you were still very, very tired, but before you could do that, Jaemin stopped you. His chair screeched as he dragged it towards you, pulling you closer by the waist, his touch lingering there for only a fleeting moment before he raised his hand to your head, steadying it to rest on his shoulder. You blinked a few times in a daze.

“There,” his hand fell back to his side.  “So that neither of our coats will be ruined, and so that you’ll also sleep comfortably. Eat the food later after you've recharged, alright?”

It was a sweet moment of nothing but eye contact, dead silent until Renjun screeched out.

“What the fuck, are you two sure you're just friends?”

Ignorance is bliss. And so you ignored Renjun, as well as the mess of everyone else losing their shits from behind you. You didn’t understand what was there to make a fuss about.

“Why aren't you sleeping yet?” Jaemin asked, a slight whine trailing off his voice. “Do you need anything else?”

You pressed your lips into a thin smile. “Maybe I need a hug, too.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and did as you asked without a moment to spare, wrapping his arms around you as you drifted off to sleep once more, brushing off the frantic voices calling out the both of your names.

© hannie-dul-set, 2021

#NCT-WRITERS #cznnet #neowritingsnet #kpopscape #na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #na jaemin scenarios #jaemin scenarios #nct x reader #na jaemin fluff #jaemin fluff #nct fluff

[kyberphilosopher]

Rᴇᴅᴀᴍᴀɴᴄʏ

Redamancy: (n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

After spending the night with Eren, you try to determine the future of your relationship. Eren complicates things.

Word Count : 1822

Contains allusions to sex. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was a miracle that neither of you had been caught. Truly. In fact, the sheer convenience of the whole thing was enough to make you raise your eyebrow in suspicion. Though, there was no reason for you to stop taking it for granted. 

It was the boy who had started it. 

Whether or not you had kissed first, or him, was irrelevant. What matters was that the mess hall was empty, and the air was quick to feel hot. The more of his lips you felt, the stronger the smell of sweat became. Not that you minded. Your head was too cloudy with a strong sense of growing lust to care. In fact, you reveled in it. But it was Eren who had given the word to take things back to your dormitory, and it was you who had given the word of acceptance. 

The night had been excellent, in short. The dormitory had been, similar to the mess hall, emptied out. The two of you had been blessed with a whole nights worth of twisting and stretching, without the confines of anxiety or embarrassment.

His skin felt like fire. His lips were wet from coats of saliva. In fact, like a Titan, he had given you little to no mercy in terms of bruising and marks made from a tongue. In turn, you couldn’t help the thin scratches your finger nails had given his back, and the final mess of his chocolate colored locks. Time blurred together. All you knew was warmth and steam. 

And then, you must’ve fallen asleep in the early morning. Your lover hadn’t been far behind you. Perhaps it was because your body had become numb or overly sensitive from all the heat, but you hadn’t recalled Eren’s arms being wrapped around you before drifting off. 

But now...

His hands are on you again. Not like they were the night before, but nearly just as intimate. Fingertips aren’t hot this time, but getting there. For now, they are warm. 

One of Eren’s arms is under your body, with the forearm out and hand reaching right under your breast. The other is draped over your shoulder, with the hand between the front of your throat and the center of your collarbone. This is the hand that is responsible for pushing your back closer against his chest and keeping you there. It feels like a trap, but a loving one. 

Love. That was the issue here. 

You’d had a certain admiration for Jaeger for a while. You’d known each other since your cadet years. He was hot headed, stubborn, but driven. You weren’t particularly bratty or as hard brained as he, but the two of you were easily in sync. You were friends. You joked like friends. Did favors like friends. Fought together like friends. Now you were wrestling together, and it wasn’t like friends. 

But you hadn’t considered what would happen after. Would you remain simply friends? Did you want this to be a one time thing, or not? Did Eren? If not, what was he keeping you so close to him for? Behavior like this is normally reserved for relationships. What are you to do with this?

Eren’s body shifts. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen roll and settle back into place with the curve of your back. Your eyes remain open as a sign of how wide awake you are, glued to all the other objects in the room you can see. 

Love. Eren is showing a sign of love. Is he? You could be mistaken. Is it right to read into the placement of his fingers, or not? Should you wake him up to discuss it? No. Not, let him rest. 

Your bottom lip sucks in between your teeth as you think. Eren’s grip on you feels as if it’s getting tighter by the second, though that might just be a figment of your anxiety instead of reality. Regardless, his touch is not one of hatred or lust, for the time being. It’s soft, but firm. Firm enough for you to have wiggle room if you need it, but soft enough to let you know he Eren has no intention of hurting you. It feels more like he wants you to stay. Which brings you back to your first problem- was this a sign of love?

Eren shifts again. His neck cranes around in a lazy stretch, than his face sinks into the back of your neck. You can feel it settle between the nape of your neck and your body of hair. Eren breathes out through his nose as he continues to grow comfortable, and for a split second, you’re ecstatic with your current position. 

The hand by your breast twitches, then slips lower. The palm rests closer to the side of your ribs now, making you hyper aware of touch all over again. Upon natural reaction, your toes curl tightly in stimulation, though not from anything sexual. Just from the intimacy. 

Swallowing, you decide to test the waters. 

Your legs detangle from each other and instead encroach on Eren’s territory. Your left heel grazes against Eren’s shin, and you push yourself closer against his chest, if it were possible. 

Erent doesn’t wake up completely. Instead, there’s a stiff “Mmm,” as his own legs move. One of his legs runs over your own, covering over it. Now you’re closer. 

He must be aware of his actions, right?

“Good morning.”

His voice is low and scratchy from sleep. If your mind hadn’t been consumed with the future of your relationship with him, you would’ve felt the vibration of his voice right to the core between your legs. 

You don’t respond. Despite your wide open eyes, you are turned away from him. If you’re quiet, you can feign sleep. Maybe then you’ll have time to think a way out of this. 

“Y/N, it’s time to wake up,” he says against your ear. You feel his body stretch, but remain in the same position. Eren is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks again. “I can tell that you’re awake, you know.”

Well, shit. 

Your mouth is quick to go dry. Your heart is thump, thump, thumping. You’re certain he can feel it just as you can. 

“I have to get up,” you say suddenly, without thinking. In your panic, you sit up, your legs uncurling from Eren’s and bending as an arm gives you leverage against the mattress. His hands fall from your form at once, breaking the contact. 

Now the air feels cold. 

Eren watches your bare back. His eyes are half closed from the drowsiness of morning, pieces of hair sprawled out against the pillow he rests against. Even from this view, Eren can see a fraction of temporary scars he’d left on your body from the previous night. Not to say that he caused you pain. He hadn’t. 

Absent mindedly, Eren’s left hand reaches up to trail his fingers along your spine. You tense up immediately, almost in a jolt. Jaeger must not think anything of it, though, because his pads of his fingers continue to ghost over the muscles of your back as lightly as a feather. 

“Did you sleep alright?” he questions, still tired himself. 

You had slept fantastic, actually. So warm, so safe, too exhausted to consider anything but being asleep. Eren Jaeger had been responsible for all three of those factors. You had the chance to argue that it was the best you’d slept in years. Dare you even say, all your life?

“I slept okay,” your mutter. You don’t know what his game is. You don’t know what he’s thinking. 

“Good,” Eren responds. “I’d hope so.”

There is a pause. “Did you have a good night, too?” he further questions. You can tell there is his version of a smile behind his words. One of those sick ones when he’s thinking something somewhat radical. 

The night, like your sleep, had also been fantastic. But was that all that Eren had thought about? Was that what he had been after this whole time? No. The relationship and comfort between the two of you was genuine, but so was the heated night of passion. What did you want? More importantly, what did Eren want?

Eren presses his entire hand against your back until it’s flat. If it were covered in paint, or more likely, blood, it would leave a perfect hand print against your skin. 

“Yes, I did,” you speak. 

Eren’s eyes soften. His hand pulls away from your skin, than returns to the light wisps of touching with his fingers. 

Some people, had they not known Eren, may have thought his touch resembled that of a painters, or a musicians. In fact, his touch and gifted hands were born from the training you had been put through. He would’ve had to be conscious of his finger placement, what with how often they’re balled into tight fists of rage. 

Then Eren frowns. His touch slows until it pauses completely. “Is something wrong?”

Perhaps you were thinking too hard about it. Perhaps whether him holding you meaning something or not wasn’t even really important. It could’ve been something done with little thought or emotion. 

You don’t answer. You’re staring at the wall parallel to your bed a bit away, remembering several of the expressions Eren had made just a few hours ago. The butterflies in your stomach are making an appearance again, and you’re forced into a corner of guilt over whether your entire relationship is now ruined. 

Jaeger, though, isn’t having it. In a clean motion, an arm wraps around your stomach and pulls you back down against the bed. You land with a thud against the cheap thing, and Eren is quick to apologize. 

Both his arms snake their way around your body, finding the best areas to hold in order to get you to stay there with him. Because, despite your beautiful, questioning, wondering mind, Eren is showing you genuine love. He loves you. He’s trying to let you know that he loves you. 

His head rests between your shoulder and your neck, his cheek by your ear and his face close to pressed against yours. “Just go back to sleep, then,” he advises lowly, his own voice lowering from another wave of drowsiness. With his eyes becoming heavy and fast, he places a kiss against your temple. 

And you, settling back into the warmth, do not even bother to fight it this time. You return the love in kind, accepting it and sinking in it. Drowning in it, even. You would worry yourself with questions of your future with Eren when you wake again, and the boy would worry he had not made his intentions of affection clear. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I wrote this in an hour. I can’t think of anything more to do with it.��

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