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#i have one ribcage hoodie and have been trying for several years now to get another one for my birthday

ebitchwriting · 7 months

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Dragged Into The Blood

Story Summary: Never staying in one place for long, moving nearly every year, Lea Anderson was used to impermanence, chaos, and having to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat. Lea never expected that she would be kidnapped and wake up in a rusted, decrepit prison cell because of a madman's delusional belief in eugenics and cleansing the Earth of imperfection. By herself, with only the clothing on her back, she will have to rely on luck and logic to escape before she's killed or worse. Chapter Summary: It's hardly been a year since Lea's abduction and destruction of her own humanity. In a new city, with a new name and a new job, Lea is trying to start anew. However, despite the best efforts of B.S.A.A.'s witness protection program, Lea has been found and kidnapped. By the time she comes to, she's in an unfamiliar place with a strange device strapped to her wrist. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Lea's not alone and joins Claire and Moira to escape this new nightmare. Warnings: insecurity, feeling inhumane, kidnapping, forceful injection of sedatives, guns, killing, being burned heavily, and panic attacks.

Welcome back, Dearhearts! So I know this is a week late. Sincerely speaking, I just lost track of the weeks. But at least I'm caught up to where I was in the original fic. We're finally into the Revelations 2 arc! I really hope you enjoy this chapter, I feel so much better about this than how I originally wrote this!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16.

Chapter 13: The Abduction... Again

“Terr- doesn’t have to end with -rism!”

Despite wearing the high-grade earplugs, Lea cringed at how loud the commercial boomed across the party room, which was absolutely filled to the brim with chatty, tipsy people. Well, not only how loud it was, but that the little joke she made during her training shifts as an administrative assistant somehow impressed enough people that it’s now forever immortalized in a B-rated commercial. Lea was just glad that at least her name wasn’t attached to it.

The seventeen-year-old carefully moved around the small, huddled groups. Bumping into a few people, she muttered a few apologies as she continued to the drinks and buffet table. Ignoring the food, Lea went straight for the punch, pouring herself a large cup. After a small sip, she grimaced, realizing it wasn’t spiked.

‘... Well… there goes the one thing I was looking forward to… I mean… that’s if I can even get drunk anymore…’

Spinning on her heel, Lea quickly moved away from the tables and started moving back toward the center of the room, scanning the expanse as she did so. With the colored contacts and pupil correctors in, it made her eyesight worse and thus made her clumsier. It’s to the point that everyone in the office is convinced that Lea is blind but too proud to admit it. The shades she wore all the time certainly didn’t help with that little rumor.

‘... Come on Red… where the fuck are you… I’m literally only here because of you...’

After several minutes of stumbling around, looking like a lost lamb, she found her. The auburn-haired woman was standing somewhat near the massive windows that reached floor to ceiling, making up the entirety of the wall. Lea paused in her steps, noticing the younger woman next to Claire. Both were dressed in casual clothing. The younger woman considerably more so than Claire based on the leggings and shorts and the pink hoodie peaking from underneath the black leather jacket. Lea shot a nervous glance down at her own attire, made up of black slacks, blue and pink patterned plaid button-up, and a heavy brown plaid patterned heavy winter coat.

‘... I am way too dressed up for this…’

Shaking her head, Lea started walking forward, but a vibration against her ribcage stole her attention. Wandering off to a corner, she pulled out her phone from the inner pocket and flipped it open. Lea couldn’t help but smile and release a small chuckle to herself as she read through the newest messages from Jill. Truth be told, she wasn’t expecting anyone from B.S.A.A. to keep in touch with her after she was released, at least aside from keeping tabs on a walking bioweapon. Yet, to her surprise, Chris and Jill gave her their personal numbers and regularly checked in on her. Even Josh kept in touch; however, that was far sparser since he’s currently on leave and visiting his family in South Africa.

‘... If only Dad would be as supportive as they are…’ Lea’s smile faltered as the happy, buzzing feeling in her chest soured.

‘... No, that doesn’t matter… he doesn’t matter right now…’ Shaking her head, Lea refocused her attention on the text from Jill.

Jill: hey! hows terrasave treatin u! breakin any doors or mugs yet lol

Lea playfully rolled her eyes and rapidly pressed the buttons until she had a massive paragraph. She pressed a button a second later and deleted it all before starting over. After a moment, Lea felt satisfied with the message and pressed send.

Lea: its been fine so far. red’s nice, i can definitely see how chris rubbed off on her. dont judge me but yes i already nearly got my head stuck in the wall like a week ago red still hasn’t stopped teasing me about it :( though more mortifying is how my dumb little joke during my interview is in the fucking commercial now

Jill: bullshit

Lea: look it up yourself you have that fancy shmancy smartphone

When the messages went silent, Lea pocketed the phone and looked up. Her eyes widened in shock at how much more cramped the room appeared with the new influx of people. Gently pushing her way back toward the center, apologizing to the random people she bumped into on the way. Once again, Lea’s eyes darted around the room with frantic energy. After what felt like an irritatingly long time, Lea found Claire again, who was still with the short, messy, brown-haired younger woman. The younger woman looked down at her smartphone with an angry, contorted face. And while Lea wouldn’t call herself an expert on lip-reading, she had no doubts the young woman was cursing somebody out.

‘... Well… not my circus… not my monkeys…’ Lea thought as she pivoted on her heel. Before she could take another step to find a private spot for the remainder of the party, a loud cathunk noise went off. The party room went completely dark. All of Lea’s senses of danger went off. She ripped off her shades and pulled out the earplugs. Lea winced at the barrage of noise from panicked chattering from everyone in the room. Forcing herself to ignore the auditory assault, Lea focused on her senses. Eyes darting toward every source of sound and every flicker of light in the room.

The shattering of the windowpanes silenced everyone. Then, the blinding white flash led them all to an uproar. Lea winced at the sight, quickly snatching the shades from her pocket and shoving them back on. Lea lifted her gaze and froze. Several armed soldiers stood on the broken glass, advancing. Distantly, Lea was aware of the masses pushing past to the exit. Lea couldn’t move from her spot as the panic rose. Her eyes locked on the back of Claire’s head. Lea couldn’t properly hear what she was saying over the panicked yelling around her.

A shot rang out, and Claire’s body fell, then the other girl’s. Lea stared, eyes locking with the fallen bodies. The panicked shouting gradually grew quieter as more shots rang out and were replaced with the sounds of fallen bodies. Lea wanted so badly to move, to run away, yet her legs were frozen solid. A metallic glint caught her eye. Her eyes locked with the syringe.

Finally, it was like her body was unlocked. Lea’s hands shot up to the soldier’s hand, twisting it until a sickening crunch filled the silence. Her hands snaked behind his head, slamming it into her knee. Over and over until she felt him go limp and silent. Lea snapped her attention towards the sound of running. Before the next soldier could reach her, Lea lifted her leg and swung it down at the man’s neck, akin to a baseball bat. Without wanting to give the others a chance, Lea turned, intent on escaping.

In a second, an ungodly eardrum rupturing explosion alongside a blinding white light rang out. The next, Lea was on her stomach, mouth open in a silent scream. Lea could feel her body sizzling and melting away from the still-ignited bits of polymer particles. Nothing she had felt before compared to the absolute agony she felt now. Distantly, she was aware of the heavy footsteps walking toward her from behind. She couldn’t see who it was or even turn her head back to see if she wanted to. The sharp sting of the syringe being carefully inserted into her jugular barely registered among the agony of her body’s viral healing factor desperately trying to stitch itself back together.

Lea was almost grateful for how quickly the sedatives took over. Masking the pain, her senses blended and faded as the deep, dreamless black void took over.

With a sharp inhale, Lea’s eyes shot open. With a shuddering exhale, she pushed herself up from her crumpled position on the bare, freezing prison floor. Eyes fluttering shut, bringing her hands up to rub at them. Blearily blinking the lingering sedative away, Lea’s eyes roamed the cell’s contents, which were absolutely nothing.

‘... So… first thing first… they took my contacts, earplugs, and shades…’ Lea’s eyes trailed down to her body, dressed in plain white pants and a long-sleeve t-shirt instead of the charred remains of her old clothes. She ran her hands up her back and under her shirt, feeling for the burns that should have been there. There was barely a sign that her back was damn near completely melted off, only the irregular texture covering from neck to tailbone.

‘... Secondly… whoever took me not only took all of my shit… but also fixed me up for some fucking reason…’

Lea half growled, half hissed under her breath. She lifted her hand to brush through what remained of her charred hair but paused at the sight of a bright green glow. Her red eyes locked with the metal bracelet locked around her left wrist. The longer she stared at the contraption, labeled seven, the faster she felt her breathing rate pick up, the more she noticed that the green glow morphed into orange. Lea tore her eyes away from it, forcing herself to stand despite her wobbly legs.

‘... Shit… need to get out of here right the fuck now…’

Lea stumbled forward and wrapped her hands around the cell door bars. But a loud buzzing noise rang out just before she could brute force break the lock. To her surprise, the cell door slid open completely. No living dead or monsters running in to tear her apart. No unhinged bioterrorists to stick her with more insanely potent sedatives. Lea tentatively poked her head out, observing the decrepit hallway of cells to her left and the stairway to her right. Nothing. She went to step outside her cell but paused momentarily, looking in the direction of the bright fluorescent lights past the stairway. Lea’s gaze fell to her sleeve.

‘... Fuck it…’ She bit at the top of the sleeve and tore at it until there was a long enough hole to rip it off. Slipping it off, Lea wrapped it around her eyes and tied it off.

‘... Somehow I can actually see through this fairly well… Convenient…’

Lea left the cell and started up the stairs. After just a few steps, though, Lea stilled as her ears picked up on movement from below. Two pairs of footsteps moving on something fragile, then jumping. Those footsteps made their way to a ladder and started ascending. Lea’s eyes widened as she realized that whoever they were, they were coming for her. Lea pressed herself against the wall, slowing her breathing down until it was barely audible. As soon as the two strangers reached the top, they broke out into a light jog. Just as they were about to turn the corner, Lea jumped out, ready to do whatever she needed to survive. But as soon as the teen jumped out, she stilled, then sagged in relief at the sight of Claire.

“I am so fucking glad that you’re alive.” Lea said in a breathy tone, leaning over with her hands against her knees.

“What the fuck?” The other woman from the party flatly said. Lea cocked her head to the side quizzically. “This…?” The young woman gestured around the eyes.

“Oh! That! Uh…" Lea’s gaze flitted between the two, brain shorting out on any plausible reason why she blindfolded herself without revealing too much. “... I have bad migraines, and lights are a trigger. My shades, and everything else it looks like, disappeared so, next best solution?” Lea awkwardly explained, bringing a hand up to her head, hunching over to make herself seem smaller. When Lea slightly angled her head up to sneak a peek, neither woman looked convinced. “It’s also a really long story that isn’t really useful right now. Wanna know what is useful? Getting the fuck out of here!” Lea quickly turned in her step and started her ascent.

A loud shriek rings out, immediately followed by a crash. Instinctively, Lea spun around, took hold of the pair, and pressed against the nearest wall.

“Did you hear that?” Claire quietly asked, now standing still next to the blonde. Lea was glad at that moment that her eyes were covered, as she was sure if they weren’t, her eyes would be bugging out of her skull. Claire still held an inquisitive look in her eyes, and Lea couldn’t help but feel that the redhead was asking her to use her enhanced hearing.

“Is there someone else in here?” The other girl asked, not hiding the quiver of fear in her voice. Lea briefly turned to the pixie-haired girl, shushed her, and turned back toward where the noise had come from. Whoever had made the shriek and crashing noise was still running from the assailant, but they were much further away. A safer distance away. Far enough away that neither of the others could hear them anymore.

‘... But how do I explain that without revealing I’m a monster to the other chick…?’

“I think we’re safe for now. Whoever that was, more importantly, whoever was chasing her, is far enough ahead.” Lea really hoped her explanation was vague but informative enough that she wouldn’t be questioned.

“Shouldn’t we help them?” The brunette asked, the same quiver of fear still in her tone. Lea couldn’t help but feel as if the tone was also judgmental, but she genuinely couldn’t tell if it was truly there or if she was imagining it.

“If we come across any survivors, Moira, we’ll help them as best we can.” Claire placated, taking point and moving past the two. “We don’t know who took us or what’s out there. We have to be careful.” In contrast to Moira’s, Claire’s voice was level and calm, much to Lea’s surprise. At least until it hit her that this was Claire’s third time in a situation like this.

The scene the three met as they reached the top of the stairs didn’t ease any concerns, as the walls, floor, and the knocked-over trolley were splattered with dark bloodstains. Thankfully, the bloodstains were clearly old by the near-brown color and how it flaked to the touch. Unfortunately, it was still an omen of what was to come. The path ahead was blocked, but there was an open pathway to the right and a door to the left that could be explored.

Lea gently eased the creaky door open and immediately gagged as the stench of death wafted out. The room was relatively bare, except for the table in the center and the body on top of it. The corpse was punctured with several hooks, and the tarp that covered it was soaked with blood, and who knew what else. Lea could hear shuffling noises behind her.

‘... It’s fine… It’s either Claire or Moira… Don’t be so fucking hyper-vigilant…’ Lea told herself, forcing herself not to tense or react to the noise.

“Oh my God, what the fuck.” Moira exclaimed, taking several steps backward and gagging at the scent of decay. Meanwhile, Lea stepped into the room, keeping her eyes on the corpse the whole time. An urge to lift the tarp and to look at the undoubtedly mangled corpse tickled the back of Lea’s mind, but she forced herself to ignore that urge. Instead, she walked past it and up to the cracked glass panel. The glass was already damaged enough that there was a small hole at the source of the cracks. It wouldn’t take much more to break it completely. Lea lifted her fist briefly, intent to smash a bigger hole, but froze.

‘... Even with how damaged it is… it isn’t normal for humans to just punch it further… plus I could hurt myself more…’

Lea walked back toward the doorway, sticking her head out.

“Hey,” Lea called out, her voice still hushed. Claire and Moira didn’t take long to come around the corner. Lea’s eyes were immediately drawn to the rather large knife in Claire’s hand and the flashlight in Moira’s.“I think I found a way to the other side. Come on.” Lea cocked her head back toward the interior of the room.

“Through the fucking goddamn SAW torture chamber? No thanks, not happening.” Moira rambled out, clutching the flashlight closer to her chest.

“I don’t wanna go through there either, so unless you got a better way,” Lea shrugged and dipped back into the room. She could hear Moira groaning behind her as she reluctantly followed. Lea dramatically waved a hand before the cracked glass panel and stepped back as if it were a grand reveal at an auction. “Voila!”

Claire walked up, reared back with the butt of the knife, and in one swift motion, drove it through the glass. An avalanche of glass shattered and littered the ground. Claire hopped over to the other side without waiting another second, with Lea and Moira quickly following.

The other side of the room had more clutter but was still fairly bare bones. There were some knocked-over chairs and what appeared to be a table, some shelving, and oddly enough, a desk and chair neatly beside the exit door.

‘... That better be unlocked already… I don’t know how to pick locks… and I’d really don’t want to fucking Hulk-Smash the door open…’ Just as Lea started walking toward the door to test its lock, Claire mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. Quickly pivoting and walking back to the older woman, Lea could see the anger emanating from Claire’s shoulders as her eyes ran over the dirtied yellow slip of paper. Lea reached up, hesitated, and repeated that process until she finally forced herself to tap the redhead gently on the shoulder. Claire briefly looked up to where Lea’s clothed eyes were before handing the slip over.

“We are definitely going to have to be careful.” She said before walking past Lea and over to Moira, who was currently rummaging through the desk drawers. As Lea’s eyes scanned the paper, she quickly understood why Claire was fuming.

Rules For Monitoring Test Subjects

Those participating in the experiments must observe the following rules:

The test subjects must be monitored 24 hours a day.

Monitor the sensor for any changes; log its status every 10 minutes.

Dispose of any subject signs of abnormality immediately.

Lea let the slip of paper fall to the ground as her eyes locked with the metal wristband wrapping tightly around her wrist, now glowing a deep amber color.

“Not again…” Lea hissed, trying her best to keep her voice down as she could feel her veins burn, her limbs tremble, and an odd and wrong sensation of something crawling underneath her skin washed over her.

#resident evil #dragged into the blood #original characters #claire redfield #moira burton #jill valentine #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link

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ill-rip-myself-apart · 3 years

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FREAK - FRANK MORRISON X READER

*female reader

*Race Neutral

*TW ; small descriptions of gore, yandereish frank, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of anxiety and severe fear. Minors DNI

The days were winding down quickly, almost taunting you of what's to come. The cold month of February usually brought on the most snow in your little town. The population nothing more than 6000 people, although as the years went on it seemed like the number grew small and smaller. Part of you wondered if your whole town would cease to exist at one point. As if some entity would bring it down.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, moving away from the mirror in the bathroom you shared with your uncle. It's design was rather drab and plain, just how Charlie liked it although it'd be weird if it was any other color at this point. You have grown custom to the old scenery within your home. It was comforting.

You grabbed your dirty clothes off the floor, chucking them into wicker basket by the sink, making your way towards the door you were greeted with your uncles face. His bushy brows were raised.

"You'd just take a shower?"

"Yeah I did, don't worry I turned on the fan."

"Good, I don't need the room to be all steamy while I'm taking a shit."

You backed out of the bathroom with a snort, your uncle was always frank. No filter on that mouth of his but it was part of the charm. With a sigh you started heading towards the kitchen. It was just 10 minutes past 9 and the clouds were already in the sky, blocking any and all sunlight that dared shined today. It was never any match for the heavy clouds of rain or it's friends that consist of snow and fog. Chilly temperatures that seeped through your skin and past your bones, hitting you where it hurt most.

You washed your hands at the sink, looking out the window where it showed nothing the endless trees and hills of snow. These trees stretched out for miles, escalating till they reached the top of Ormond. The largest mountain in Canada. Surrounded by a backwater town no one ever heard of.

Every branch was weighed down by the white sparkling powder, it looked beautiful but beyond the shadows something sinister lurked. Creeping by in the dawn of wake, at least that's what the rumor was.

"Tomorrows the 14th, you think your admirer is gonna come again?"

Charlie's tone was nothing short of being playful but to you? The question felt like a itch that couldn't be scratched.

You dreaded thinking about this, cause you asked yourself the same question. Would they come again? Whoever they were and why?

About two years ago, on your birthday you woke up to a rather unsettling sight. It was a cold December morning (just for the sake of the story, pretend your birthday is in December) you looked outside your window from the second story of your house and what you saw was shocking. In the snow was a red heart. Maybe you think it's for someone else but it couldn't be when your name was right underneath it.

Only two questions ran through your head, one, how did this person know your name? And two, what was the red liquid? Was it paint? Food dye? Blood?

You feared the answer to either question but not as much when it happened again on Valentines Day, after that it happened again on your next birthday, same with valentines day. Just your recent birthday is when it seemed to stop, but you couldn't be so sure. It bugged you to no end that this person knew your name, your birthday and where you lived. Everyday felt like a checklist, lock the doors, scout the front yard, look behind your back... This anxiety of being watched was eating you alive and felt like everyone was mocking you. Your uncle somewhat seriously but mainly thought it was just teenage doings. Your friends saw it as a romantic gesture, instead of a threat or personal attack, and the police? They thought you were insane. It was frustrating, no one took you seriously and you starting to doubt everything yourself at this point. Trauma does that to you.

"y/n? You okay kid? You're kinda out of it."

Your eyes darted to your uncles, he stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room. It felt cold and dark, you started tugging on your shirt sleeves. The black fabric brought a certain comfort to your hands. Nodding, you turned to look at him.

"Yeah, no I'm okay. Still waking up a little."

Your voice waivers, he can tell your on edge. You and Charlie had a close bond, so he picked up on your moods rather quickly. His forehead creased, a sympathetic look crossed his features.

"Your still thinking about it, huh?"

You nodded, arms folding over your chest. That feeling of being watched crept back up, you felt exposed.

"Well, maybe it's a kid from your school? I wouldn't assume the worst y/n. That's a bad way of thinking."

He could be right, it'd make the most sense. Maybe you were negative, maybe it was the anxiety you had since you were little, maybe it was the excitement, nothing ever really happens here in Ormond. Deep down this could be just you wanting something more in life. You tried to calming yourself down, a deep sigh rustling out of you.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I don't know, it just feels weird."

You decided maybe some food will settle your stomach, you went to the cabinet and pulled out some bagels. Ready to start your Saturday the best you could.

The clock had just striked 8 o'clock, by now it was dark out and your uncle wouldn't be home for an another hour so you were left to your own devices. The snow was falling rapidly on the ground, an inch already covering your yard. It looked feathery and light. The cold air perfectly whispy as the wind roared on, leaving the pine trees to shake in their wake. They looked like a puppet show, each tree black as silhouettes, covered by the dark night. It was a new moon tonight, something you could of enjoyed if your fear hadn't been eating you alive.

You really did try to take your mind off of things but it wasn't easy. Your mind wasn't one to rest, you overthink a lot and this was something that couldn't possibly pass by you or your mind.

Currently you were curled up on the couch, huddled into a ball with a warm blanket, the t.v. was playing in the background but it felt like it was static to you. All you could do was sit and stare, checking windows and the front door every other hour. The darker the night got, the more your anxiety burned. Your stomach felt like a hollow hole, your chest was heavy. Each beat of your heart felt like the seconds ticking by, almost as if it was racing against the clock. All you wanted was this night to be over.

Ten minutes passed and that's when things started happening, you looked to the left of you where one of the large windows sat. Next to an old bookcase that was adorned with nicknacks and thick books, all of which you read through. Your E/C eyes darted to the window and nearly fell out of your seat. You could of swore you saw a figure. Tall and broad shoulders, a gray hood, covered with a Navy blue jacket.

You could practically feel the bile climbing up your throat. It burned at your esophagus, fear had rattled your heart, leaving it to drum against your ribcage. The stuttering of your breath could of been mistaken for how cold you were, but it was fear.

Rushing to the window you plastered your hands against the glass, the cold caused your warm hands to tingle yet you felt like you were on fire. Your skin was hot and flushed, you wanted to rip off your hoodie.

Frantic orbs scanned the perimeter, seeing nothing but the long lines of trees and and darkness. We're you dreaming? Did your anxiety get that bad to the point you were seeing things? Your legs felt jittery, weak almost. Like they buckle at any moment.

Footprints, you could see footprints that tracked in the snow. Leading to the backyard. Quick to connect the dots, the back was a view you could see from your bedroom. Not that it was much different, the area was heavily wooded but that wasn't the only standing factor. The backyard was usually the place your so called "admirer" left their messages. They were here, you had caught them in the act!

Well, not really. Granted you were still in the house, sitting on the floor as your skin ignited with heat. You ripped off the heavy garment before tossing it to the side, left in a black T-shirt with a skirt and stockings, the cold wooden floor was definitely soothing but it didn't help ease any of your fear nor lessen the feeling of nausea twisting in your stomach.

They were here, you knew that much. You weren't crazy, or imagining things. The fear was real, which made it all the more worse.

With a quick dash, you found yourself in the kitchen raiding one of the drawers. Pulling out a rather sharp kitchen knife. You spotted yourself in its reflection. Wide, shakey eyes darted in every possible direction, seeing if they caught up with you in the home. Did they know you were here? Or did they think you were asleep? So many different possibilities ran through your head. It felt like a rush, your brain made everything feel woozy. The bile was practically in your mouth, your heart was burning.

Above every option you thought about, the one that seemed to make the most sense was to go outside. A scratch that you've been dying to itch for so long. Finally you could know who this person might be, with baited breath you tucked your knife into your side, buried in your skirt before grabbing some slip ons, facing the dark truth. Once and for all.

The cold air was like a shockwave. Instantly your skin was covered in goosebumps. A chill sinking into your flesh, hitting you where it hurts the most. But you continued on, across the street was your neighbors house. All the lights were off which meant they had been asleep, pale lights from the street lamps flickered on and off. A few moths circled around each pole. The snow had stopped completely and you felt alone. It was desolate on your street and your not sure how to feel about it.

You found yourself following the trail of Muddy footsteps, whoever this person may be, they definitely weren't clean. The tracks in the snow were large, gritty. They must be wearing boots. That definitely didn't help the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You stopped, there was it was. The red heart in clean white snow. It was splattered almost perfectly. Crimson red deep in icy thickness. The letter "I" Was before the heart and after it was the letter "U". I love you. Underneath it all? There layed your name ever so delicately, as if it was written with care. You swallowed the vomit in your mouth. You felt raw.

There was no mistaking what the color could possibly be. Too thick to be paint and too dark to be food dye. That was blood, the crimson color always ran deep, all of this felt surreal. You had to be dreaming, this wasn't real. You were imagining it all, why would anyone do this? The fear was getting to you, distorting all of your vision. Black dots floated around your vision as your breath slowed. We're you dying? Or are you gonna pass out? You couldn't tell. All you could feel was a blanket of nerves draping over you, collapsing into the snow, your whole body felt light. It was so warm yet so cold, and soft. God was the snow always this soft?

Wait, no you shouldn't fall asleep here. What's that saying? Don't fall asleep in the snow unless you never plan to wake up? But how could anyone resist? You felt ethereal. Like a bunch of morphine had been injected in your system and it was taking it's course.

Before your eyelids were too heavy, all you saw was your vision spinning slowly. The dark sky was perfect in your view, an ocean of stars reflecting with the crystal snow. Every bit of fear had left your body but deep in your psyche you were still scared. The fear was hidden away from the heavy feeling in your body. You were too tired to do anything.

A masked man had came into your view, peering down at you with heavy breathing. The mask had been a simple design, two eyes with a smile. It looked dirty and worn, multiple scratches had craved deep in its plastic interior. A swipe of blood across that mouth. What stood out the most was a tattoo along this persons neck, you feel like you've seen it somewhere. Maybe it was a dream? But before you could figure it out, your eyelids gave out. Only left with hearing the last thing your heard before you slipped into the abyss of darkness was heavy breathing and the sigh of your name.

Authors note ;

So I finally posted something 👉🏻👈🏻🥺, the ending is rather vague so you can imagine how the scenario might of ended, as always if you wish this to be written in either a different gender reader (male, female, non-binary, demis, I mean any and all) or maybe race specific just shoot me a pm! I hope you like it lol, I spent like three days on this and tumblrs formatting is kinda weird compared to wattpad so forgive me if I did this wrong lol.

#dbd #deadbydaylight #dbdxreader #frank morrison #frank morrison x reader #the legion #the legion dbd #the legion x reader #i just had to write about him #i plan on doing susie next since shes best girl 🥴

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vilevampire · 3 years

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“Falling Apart” (One Shot)

Thank you @reesiereads for helping me beta read/edit this. Ily <3 Rating: Teen and up audiences Trigger Warnings: Self-harm, cutting, gender dysphoria, transphobia, deadnaming Pairing: Louie Duck x B.O.Y.D Summary: Boyd uncovers Louie's most well-kept secrets. 2.110 words Ao3 Link

Louie stared at himself in the mirror.

He was the same height as his brothers.

He had the same face as them.

They shared the same eyes.

The same feathers.

The same bill.

He moved his attention over to his hair.

It was short now, but it hadn't always been.

He reminisced about the time he got his first haircut years ago. He vividly remembered the rush of adrenaline that came over him one night. But most of all, he remembered that feeling. That disturbing, nauseating feeling of wrongness.

The same feeling he always had whenever he looked at himself in the mirror.

That was the first time he had recognized that feeling, and it was the reason he decided to cut his hair on a whim. It brought him some temporary relief, but…

He shook the memories away, looking at the other parts of his body and shuddering.

It was wrong.

Nothing was missing, per se.

Everything was in its proper place.

All of his limbs were still intact.

His five senses were all still working, too.

And, yet, something was wrong.

Deeply, irrevocably wrong.

A recurrent, nauseating feeling of despair engulfed him.

He closed his eyes forcefully and grasped the knife in his pocket. The familiar handle was the only thing helping him maintain his connection with reality. He opened his eyes again, staring over at himself one last time.

This time, he couldn't stop the tears from flowing out.

—————

A big family dinner; they had those fairly often.

Sometimes Uncle Scrooge would be too busy, or Uncle Donald would be working overtime, but they still tried their best to reserve some time off for spending quality time with their family. And with Christmas right around the corner, the mood was bright and merry. Even Louie was feeling pretty good, all things considered.

He enjoyed the time spent with his family, the holiday cheer and (best of all) the presents that came along with it.

Plus, he got to stuff himself with food.

It was the first time in a while that he actually looked forward to something.

This time, Huey had invited his friend Boyd over for dinner.

Louie had been friends with Boyd for a couple of weeks now, and in all honesty, he was crushing hard on him. Boyd was sweet, caring, and adorable. Somehow, he could always tell whenever Louie was feeling down and helped him cheer up. He laughed at all of his jokes, broke into the most beautiful smiles, knew about all kinds of amazing things; and gave the best hugs. Plus, he was a super cool technologically advanced android.

It was no wonder Louie fell for him in a matter of days.

Despite being Huey's best friend, Boyd got along just as well with the rest of his siblings. Right now, they were discussing the possibility of spending Christmas together this year.

"I would love to," Boyd admitted. "But I really want to spend the holidays with mom and dad this year."

Louie shuddered at the mention of the Drakes.

"Understandable." Huey nodded. "Let's see, maybe you can come over again after the holidays?" Huey shot a questioning glance at Della and Donald, who looked over at Scrooge, who was currently busy reading the newspaper.

"Hm? Yeah, yeah whatever." He gestured vaguely, most of his attention still on the paper.

The kids all cheered.

"Wait, can I invite Lena and Violet too?" Webby spoke up abruptly. "We can make it into a sleepover! I'm sure Lucy would appreciate having more girls to hang out with as well, right Lu?"

Louie bit down painfully on his tongue. None of the people at the table noticed his pain, however. The only thing they saw was Louie offering them a sweet smile. "Yeah, sure."

Once again, they turned to Uncle Scrooge in search of approval… with no response. It seemed he wasn't listening, so Donald pulled the newspaper out of his hands. "This is the first time in weeks we're getting to spend time together with the whole family and you keep looking at that newspaper! Can't you at least talk to them a bit?" Donald hissed.

He was a family man through and through.

Scrooge huffed, a sour expression on his face. "That's because ye haven't seen what's on it! The sheer amount of baloney they can fit in a page is insanity!"

Donald raised an eyebrow, straightening up the paper to read what was on it.

"...Transgender activism?"

Louie's heart stopped. His fork slipped out of his hands and onto the plate. He stuck his hands inside his pockets. Nobody noticed this though, for they all had their eyes set on Scrooge now. Even Della stopped devouring her food to look around the table for the first time.

"Yeah, whatever ye wanna call it." Scrooge rolled his eyes. "It's just a bunch ah crybabies, that's what they are."

Louie closed his eyes forcefully, trying not to freak out.

"Back in the day, we didn't have any of that garbage." Another scoff. Another stab of pain in Louie's heart. "I mean, love whoever you wanna love and be whatever you wanna be, but this is just too much—"

Louie pushed back from the table.

Eyes all around turned on him at that moment.

He didn't care.

All he wanted was to run away.

"Sorry, I'm… on that time of the month." He lied through his teeth. That was his go-to excuse for when he needed some time alone.

It always worked.

Without saying anything else, he stormed out of the dining room without looking back. Had he only stayed for a minute longer and listened to the conversation, he would have heard his friends and family scolding Scrooge over his ignorance.

But he didn't.

Instead, he ran up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom.

—————

Louie made a cut.

It was swift but precise, yet not at all deadly. His breathing turned haggard from the pain. His body ached, begging him to stop. Instead, he simply made another one, drawing patterns on his skin.

He never learned any kind of self-defense techniques, but he was still as skilled as a butcher with his knife. His whole mind focused on the sharp pain that seared around his arms and wrists in bloody lines.

It put him at ease.

Suddenly, quick steps resounded down the hallway.

Louie immediately covered his arms back under his sleeves. Sweating bullets, he tried to hide away the knife inside his pockets as well, but the door burst open before he had the chance to.

Boyd's android eyes easily caught a glimpse of the blade Louie was trying to hide. He stared down at Louie, completely horrified.

"Lucy, you—"

"Go ahead and judge me!" Louie cut him off before he could finish speaking. "I don’t care what you think of me."

That was a lie. It was a lie and he knew it.

He cared far too much about what Boyd would think now that he knew about one of his secrets.

But he couldn't afford to show it.

Louie closed his eyes forcefully, afraid of seeing the expression on Boyd's face.

He already knew what he would find anyway.

Shame.

Disappointment.

Disgust.

A familiar, nauseating feeling of fear ran through Louie's entire being. He tried to stop his body from shaking but found that he wasn't able to. At first, only silence reigned. Louie had no idea what Boyd was doing or if he was even still in the room.

Suddenly, he felt something cold touch him.

Boyd had pulled him into a hug.

"I’m so sorry." He sounded devastated. "I’m sorry I couldn't notice your pain sooner."

Boyd's metallic arms wrapped around him felt much more comfortable than he thought it would.

Louie tried to hold back his tears and failed.

Slowly, what were only supposed to be quiet sobs, increasingly grew into louder and louder crying that reverberated throughout the whole room.

"I—"

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to say anything. You don't have to explain yourself or justify your actions. And you don't have to tell me what you're going through if you don't want to." The more Boyd spoke those gentle words to him, the more Louie could feel his heart rate peacefully go down. "I love you, you're my friend, and I'm here for you whenever you need me."

Just when Louie's weeping had started to diminish, another wave of tears burst from his eyes and onto Boyd's shoulders. He couldn't bring himself to say anything, so he simply hugged Boyd back and let the warm tears flow down his face.

Eventually, Louie pushed him away. He rubbed his face, trying to get rid of any signs of tears. That would be impossible since his eyes were red and puffy from the crying, but he did the best he could anyway.

"Um, Lucy? Can I ask you something?"

Louie nodded.

"Why are the bandages out of the cabinet? And why does your breathing sound… constricted?"

Louie's heart stopped.

He forgot about the bandages.

"I… injured myself." it was the best lie he could come up with on the spot.

Boyd might have actually believed that if it weren't for the fact that he was a highly sophisticated robot with more than enough capacity to determine whether somebody was injured or not.

He carefully scanned the room. There were no traces of blood anywhere, nor did Louie seem to be in pain; maybe only mild discomfort. Since he couldn't see any bandages wrapped around Louie's cuts on his arms either, he guessed that they must have been concealed by the hoodie.

Boyd's eyes widened as he connected the dots.

"Hey, by any chance are you… binding your chest?"

Louie's heart dropped to his stomach.

He couldn't answer, but that was enough confirmation for Boyd.

"That's… not good." Boyd started saying, and Louie steeled himself for rejection.

But it didn't go the way he expected it to.

"If you bind unsafely, you could severely damage your ribcage. You should only use professional binders that you can order online."

Louie stared at him in shock.

"...Or are you not actually binding? Did I get that wrong?"

Louie almost caught himself nodding to that subconsciously before he could stop himself.

He was used to lying.

He had been doing it his entire life.

He was good at it, too.

But…

He looked up and down at Boyd, who was still waiting for his answer.

"Hey, can you keep a secret?"

He decided to trust him.

A part of himself was panicking inside of his mind. It was scary, new, terrifying. He hated going through situations where he couldn't safely predict the results. But another part of himself knew this was probably the right thing to do. This part of himself was tired of hiding, tired of lies and tricks.

Goddammit, he just wanted to be accepted for who he was.

Why was it so difficult?

Boyd nodded at him. "Of course. I won't tell anybody."

Louie fiddled with his knife, building up his courage to speak up. "I'm trans," He hesitated. "and I prefer… I prefer to go by Louie, actually."

He did it.

He said those words out loud for the first time.

He told somebody about his true identity.

"That's… amazing, Louie. I'm so proud of you." Boyd offered his sweetest smile. "Have you told your family yet?"

Louie shook his head. "You're the first one I'm telling."

"Really? I'm glad you felt like you could trust me." Boyd blushed a little. He really did seem happy about it. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

For some reason, Louie felt like he was telling the truth.

Louie couldn’t remember when the last time he felt this comfortable around somebody else was. Most of all, he was just glad to be able to get that off his chest.

"Actually, can I ask you something as well?" Louie brought up suddenly. He had been curious about something for a while now.

"Of course Louie, you can ask me anything."

Louie felt euphoric, not only at the mention of his preferred name, but also at Boyd's display of trust.

"...How did you know?"

Boyd blinked innocently. "How did I know what?"

"How did you know I was… cutting?" The last word came out as barely a whisper.

"Oh! Easy. Robot super-hearing." Boyd grinned impishly as he answered.

...Louie made a mental note to never underestimate Boyd again.

In the future, he would have to come out to the rest of his family.

That wouldn't happen today though.

He made progress. For now, this was enough.

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ymbly · 3 years

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Sanders Sides Fan Fic: Switched

Chapter 1/?

AN: This chapter follows quite close to the first episode of the show, but as the fic goes on it will go a bit more out on its own

Three.

There were three.

Apathy, Pride, Judgment.

Logan, Roman, Patton.

Dark, evil, ‘Dark Sides’.

Three.

There were three.

Caution, passion, self preservation.

Virgil, Remus, Janus.

Light, good, ‘Light Sides’.

One.

Thomas.

Thomas Sanders.

His role in this was more confusing than the world itself.

Sides.

Strange beings with much of them unknown.

All of which wore the same face.

Each with their own color the rainbow.

The one thing that made each unique.

Things had been unchanged for decades. Everybody had their roles. Their part to play. Their domain of Thomas’ psyche.

They each had something to do. A job that never changed. Perhaps that’s why several were growing bored of their current lives.

---

----

---

A web series wasn’t exactly Janus’ favorite idea of Thomas. In fact, he heavily disliked the idea of Thomas creating one. Not to mention the fact that the web series was supposed to include the sides in it. Now that, he despised even more. He’d much prefer Thomas to be out pursuing a more traditional path to fame, but what could he do? It’s not like he was the one driving Thomas’ passion.

Virgil wasn’t against the idea by any means, more just the fact that he had to be in it. Being the literal embodiment of caution didn’t exactly help with this by any means. The camera hadn’t even started yet and he already felt like his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage. However, nobody else seemed to notice this since over the years he’d gotten quite good at disguising his fear.

Remus was always excited to do something new, so this was no different. He felt as if there was electricity running through his veins. The kind of excitement mixed with slight anxiety that leaves you feeling drained later but pumped up in the moment.

Thomas had nearly finished the intro, and while there was little script for the sides, they all knew soon would be the time for them all to join in on the conversation.

“I need to have a sit down with myself, figure myself out, and maybe come to a better understanding that we all could learn from. Let’s do this!”

Virgil was the first pop up, oh god why did he have to be first?

“Hey,” Virgil greeted simply as he appeared on screen.

“This is my cautious side,” Thomas began, “My fears, fight or flight, all of that is in his domain. He’s also a constant reminder of my emo phase.”

“Hey-!”

“Hey did you know that one fourth of the bones in your whole body are in your feet?” Remus quickly interrupted as he rose up. Virgil let out a quiet sigh at Remus’ introduction. Could’ve been worse though, so there was that.

Thomas paused for a second before speaking, “This is my passionate side...somehow. Everything that keeps going, and random facts too apparently.”

“Gotta spice things up sometimes, Thomathy,” Remus replied.

“How is a random fact about bones ‘spicing things up’?”

“I’m surprised things aren’t more derailed,” Janus stated as he finally appeared in the room.

“We’re close,” Virgil answered as he eyed Remus. The chaoticness could be annoying, but he didn’t mind it too much usually.

“And finally this is my self preservation,” Thomas started as he went back to his cheerful attitude from before, “Well, not as much in the physical sense, but trying to make sure I get by okay in life…I think,” Thomas attempted to explain.

“He also looks like he stepped right out of Spirit Halloween,” Virgil quietly said under his breath while looking at Janus.

“Says the one who looks like he hasn’t seen a mirror in weeks,” Janus replied.

“Now enough of that, you two can fight when we’re not recording,” Thomas quickly added, breaking off the short argument.

“So what are we doing here anyways?” Virgil questioned.

“Well, people know me from all the Vines I make, but I don’t feel like people really know me know me.”

“Well perhaps they would if you posted YouTube videos more often,” Janus replied.

With a slightly annoyed look on his face, Thomas responded, “Okay, all right, that’s fair,” Thomas quickly started, “But I don’t know if I know me! There’s some things even I need to figure out about my own identity. Like, okay, relationships.”

“A one way ticket to-,” Remus began.

“Let’s not go through that door,” Janus cut in.

“Just gotta find somebody that will accept you for your flaws, I guess,” Virgil adds.

“Everybody does have their own flaws, and you could say that love is about accepting those,” Janus tried to explain.

“Yes, that is definitely important. Flaws and all. Speaking of which-.”

“Are we bringing up flaws now? ‘Cause you have more than -” Remus quickly began.

“Passion, sto-,” Virgil started before being interrupted.

“I believe this would be of interesting conversation,” Janus once again cut in.

“You’re so fucking boring!” Remus said to Thomas.

“You’re often too selfless,” Janus added in.

“You keep changing your path in life, like all the time, way too often,” Virgil finally gets out.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Thomas quickly said after.

“Well, remember everybody does have flaws,” Janus reassured.

“You’ve got good parts about you too, like uh, like you’re alive,” Virgil replied since he couldn’t think of a compliment.

“You aren’t a murderer,” Remus started, “Yet!”

“Excellent compliments, guys,” Janus remarked as he rolled his eyes, “You try your best to get your work done and it shows. There, not that hard.”

“Well, thanks I guess, guys,” Thomas responded.

“It’s hard to think of stuff on the spot, okay?” Virgil attempted to reassure him as he messed with the strings of his hoodie.

“Okay then, what else do I need to figure out?”

“Biggest fear?” Virgil quickly replied without thinking.

“Being boring!” Remus quickly answered.

“What happens after death,” Janus followed.

“What if you were stuck in a state of limbo for the rest of your life-,” Virgil began to reply to his own question as his eyeshadow slightly darkened.

“No, no, we are not talking about fears! I am well aware of those! I am talking about what I need to figure out about myself,” Thomas anxiously interjected.

“Would you eat a clone of yourself if you had no other source of food?” Remus spontaneously questioned.

“Not...not those kinds of questions, Remus,” Thomas replied with a sigh.

“What kind of an impact do you wish to leave on the world?” Janus added, replacing Remus’ question with his own.

With that began the end of the video and Thomas’ speech to the viewer. Virgil felt less anxious than he thought he’d be, Remus felt, well, like Remus, and Janus felt a bit drained but other than that quite good. One by one, they sank out. Virgil, however, couldn’t stop a thought from rattling around the back of his head. What if this series provoked the dark sides?

I don’t write much so it might not be the best but hey I tried

Ao3 link

Edit: Formatting is a little weird because tumblr doesn’t let me do it the way I like

#sanders sides #ts janus #Janus sanders #ts remus #Remus sanders #ts virgil #Virgil sanders #sanders sides au #c!thomas #character thomas #character thomas sanders #sanders sides fic #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #I write stuff #switched au #tw swearing

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redheadedteatotalfanfic · 3 years

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You're the One, the Only (Ch. 1)

Chapter One:

Gina sat in a chair by the window in the front room of her grandparents’ house, trying her best to block out the noise going on behind her. She stared out the window, her mood as gloomy and bleak as the sky outside. She had zero interest in celebrating Christmas now that her Marine wasn't going to be here with her. When Kevin had called home for Thanksgiving, he'd explained how he'd deliberately not requested leave in the hopes that it would make it easier to get approved to come home for Christmas. She'd been fine with that, preferring it to spending time with him at Thanksgiving. He'd called day before yesterday and told her his chances of coming home for the holidays looked nonexistent. Her mood had soured, and she now just wanted to get tonight and tomorrow over with.

She had kept to herself despite her family's best efforts to cheer her up. She spoke when spoken to, but gave short perfunctory answers, and avoided looking at pictures and talking about favorite Christmases like her mom's side of the family did every year. She'd do the same tomorrow at her dad's, and hopefully go to bed early to get the day over with as quickly as possible. It wasn't the same without him here. Her only bright spot had come in the mail yesterday as his Christmas gift finally arrived. He'd gotten her the red Marines t-shirt she'd fallen in love with, along with a set of custom dog tags that had black silencers. She had both on today, hoping it would make her feel closer to him, but it hadn't worked. She glanced at her phone in her lap, he had promised to try and call tonight so they could at least hear each other's voice on their favorite holiday. But as the day dragged on it didn't appear that was going to be possible either. They normally talked at least three times a week, but all she'd gotten this week was the very brief phone call to tell her he wasn't coming home. She held out a small sliver of hope that he was saving the call for tomorrow.

A small package landed in her lap, and she looked up to see her little sister standing next to her chair with a cheesy grin. "Open it," she said.

"Not interested," Gina groused, handing it back. Since they were kids, they'd had a habit of opening one gift before dinner, as a way to tide them over until the adults were ready to open presents.

Casey refused to take it. "Trust me," she said. "You wanna open this one. You need what's in it."

With a frustrated sigh Gina ripped the paper open, revealing a packet of kleenex with a funny saying on them. She rolled her eyes and shoved them back into her sister's hand. "Very funny," she growled.

"Okay sourpuss, you don't wanna be nice go make yourself useful and start bringing the deserts in from the back porch," her mom said in the tone all mother's use when tired of their teenager's attitude. "And find a better mood while you're out there, hear me?"

"Gladly," Gina muttered, getting to her feet, and stuffing her phone in her back pocket.

As soon as she stepped into the kitchen Casey shifted to a point where she could see her sister and began providing a play by play for the rest of the family. "Through the kitchen...opening the back door, and..."

There was a muted scream that made everyone laugh and both of Gina's sisters and their mom headed for the porch. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, his around her waist and her own around his neck. She would've stayed that way forever if her family would've let her. She pulled back, and they shared a quick kiss, knowing her grandparents would have issue with more than that. "C'mon, let's get back in the house," her mom said.

"When did you get here?" Gina asked.

"He took a red eye last night, we picked him up at the airport this morning and dropped him off at the hotel," Chris said. "We waited until he got here and got hid on the back porch before Case gave you the kleenex."

"I got a few hours sleep, and went and spent time with my family today," Kevin added. He dropped his tone to a murmur, making sure only Gina could hear him as he entered the house. "I'm all yours until I gotta go back the day after New Year’s."

"Two weeks," she murmured. She was unfazed at knowing he'd elected to spend most of the day with her family instead of his own, he hadn't had the greatest upbringing, and most of them had been furious at his choice to join the military to the point he'd severely limited his contact with them.

"Two weeks," he confirmed. "And a room at our favorite hotel."

She squeezed his hand as they passed through the kitchen and back into the living room. With Kevin here her entire demeanor changed, and she became the giggling goofball that her family knew her to be at this time of year. She sat down in one of the chairs and he sat on the floor in front of her, using her legs as a backrest. It gave them the excuse to touch each other without enduring any teasing.

"I thought for sure you'd cry, it's why I gave you the kleenex," Casey said.

"She called you a crybaby when she bought them," Chris added.

She laughed, unfazed by the ribbing. None of them noticed when her legs shifted so that they were over Kevin’s shoulders, and he had his arms wrapped around them. They made it through dinner, and she was surprised to see the small pile of presents her family had gotten him. She had left her own gift for him in her car and was now looking forward to giving it to him in person later instead of mailing it on the day after Christmas.

She had needed the kleenex when they'd been given identical boxes by her grandmother. "This has been a year in the making, and I had to enlist the help of both families. It should make it a little easier to be separated when he goes back to the base," she'd explained. "And I didn't get them mixed up."

They had each been given a quilt made of the other's t-shirts. What made it extra special was that some of the shirts used had some sort of meaning between the two of them. She didn't know about him, but it would definitely make it easier to sleep once he left again.

During a lull as the night began to wind down, her mom gently pulled her aside. "Don't mention anything about staying with him. Just make it look like you're gonna drop him off at the hotel on your way home, okay? Otherwise, you'll get an earful from them both," she said.

Gina nodded. "I can use needing to pick up his Christmas gift as an excuse," she said. "I'm surprised you're okay with him staying."

"You're nineteen and have your own place, there's not much I can do to stop you. Now you know why I questioned you about doing your laundry yesterday, though I still dunno why you bothered with your underwear," her mom teased.

"Ma!"

----------------

After getting all the gifts loaded into Gina's car and making a quick stop at a gas station to pick up enough snacks to last until the day after Christmas when everything would re-open they headed for the hotel. They pulled up to a stoplight and Gina pulled a small package from the center console, where she'd put it with the intention of mailing it the day after Christmas. She turned on one of the overhead lights and handed him the package. "Merry Christmas baby," she said. "It's gonna seem weird until I explain what it's for, but I promise you'll love it."

Kevin tore into the packaging and unwrapped a set of keys. "Keys?" He questioned. "Keys are usually a good thing."

"Uh huh," Gina agreed. "An incredibly good thing in our case. We're not staying at the hotel for two weeks."

"We aren't? Why?" He asked.

"Remember the pictures I sent of the house I told you my dad was looking at?" She countered.

"Yeah," Kevin said a split second before comprehension smacked him on the back of the head, and his expression changed from confusion to anxious disbelief. "No..."

Gina nodded. "Dad doesn't like the idea of us living in the dorms on campus, so he was planning to lease me an apartment like he did my sister. I don't like the thought of living squished in with other people, and I found this place not too far from school. It's nothing spectacular, but it's ours," she explained.

"Explains why your sister was so adamant about me only booking the room for one night until the two of us went back to the hotel. The last two words you said are all that matters. I don't care what it looks like or what's wrong with it, it's ours," he said. Kevin leaned forward and they shared a kiss just as the light changed. She reached up and shut off the light as they began to move again and he reached over and grabbed her hand, kissing the back of her palm before threading their fingers together. The streetlights allowed him to see her smile, and he sat watching her for the longest time.

She couldn't wait to get to the house and show him the trivial things that she'd yet to tell him about. She'd turned one of the smaller bedrooms into a studio of sorts, where she could write, and he could draw. The master bedroom had an en suite bathroom, and double closets, and she'd sectioned off part of the garage to make a little home gym. They would hit up the supermarket on the twenty-sixth and pick up the last few things needed to turn it from a house into a home.

When they left the hotel after picking up his bags and checking out, she gave up her keys to let him drive, something she knew he enjoyed and likely hadn't done since he left several months ago. She also gave him quick instructions on how to get to the house, smiling when he easily pinpointed the location. As Kevin drove towards the house she unbuckled her seatbelt, wiggled out of her hoodie and stretched out across the center console, pillowing her head on his thigh. Kevin knew she wasn't sleepy; she was satisfying her desire to want to do more than just hold his hand. She covered up with the hoodie, and after giving her a couple of minutes to get comfortable he slipped his hand under it with the intention of curling his arm over her ribcage. His fingertips were met by bare skin, and when his thumb brushed against the lower curve of her breast he realized she'd taken off her bra when she'd gone to the restroom at the gas station. "Touch me," she begged in whisper. "I want you so bad."

Kevin smiled as she voiced her desires, he'd been gently coaxing her to do so ever since their first time. When she'd sheepishly admitted she struggled with it because she was afraid of being laughed at, he'd kissed her forehead and explained that any man that laughed at his girl for telling him he was doing something she liked or didn't like wasn't really interested in pleasing his girl. He let his hand drift up her chest and brush over her soft peaks enjoying the soft moans she made in response. Kevin kept his touch light so that neither of them would get frustrated by having to stop when they got to the house. She growled low in her throat when he withdrew his hand, making him chuckle. "We're less than five minutes from the house," he said.

She fidgeted a moment, readjusting her clothes, and then sat up, wiggling back into the hoodie, and raking a hand through her hair. She decided that when they got home they'd get the car unloaded, she'd give him a quick tour of the house, and then spend the next several hours tangled up in bed. Gina was about to inform him of her plans when she suddenly remembered something she desperately needed to take care of before he saw it.

"I gotta tie up the bathroom a bit, need to shave," she said as they pulled in the driveway. "Haven't been keeping things quite as trimmed as I was before you left."

Kevin smiled, knowing she wasn't talking about her legs. "I packed my straight razor, want me to do it again?" He asked, hitting the button to open the garage door. He pulled in, putting the car in park, and shutting off the engine before turning in the seat to look at her.

She nodded with a smile. He had done it for her one other time, the first time she decided she wanted to go bare. Letting him take care of something so intimate had been an amazing experience, and she'd decided to always take him up on the offer should he ever ask again. "I wanna do what I did last time too, it felt so good afterwards," she said.

They got out of the car and got the bags and gifts from the backseat. Gina led the way inside. She put the snacks on the counter before leading him into the living room where a couple of photos caught his attention. Kevin stopped and looked around, seeing several of his belongings sprinkled throughout the room. "I went to your parents place and picked up all your stuff that your mom boxed up and put in the garage," she said, putting the gifts on the sofa.

His duffel bag slid to the floor and he turned to her with tears in his eyes. She'd done much more than that. Unhappy with his decision, his mom had pretty much kicked him out when he went to boot camp, clearing out his room and relegating his belongings to the garage for him to pick up as soon as possible. Her family had taken him in, to the point that her grandparents treated him like their fourth grandkid. Gina pulled him into a hug, and he silently sobbed in her arms. "Welcome home baby," she murmured.

She cuddled him for a few minutes and decided to forgo the tour for the time being. He needed to stop thinking about his family and the bullshit he'd endured since he made the announcement that he was joining the military. "C'mon, let's go unwind a while and celebrate being together in our new house," she murmured.

Kevin lifted his head and smiled, and they shared a quick kiss before he reshouldered his duffel and followed her towards the bedroom.

#actor fic #you're the one the only

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softboywriting · 4 years

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Welcome To The Pack | Mendes Triplets Series | Part Seven

Summary: You’re a human who has moved in with the Mendes triplets as their newest housemate. You’ll have to learn to navigate life with werewolves, college classes, and your feelings for each guy. [fluff] [tattoos/piercings]

Word Count: 2.2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Peter walks around the house gathering laundry. You and the boys have a set schedule for who does what chores and makes dinner throughout the week. Wednesday is laundry day for Peter. If he doesn't have enough to preoccupy the washer for the day he will collect everyone else's and do it too.

"Hey, got anything you need washed?" Peter asks from your bedroom doorway, basket propped out on his hip. There's a small tattoo on his inner bicep that you can't recall ever noticing before.

"No, I don't. I tossed all my bath towels and stuff down the chute yesterday." You get up and cross the room to grab one of Shawn's hoodies that is laying on your chair. "I have this, but I don't know if it needs washed. Shawn left it in here the other night."

Peter holds the basket out and you drop it in. "What was he in here for?"

"Watching TV. His remote broke and he needs another one." You shake your head. "I think he stepped on it or something."

"Sounds like Shawn."

"Yeah," you chuckle and touch his arm. "When did you get that?"

"The swallow?" He asks, looking down to the small bird on his arm. "About a year ago."

"I never noticed it. It's nice."

"It's our thing." He smiles. "Shawn's got the one on his hand y'know?"

"Yeah! It is the same huh?"

"Exact same. Raul is getting his this week. He has been trying to decide where to get it forever."

"Oh, that'll be fun. Where did he decide on?"

"Ribcage just under his heart. They're a reminder that we're always going to be each other's home even when we fight and want to wring each other's necks. Because the swallow represents love, family and loyalty."

You smile and nod. "That's sweet. I wish I had something that special."

"You do." Peter runs a hand over his hair. "You're part of this pack."

"While I'm here. One day I'll move out though. Besides, I'm not a wolf, and I'm definitely not blood related."

"You're pack forever. You belong here, with us. We don't just call anyone our packmate. You've left your mark on us as much as we have on you." Peter shift the basket on his hip and pushes his glasses up. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not. Not anytime soon." You put your hand on his shoulder. "I promise I won't leave you Peter."

"Good." He grins. "Now follow me, I've got a dryer warm sweatshirt for you if you like."

"A man after my heart."

He shows his fangs, nose scrunching up and lip curling as he lets out a growl. "Definitely. I'm gonna eat it up. Don't you know I'm a wolf?"

"It's all yours." You laugh and he laughs too. It was a joke but...it almost felt like it wasn't. You do truly care for Peter. _____________________

"What are you doing after class?" Raul asks as he steals your french fries at lunch. He's taken you to the diner down the street from the campus for a quick bite. The boys won't let you go anywhere alone after the nightshade incident. Peter is working on getting cameras for the house to detect any further attacks.

"Homework."

"Do you want to go somewhere with me?"

"I'm somewhere now?" You swat his hand away from your fries so you can actually eat some.

Raul disregards your swatting and grabs a handful quickly. "I mean somewhere else dipshit."

"Dipshit? How kind of you. Makes me definitely want to go somewhere else with you."

Raul pinches the bridge of his nose and growls. "Sorry, sorry. I...I'm nervous?"

You raise your eyebrows. Raul, admitting he has emotions other than indifference? Shocker. "About what?"

"My tattoo. I'm getting-"

"The swallow right? Peter told me."

"Yeah."

"You're nervous about getting a tattoo? But don't you have others?"

Raul nods and lifts his jacket sleeve up, revealing the sleeve tattoo you knew was there from the first time you met him. It's a silhouetted forest with the moon shining through the trees and it wraps around his whole arm, the sky decorated with swirls of stars and hues of blue and purple. It's beautiful. You wish you saw it more often, or you could just take the time to really study it. It’s like a painting on his body. Beautiful.

"Isn't that way more painful than a simple swallow?"

"Yeah...but...I sort of got really wasted while I had this one done. I wasn't going to survive hours on end of needle work on my arm sober." Raul tugs his sleeve back down and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't want to do that again either. I don't like myself when I'm drunk."

"So you want me to go with you?"

"Mmhmm. Peter and Shawn are gonna go too, but I thought I'd invite you along. They say the rib cage is painful to get tattooed but it's the only place I want the swallow.”

"Aren't werewolves supposed to be really tough?"

Raul gives you a look. "I have feelings. Things do hurt me still. I'm not superhuman."

"Maybe if you showed those feelings more often I wouldn't think you're different."

"Maybe if people didn't turn on me I would."

You frown, eyes meeting his. "I don't know who's hurt you or what they did but I swear not everyone is like that. I like you Raul, somehow, I do. But you gotta open up."

He growls, holding his head in his hands. "It's hard. Just...can we stop talking about this? I don't want therapy. Are you coming with me to get the tattoo or not?"

"Yes."

"Good. Thank you."

_____________________

Going to the tattoo and piercings place turns into a fiasco. Of course Raul has his appointment scheduled to do the swallow, but his brothers seem to have other plans while you're all there. Shawn doesn't surprise you when he starts looking at the tattoo wall, oohing and awing over several very complicated designs. But Peter looking at the piercings does surprise you.

Raul gets set up in his chair, opting for one that's in the main room instead of a private area. The show off. You walk around and look at all the different stuff the shop does. Everything from first time ear piercings for little kids to photos of detailed tattoos the artists on staff have done. There is one photo on the wall you find familiar. It's Raul's arm, his sleeve tattoo. It's beautiful even in the photo.

Peter chats with a staff member nearby and you walk over to see what he's up to. He is standing at a glass case with several piercings demonstrated on foam models in it. "So it's just in and out then?"

"Yes, nose piercing is very quick." The staff member says smiling softly. She's a tiny little woman, but her blue mohawk makes her look bigger. "I don't have any appointments right now, if you wanna get one I'd be happy to help."

Peter looks to you sheepishly. "Should I get one?"

"Why not? But also, why?" You laugh, looking down at the selection of studs in the case.

"I don't know. Raul and Shawn have so many tattoos and piercings...maybe I could too?"

You lay your hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to be like your brothers. Don't feel like you have to do it just to fit in."

"I know." Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Maybe just my ears? Or one ear? I want to be different. I'm just Peter y'know?"

"Yes, you're Peter." You chuckle. "And for what it's worth I like you just how you are. But if you want to get a piercing because you actually would like it, then go for it. Don't do it just because your brothers have."

"I'll think about it." Peter looks over to where Raul is pulling his shirt off. "Raul looks like he's about to get started. He'll want you there."

"He will?"

"Yeah. Trust me, he's going to cry and he's going to want someone who isn't his brother to hold his hand."

You raise your eyebrows. "Raul?That Raul?"

"Yep. Go on. I'll talk to Shawn about the piercing thing."

You wander over toward Raul and take a seat on a rolling stool on his right side. The artists gets his tools ready and preps Raul's rib cage. Hopefully this won't take long.

The moment the needle gun hits Raul's skin he's baring his fangs, eyes changing to a deep gold color. He has one arm up around the head of the slightly reclined chair for a better angle for the artist. With his other arm he grips the soft cushion of the armrest and you worry about the artists safety as time ticks by..

"Raul, hey," you lay your hand on his arm after a few minutes and he tears his eyes away from the ceiling to look at you. "Relax, take a deep breath."

"I can't," he groans. "I can't or he'll mess up."

The artist pulls back and gives Raul a moment to breath. "Take your time," he says coolly.

Raul has tears in his eyes as he says, "Alright I'm ready, go again." He's most definitely not ready because he rips the arm of the chair up and the artist has to stop to assess the damage.

"We'll cover the repair cost." You say quickly and you take Raul's hand in yours.

"Keep going," Raul growls, breathing heavily before the artist goes back in.

"Please don't rip my arm off," you say half jokingly and Raul shakes his head.

Ten minutes of agonizing silence passes. You just keep holding Raul’s hand and he grinds his teeth. "Maybe if we talked it'd go faster?"

"Can't talk much though. Breathing is hard."

"Okay, okay." You wiggle your fingers against his hand, his death grip absolutely killing you. "I'll talk?"

"Sure, or you can...fuck...can you put your hand in my hair?" He lets out a groan as the artist takes a break to let him breath. "I like my hair played with, it's calming. Please?"

You tentatively reach for his hair with your free hand, fingers carding gently through it. His hair is so dark, at least a few shades darker than Peter and Shawn's. It's thick and soft, no product in it today for sure.

Raul barely flinches when the artist starts to work again. He has his eyes closed, hand gripped tight in yours. "Don't stop," he mutters when you pull your fingers out of his hair. He opens his eyes and they're pure golden brown, like rich honey, and he stares at you, eyes half lidded.

"I wasn't going to," you mutter, eyes going to his lips. They're so soft looking, a little pink and puffy from him chewing on them due to nerves. Your heart skips, the thought of kissing him is suddenly so tempting.

"Keep talking."

"Okay. Your eyes are very pretty like this." He smiles, full on smiles like a bashfully shy boy talking to his crush. "You're doing really well."

"Mmm."

"I think you're almost done." You look down at the artist and he's working on the tail of the bird.

"Your eyes are pretty too."

"Oh yeah? You never showed me what you painted with the color of them."

"Not done."

"Ohh. I see, it's a big project then?" You flex your fingers in his hair. "I bet it'll be incredible. I know you said you don't like when I tell you how good your art is, but it is so good. I love the roses, I hung it in my room."

"Thank you." He groans as the artist finishes and pulls away.

You wipe his cheek and he relaxes, lowering his arm from over his head. "I'm glad I could help."

"I thought you two were going to start making out at one point." Shawn says from a seat behind you.

You turn and he's got his head to the side, laying against a reclined chair while the girl with the blue mo-hawk from earlier is setting up a tray with implements beside him. "You jealous?" You ask jokingly.

"If I was?" Shawn quips.

"Then I guess you'd have to suffer."

Shawn puts his hand over his heart. "You wound me."

"Oh psh."

Peter walks out of a back area and you see him holding a cloth to his face.

"What'd you do Peter?" Raul asks, standing up and gently putting his sweater on.

"Oh shit he did it." Shawn says with a laugh.

Peter gets closer and pulls the cloth away to reveal a black stud in the lower left part of his lip. "What do you think?"

You cover your mouth and let out a giggle. "Its so-"

"Damn Peter." Raul laughs, hand coming down on his brothers shoulder. "Didn't think you had the balls."

Peter shrugs. "I gotta do something crazy some time right?"

"It's nice." You smile, stepping closer and looking at the tiny stud. "I definitely wouldn't have the guts to do it."

"Maybe someday we could get you to get something though," he smiles.

Shawn reaches out for you, flexing his hand. "Hold my hand?"

You take it and he squeezes it while he gets cartilage pierced. You laugh as he groans, grinning into the pain while the employee works quickly to get a stud in. Shawn is such a weirdo. A simple outing turned into such an event. These boys will be the death of you.

———–

End Part Seven

———-

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed this and reblog to support and encourage myself and fellow writers. Next part coming soon! - A

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capaldifiction · 4 years

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Hurt Me Now - Lewis Capaldi x Reader | Request

Paring: Lewis Capaldi x Reader

Word Count: 3,305

Description: Based on this request: “Could you maybe write something angsty with Lewis? Like him and the reader are arguing a lot or something? With a happy ending though if you can.”

I also used lyrics from the song “Hurt Me Now” by Quinn Lewis. The last six months have been rocky for Lewis and Y/N, one final fight leaves them finally needing to make a decision to try to work it out or end things now.

Warnings: Some swearing and angst.

Y/F/N - Your Friend’s Name

“I can’t live like this anymore Y/N,” Lewis states, his anxiety through the roof as he slams his hand down on the countertop. “I can’t live feeling like every argument could be our last. Like one day I’ll come back from tour and you’ll just be gone. I feel like you’re just waiting around for something to happen until you leave me.”

“I-“ Y/N tries to cut in but closes her mouth as he waves his hand at her.

“No, please just let me talk first before you say anything,” he nervously tugs at the collar of his t-shirt that now seems too tight around the neck. “I feel like you have a fucking list somewhere, waiting for me to check certain boxes before you just go. Seven arguments in a week, four night going to sleep without talking, three phone calls hung up angrily. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, or if you even are for sure. I can’t take screaming matches and saying we should give up then going back to ‘normal.’”

“I need to know Y/N, I need to know now,” he continues, his eyes watery as he finally meets her gaze. “If you’re going to hurt me, hurt me now. Don’t pull punches, just tell me, please.”

Y/N looks back at him, her gaze drifting away from him to the floor as she stands in the middle of their family room silently.

“Y/N.”

“I can’t do this,” she finally says before pushing past him heading toward the front door.

“Y/N! Where are you fucking going? Stop avoiding this,” he insists as he follows her to the door. Instinctively has hand reaches out to grab ahold of her hoodie as her hand grips the doorknob.

“Lewis let go of me,” she states, still refusing to look up at him, he can see the trails of tears running down her cheeks.

“Please don’t go,” he pleads.

“Lewis. Let go.”

Staring hard at her, he reluctantly lets go of the fabric and watches as she swings the door open, and slams it shut behind her. The silence of the empty apartment deafening as he stares at the shut door. Part of him believing she’ll come back through it, and part of him feeling like that was her answer.

His attention is finally snapped away from the door as he realizes his shirt feels damp. Walking to the bathroom he looks in the mirror and cringes. His hair is badly ruffled, his eyes red, and tear streaks run down his cheeks.

Sighing, he washes his face and discards the wet t-shirt before crawling into bed. Their bed. Or his bed now. He didn’t know.

It suddenly felt a lot bigger now without her in it. Something he should be used to from the many hotel beds he’s been in, but it’s different in this bed. In their room.

He’d asked her to tell him now, and maybe she did. Maybe leaving was her answer. His heart beats rapidly against his ribcage as he clutches her pillow to it.

He knew if the end was coming, when it did it would hurt. He’d convinced himself this was the best way, don’t draw it out. But a part of him had hoped bringing it out in the open, she’d deny it and they’d be ok.

Or if it was the end of them, he hadn’t imagined the last he’d see of her being her teary face as she slammed the door behind her without actually giving an answer.

Somehow he’d imagined some peaceful parting and leaving on good terms or something. Then facing his true feelings later in the darkness and in his music. A far too rose colored outcome he realized.

Sighing, he lets his sore eyes drift shut as he tries to get himself comfortable in the bed as the evening light barely lights up the room. She had to come back tonight. All her stuff was here. Their whole life was here. She couldn’t just up and leave.

As his thoughts start to slow, he slips into a restless sleep.

His eyes flickering open, Lewis is faced with a pitch black room and empty bed. Pulling himself up to sit on the edge, the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock read 3:24 AM.

He quickly gets up from the bed and races out to the family room, “Y/N? You here?” Getting no response he flips on the lights to see the couch empty, and nothing disturbed.

Panic rising in his chest, he grabs for his phone to see no missed messages or calls. Flicking through his contacts he presses call for her name and… he’s instantly met with her voicemail.

“Y/N, where are you? It’s past 3 AM and you’re not back, call me, please,” he pleads hanging up the call. Pacing around the room he decides to message her on Facebook with a similar message just in case.

By 4 AM he’s fully panicked. Having left several messages on every platform begging her to just let him know she’s ok, he finally resorts to messaging the only person he could imagine her going to this late.

Typing in her friend’s name in messenger, he skips the messaging and immediately calls her.

After a few rings the call clicks on, “No, it’s fine, I’ll be right back,” he hears whispered along with the sound of footsteps and a closing door. “Lewis, what the fuck it’s 4 AM?”

“Please just tell me she’s with you,” he blurts out, his voice cracking.

“I- yes she is,” Y/F/N sighs on the other end. “Please don’t come over, she doesn’t want to talk right now, and it’s late. She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Exhaling deeply he responds, “That’s all I wanted to know. I just… needed to know she’s safe. And not on a park bench or fucking kidnapped or murdered or god knows what else.”

“I thought she’d let you know at least that she wasn’t coming back for the night,” she responds with another sigh. “She’s fine, you both need some sleep and some space. Talk it out later. I would wait for her to contact you. Good night.”

With that the call ends, and Lewis walks absentmindedly back to their bed and sits on the edge of it. Looking around the room at the various photos of the two of them. Most of them over six months old. The first two years of their relationship the two of them had seemed to take pictures together and of each other constantly. He doesn’t remember when that exactly stopped, but he also can’t remember them actually going anywhere together in the last few months. It always seemed to just be the tense apartment and FaceTime calls from a distance.

Picking up the frame on his night stand he looks at the picture of them from a year ago. They’re both in one of his hoodies and pairs of his sunglasses, standing back to back with the Charlie’s Angel’s pose. Stupid grins plastered across their faces. Flipping it over he glances at the writing on the back. Yep a little over a year ago. London after a concert. Probably one of the last concerts she’d been to.

Setting the frame back down, Lewis lays back on his side of the bed and pulls her pillow to his chest. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to fight away the look on her face as she left. The look on her face every time they fought. He thought he was ready to deal with this, but obviously he wasn’t. It felt like someone was sitting on his chest. And there was nothing he could do about it.

For the next week Lewis gets up each morning and follows the same routine. Shower, eat, go for a walk, write, eat, write, then climb back into their bed. All the while hoping the front door will open.

With each passing day, Lewis crosses out dates on the calendar as it gets closer to the next time he has to leave. Only a one week trip to France, but leaving Scotland with this still unresolved for any amount of time seemed too long.

He’d typed out several texts over the week to her, but always seemed to backspace them immediately. He didn’t want to make it worse, and she obviously wasn’t ready to talk to him.

All he could do was wait.

Hearing what sounded like the front door opening, Lewis almost doesn’t believe it. Dropping his pen on the desk, he rushes out of the office the see Y/N standing in the entryway of their apartment, looking unsure.

Their eyes meet, and he forces himself to stay put and not rush over to her. He puts one hand on the wall beside him trying to lean casually, but grips it tightly holding himself in place.

“Hey,” she says softly, her hand going to rub her arm awkwardly.

“Hey,” he responds back equally, trying to gauge her mood.

“You leaving tomorrow still?” She asks as she glances at the suitcase and guitar case sitting in the family room.

“I- yeah,” he responds sadly. “I’ll be gone a week this time.”

“That’s not too bad,” she responds and exhales loudly. “I’m not good at smalltalk Lewis, we both know why I’m here.”

She walks across the room and takes a seat in the chair, nodding toward the couch across from her, “We’re a bit fucked up right now, we can agree right?”

He nods silently back at her as he sits on the couch looking back at her. He’s not sure what to say, his racing thoughts telling him the end is coming, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. It feels like a freight train coming toward him but all he can do is stare into the lights.

“I came back tonight so we can decide what happens from here,” she continues. “I’ve taken a week off work so I can deal with whatever comes from this. In case I need to hunt for a new apartment and get all my things out of here. Thought if that’s the case it’s probably better you’re not here and we officially say goodbye tonight.”

Lewis stiffens at that comment and runs his hand through his hair before looking back at her, “Is that what you want?”

“I-I don’t know,” she says hesitantly. “Do I want the fighting to stop? Do I want to stop feeling like I’m in the way of your life? Yes to both. Do I want to move on? No.”

His brow furrows at her words, “You feel like you’re in my way? Why?”

Y/N sighs and looks around the room, looking at everything but him. “Lew... I just...”

“Tell me what the problems are, all of them, I can’t do anything about them if I don’t even know this exist Y/N,” he urges her on.

“You barely call or FaceTime me anymore when you’re gone,” she admits. “It went from all the time to barely at all. And I don’t want to just call you myself, I don’t know if you’re busy. You could be in an interview, in a meeting, writing, touring the city, and with some time zones you could be in the middle of a concert and I don’t know that. I also didn’t want to tell you to call me more, I don’t want to be that overbearing partner that needs to know where you are all the time, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay in your hotel room all the time when you aren’t working to talk to me when you could be out exploring wherever you’re at and enjoying yourself.”

“Then you come home after we’ve barely talked for a month and seem like you’re in a constant bad mood,” she continues. “Which puts me in a bad mood because I’m glad you’re finally home and I can spend time with you, but you’re on edge and it seems like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. Then we start fighting over every little thing, going to sleep mad, then you’re gone in the morning again and it starts all over. Just this endless cycle of barely talking, then fighting every moment we’re together, then you’re gone again. I can’t tell you anything going on in my life because it feels like I either can’t talk to you or if I do it’s not worth wasting the time I have with you complaining about something at work. And that’s something I need Lewis. I just, I feel like I’m bottling everything up then you come home in a mood and we set each other off. I just want to spend time with you, talk, joke around like we always did. But instead I sit here feeling like I’m the one keeping you from going and doing everything you could be, enjoying your life and the career you’ve built. Because you’re stuck coming back to me in this stupid war zone we’ve made. Every time you come home I half expect you to tell me to get out and it’s over.”

Lewis sits silently taking in her words, and watches the tears start to run down her cheeks as her gaze still doesn’t meet his. It feels like his chest is tightening as he takes in everything and the effect it’s had on her.

“First of all, I really hope you know I’d never just... throw you out like that,” he says softly. “And I had no idea you felt this way. I stopped calling so much because you never called me, I thought I was calling too much and annoying you. And you started going from telling me stories of random things that happened at work, to me asking how work is and you just saying fine. I... thought you were losing interest in me. I came home in a bad mood because I felt like one day I’d open the door and your stuff would just be gone. You’d went from meeting me at the door with a kiss to just yelling hey from the other room. You seemed like you didn’t want to talk to me or spend time with me. Then everything one of us did seemed to set off a fight. And I hate fighting but I at least liked you finally interacting with me. Then I think I started bracing myself for the end and telling myself to just bring it up, bring it all up like I did the other day, because it’s going to drag out and hurt more, but I didn’t want it to end.”

Y/N finally looks up and makes eye contact with him, her look a lot softer than ones he’s gotten in months, “So we’re making ourselves and each other miserable because we’re certain the other person isn’t going to want us suddenly one day?”

“Sounds like it,” he admits. “I don’t know about you... but I want to work on this. The fighting. The calls. The quality time. I think we can fix that, and I’m not ready to let go of this, of us if there’s something I can try to do to fix it. I love you, and want to be with you. I want us to be happy again.”

“I do too,” she nods. “But how are we going to fix this?”

“Come here?” He asks gently, holding his arms open to her as he leans back into the couch.

She stands up slowly and walks across the room to stand in front of him, “Next to you or your lap?”

Rolling his eyes, he grabs her arms to pull her into his lap and into an embrace, her head instantly settling against his chest. Finally holding her again, he exhales in relief. “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to hold you like this again the last few days,” he admits.

“Me either,” she responds, as her hand strokes his chest.

“You said you took the whole week off?”

“Yeah.”

“Come with me then.”

“What?” She asks, her head snapping up trying to see his face.

“We haven’t traveled together in awhile,” he adds. “We only ever see each other in this apartment. I think getting out together and doing something will help. And it’s been so long since you’ve been to one of my concerts.”

“You really want me to?”

He chuckles at that and strokes her arm, “If it were solely up to me I’d have you be at every concert, on every tour, in every hotel room. I’d drag you everywhere with me across the world. But I’m not going to ask you to give you your dream job just to follow me around for mine. But you’re on vacation... so Paris?”

“I’d enjoy that,” she laughs against his chest. “But what about after?”

“After?” He hums as he looks up at the ceiling fan. “I’ll be back home for about a month writing. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go out and do things when you’re not working and I’m not writing. As for when I’m back on tour... call me. I don’t care when. If I’m busy I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Just fucking call me. If you need to talk to me at 3 AM, call me. I might be a cranky bastard about it at first but I’d rather you call me than hold it in. Tell me what happened at work, tell me what’s going on. I want you to be happy and I need to know for us. And if you don’t call me, well I’m going to go back to calling you all the time anyway. I’ll be that person FaceTiming someone at the big attraction if I have to.”

She grins at that and tilts his head down to give him a gentle kiss, “I’m glad I have permission to annoy the shit out you.”

“You can try,” he responds rising an eyebrow. “But I can guarantee you that you’ll get sick of me before I get even mildly annoyed of you.”

“Is that a challenge I sense Mr Capaldi?” she teases. “I’m never giving in.”

“It is,” he says pressing his forehead to hers. “And neither am I, so I guess that means we’re stuck together huh?”

“It would appear so,” she nods happily.

“Years from now our kids will ask what’s the secret to the success of our marriage. I’ll tell them we made a challenge on who would get annoyed with the other first, and I’m a stubborn fuck and you are too, hence they were born,” he muses looking off into the distance.

“Kids and marriage huh?” she asks with a chuckle. “You very casually said that.”

Glancing down at her, he can feel his cheeks reddening, “What? Don’t look at me like a creep. Of course that’s the intention, I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want to end up there.”

Reaching up to ruffle his hair, she smiles, “No need to get embarrassed Lew, I want the same thing. We might have some things we need to work on, but that’s what I want too.”

Smiling back, he pulls himself up from the couch with her still in his arms as he heads toward their bedroom.

“And where exactly are you taking me?” she asks as she hooks her arms around his neck.

“Bed,” he says simply. “We have an early flight, and you’ve been gone a week. I need a fucking cuddle.”

“That I can do.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think we’re going to be alright.”

-----

Masterlist

Request List

#lewis capaldi #lewiscapaldi #lewis capaldi x reader #celebrity imagines #fanfiction #divinely uninspired to a hellish extent #someone you loved

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Traditions Kept Pt.6

From This Day On

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: mentions of nightmares, one f-bomb, major fluff

Summary: In which a Christmas miracle occurs.

Story Masterlist

You woke up with a startle, sitting up on your bed with your heart in your throat. The darkness of your room welcomed you and you released a shaky breath, running a hand down your face. Phantom of pain in your ears and once broken bones still throbbed within you and you reached for your phone with a sigh.

3:37 a.m. Great. Three and half an hour since the Christmas Day had started. You doubted you would fall asleep again.

Merry Christmas to me.

On autopilot, you slid into your slippers and a hoodie, heading to the common room, not wanting to be between the walls that felt too close to your liking. Shuffling through the corridors, you found yourself smiling a little as you saw a dim light coming from where you were heading. Guess you weren’t the only one with nightmares.

The prospect of a night-talk with Steve made the fact you would be sleep-deprived on Christmas bearable. You liked how open he would get in those moments, letting you in, almost making you believe there was a special bond between you two. Almost.

You found him by the kitchen counter, making tea. He glanced up when you entered the room, giving you a sad smile.

“Hey. Want tea?” he offered politely, rewarded by your smile widening and a nod.

You took your usual spot on the couch, a mug soon pressed into your hands.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he seated himself by your side. You sat cross-legged, turning his direction a bit and he shifted as well to face you. You indulgingly breathed in the aroma of rooibos vanilla tea.

“You’re welcome, Warbler.”

You snorted. Not so much of a warbler now, more like a nightingale – the name the public gave you seemed fitting. Your half-amused sound turned into a sigh.

“Bucky?”

Steve lowered his gaze, nodding.

“Yeah. The day you got your powers?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, this time escaping his sincere eyes and huffed, actually annoyed. “I don’t even know why it’s still haunting me. I mean… it wasn’t even that terrible. A bang. A little– okay, a lot of pain, but it’s been ages. Shouldn’t I be over it?” you complained lowly, looking at him again in search for answers.

His brows furrowed as he made a sympathetic face. His voice was quiet, his body shuffling just an inch closer to you. “Should you? It changed your life, turned it upside down.”

You blinked in surprise at the claim. Well. He wasn’t wrong. And by the quirk of one corner of his lips, he knew that.

Of course, gaining your powers had been… insane. Smacking a huge ‘fuck you’ label on your old life, because suddenly when you wanted for someone to shut up, they would, because you could just muffle the sound waves of their voice and practically make them mute. You could sneak behind someone, because you would erase the sound of your footsteps. You could win every shout-match, at least when it came to decibels. Everything had changed, even your sister looking at you a bit differently, no matter how hard she tried not to.

But… you could do good now. You could save lives. And you earned amazing friends.

“But not to worse,” you offered after a while, blowing at the tea carefully.

Steve gave you a lopsided smile. “You think so?”

“Sure. I mean… it’s not all pretty, but… yeah. I think so.”

Of course that after the first mission going wrong you had wanted to quit. Or after every broken rib. After getting a stabbed— not pretty at all, actually.

Yet, you hadn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You wondered if you had a breaking point, but so far, it hadn’t come. You bit your lip, watching Steve as he sipped his tea. Did he feel the same about his life? Sure, your life had changed a lot, but his… your fate was nothing compared to the spiral of insanity he had been thrown into.

“Do you think so? Have you ever… regretted it? The serum?”

Steve froze, the mug halfway from his lips. His whole body stiffened and you wanted to slap yourself for such insensitive question.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— uhm, you know….“

He relaxed, setting the mug down, his eyes roaming your face as if he was evaluating whether he should tell you.

“I don’t regret it. It allowed me to do a lot of good.”

“Can’t argue with that one,” you noted with a gentle smile, feeling there was more he wanted to say. “But…?”

He chuckled, lowering his gaze. “I went under and… woke up seventy years later. It was… it was so insane…. Lots of things have changed. I did too, I think.”

“Have you thought of… not coming back after that? To the whole… superhero business? Just go and be Steve Rogers?”

“Man out of time?” he offered wryly, but quickly smiled reassuringly, seeing you winced at the dry remark. The look in his eyes seemed absent now, searching in memories. “It was familiar. Apart from that alien part, of course. But… fighting, following orders, being a soldier. It was the only familiar part and I couldn’t give that up. I… I admit there was a time when I-- doubted working for S.H.I.E.L.D. was the right thing to do, but… in the end, it has been Hydra, pulling the threads and causing that dilemma, at least for the most part.”

His gaze flickered to you, worried he said too much. But you just set down your mug as well, wriggling to get a little closer. You hesitantly reached for his hand, surprised he opened it for you. You slipped into his hold, squeezing gently.

“Funny you should say that following orders was the familiar thing and you wanted hold onto familiar… when it feels more like you simply needed to fix all the wrong in this world.” The tiniest shy smile appeared on his lips. “What about now? Do you ever have… second thoughts?”

He shook his head gingerly. “No. I get to do a job that matters, trying my best to fix all the wrong, and work with amazing people on top of that. What’s not to love?”

He met your gaze at those words, sincere blue shining, sending your heart racing. For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in it, drown. When he added an honest smile to that, you were sure you would get a heart attack. Your eyes flickered to his lips for a split second and at instant, you mentally slapped yourself.

Not happening, ever.

You licked your own lips that suddenly felt too dry.

“Well, don’t tell Tony. His ego is big enough without you telling him he’s amazing,” you said, your voice a bit hoarser than it should be when attempting a joke.

Steve huffed out a laugh, allowing you to breathe in, the strange moment gone.

“That is very true.”

You sat there then for several moments, staring at each other, smiling inconspicuously, no words spoken. It felt nice; especially since he still didn’t release your hand. He drew a circle on its back, that little gesture making you shiver.

He noticed, immediately letting go. You barely held back a whine.

Stupid, stupid-

“I’ll get you a blanket,” he announced casually and your breath hitched. Did he really blame it on cold? You couldn’t decide whether you were glad or not. Probably yes. It was a better option than him realizing your feelings towards him.

A thick blanket landed over your legs in no time. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You looked up at him gratefully and nodded. “Thanks. And sure, why not? You have anything on your list?”

“Do I have anything— yeah, a few…tens. But I let you pick.”

Your mind raced only for a second. “Love Actually. Obligatory Christmas movie. FRIDAY?”

“Yes, ma’am. And good morning, ma’am,” sounded above your head simultaneously with the screen lighting up. You rolled your eyes at the AI’s sass.

Steve slid beside you with a curious smile. “Sam made a reference the other day to this movie, didn’t he?”

You tried to remember, finding the right memory too easily; the morning Steve had kissed your cheek. You prayed you didn’t blush at the sweet moment you would always cherish. “Oh yeah, he did. You’ll recognize the scene, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Uhm… you mind sharing the blanket for a bit?”

Your eyes went wide, a lump growing in your throat at the idea of that. “Yeah. Sure.”

He shifted a bit closer as you offered him the blanket. His side was touching yours now, sending you into a cardiac arrest. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t so rare for you to touch – during training, accidental bumping in the mornings when fumbling around the kitchen counter… hell, he had dragged your ass from a mission once, carrying you bridal style. It had been as amazing as embarrassing, feeling his strong arms holding you, his muscular chest under your cheek-

You cleared your throat. “This good?”

“Yeah, thanks.” He took his mug in his hands again and you forced your attention to the movie. Well. You tried.

The thing was, you were pleasantly warm now. There was a nice movie playing, you had talked a bit, getting things out of your chest and… and your eyelids were growing heavier with each minute. At some point, you felt your head lull, falling on Steve’s shoulder.

You woke up with a jolt and your face crimson. “Sorry, sorry-“

Steve’s body slightly shook with hushed laughter. “It’s okay, Warbler. You need some sleep.”

“People usually sleep in their bed,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your palms.

To your shock, Steve’s arm went to stretch over the backrest in silent offer. Your heart started pounding in your chest. “Come on. I’m allowing you to use me as a pillow.”

This was crazy. Crazy, crazy, insane even.

Let’s do insane, shall we?

“I-I… o-okay. Thanks. But if I droll on you…”

“I let you wash the shirt,” he assured you with a soft smile and you reluctantly leaned onto him, intending to rest your head in the crook of his neck. You chickened out in the last moment.

“Is this oka-“

“Just lie down, Warbler.”

“ ’Kay.”

Despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you felt yourself drift off in a beat. Steve was providing even more comfortable warmth, pleasant scent of aftershave and a periodic sound of his breathing; it was all you needed to enter the dreamland.

When your hair fell in your face, tickling you, breaking your sound sleep, you felt tender fingers tucking it behind your ear. Steve’s fingertips lingered on your jaw, soft kiss landing on your forehead.

You were sure you were still dreaming, but rather swallowed the content hum that the gesture almost made you release, just in case this was real. You wouldn’t want to scare him away if it was.

“To me, you are perfect,” he whispered to your hair, sending your heart racing.

This should have woken you up. This was a clear hint that your mind was mixing up the reality, the movie and your desires; dreaming.

Except then came another kiss on your forehead and you couldn’t hold still anymore.

You fluttered your eyes open, your pillow suddenly tensing, the periodic breathing hitching, his lips immediately gone.

You raised your head an inch, meeting Steve’s panicked and apologizing expression; the thought of him actually doing it, saying it and what more, meaning it, hit you like a train and you would gladly leave this world that way.

“Really?” you whispered shyly, trying to catch his gaze as he was looking anywhere but in your eyes; until he finally did and gave a little nod, opening his mouth to speak.

He never got to say a word.

You planted a short kiss to his lips, just a feather-light touch ending too soon. He drew in a sharp breath.

“You… you’re perfect to me too, Steve.”

You brushed his lips with yours once more, the most electrifying feeling shooting to your fingertips.

It was nothing compared to when his hand cupped your cheek and kept you on place before you could retreat, sinking his lips into yours deeply, claiming your lower one. Euphoria erupted in your chest, lighting up every cell in your body.

You sneaked your hand to his shoulder, needing a reassurance that this was happening. His fingers tenderly caressed your cheek in return, his free arm wrapping around your waist, sending you into total bliss.

He withdrew an inch to catch his breath, shuddering. You opened your eyes, meeting the lovely blue, now barely visible due to his blown pupils. You kissed him again, his plush lips just too close to resist. Your hand moved to the back of his neck to play with the short soft hair and he caressed your nose with his playfully. Your eyelids fluttered close at the tenderness and you couldn’t but kiss him again.

He hummed contentedly, a low sound deep inside his chest and you felt a pool of warmth erupt in your belly, fighting the urge to climb into his lap and take the make-out session to a whole new level. You settled for sneaking your hand to his chest for now, if only for the fact that your first kiss happened like a minute ago.

It turned out to be a good thinking, because a second later, a voice disturbed your little Christmas miracle.

“Oh, wow,” Tony’s voice reached your ears and you jumped away from Steve as if you got burned, your eyes snapping open.

“Can’t see mistletoe anywhere this time,” Sam snorted, casually walking in front of the TV, only to make you realize the movie was long over.

“Look again, Birdboy,” Wanda hummed and you automatically looked up, indeed finding mistletoe hanging above your head.

How-- when-?

You shot Steve a puzzled look, but he seemed to be equally confused and embarrassed as he had been caught kissing you. Pretty heatedly, by the way. Amazingly. Uhm…

You gulped, gave him a shy smile and raised your gaze again. The plant was still there, but… you noticed a subtle red energy around it as if— you snapped your head in Wanda’s direction, only to find her wiggling her fingers inconspicuously.

You smiled at her gratefully. “Just following the tradition,” you shrugged, sneaking your hand under the blanket to find Steve’s for reassurance. He squeezed back.

“Really? Why didn’t you kiss Natasha like this the other day then?” Clint mocked you knowingly, making your face heat up even more as he joined Sam, both men crossing his arms on their chest in creepy sync.

They looked like disappointed and exasperated parents finding out about their teen kid having a box of condoms stashed in the back of his drawer. Which was the worst analogy that could have possibly popped up in your head, because now you were blushing twice as bad.

“Good question. And Cap, why didn’t you kiss her like that the first time in the kitchen?” Sam added and you honestly wanted to burry your face in your hands.

They knew all too well why. They must have known that this was a brand new thing. So why they were being such shits?

No, don’t answer that.

Felling brave, powered by the Christmas miracle, and hoping you had nothing more to lose since your dignity was in the wind and Steve hand was still keeping yours, you turned to Clint. “You know why? Because Natasha is amazing, but I’m not in love with her.”

You felt Steve’s grip turn crushing at the words and you squeezed your eyes shut, immediately regretting speaking up. Was he about to reject you now? Now, when he knew that you…well, that you were-

“You know why, Sam?” Steve called out lowly, following your example. You waited for the reason, breathless. Please, please, please, do not reject me- “Because I didn’t know she felt the same.”

You quickly turned back to Steve, astonished, your heart swelling. He gave you a gorgeous smile, just a shadow of worry on his face, disappearing when he saw your expression.

He was… was he in love with you too?

One look at him was enough of an answer. Yes. Yes, he was.

You leaned in, pecking his lips softly.

He smiled at that and gazed up, reaching for the mistletoe above your head. You could sense Wanda’s puzzled look, but she let it fall into his hand.

“Thanks,” he muttered, twirling the plant in his fingers before his attention fully shifted to you again. He appeared almost sheepish all of sudden. “If I have it with me, can I kiss you whenever I want? Even after Christmas?”

You giggled at the cute gesture and took the mistletoe from his hand to throw it away, hitting Sam in his face with it by pure coincidence.

“Hey!”

Peripherally, you saw Clint shrug and quickly peck Sam on the corner of his mouth. which was followed by a disgusted noise and loud complaints. The others laughed at that, but your focus was on the man with puzzled and hopeful gaze, whose lips were only inches from yours.

“You won’t be needing that,” you whispered a silent promise and Steve nuzzled his face in your cheek, smiling, giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Neither will you.”

---

Much later, when all the fuss fell silent and all presents had been unwrapped, you found yourself talking to Wanda, a goofy smile on your lips.

Looking back, everything started making sense. The little moments, seemingly a game of chance, focusing on you and Steve. While you believed in Christmas spirit bringing people close to each other, you weren’t that naïve.

“Uhm… Wanda?”

“Hm?” she hummed, grinning as well.

“You wouldn’t happen to know about the mistletoe mysteriously appearing and disappearing around the Tower, would you?” The Sokovian sipped her tea, not saying a word and that was all confirmation you needed – it was all on her. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was a Christmas miracle working. That you were sitting under mistletoe that morning or that Thor kissed you right in front of the captain. Or that I haven’t noticed Vis’ hat accessory until you kissed him and pointed it out…” she mumbled, her smile way too bright, giving her away.

“Sure. Silly me, of course it wasn’t you. …By the way, did I hit Sam’s face on my own?”

“Nah, your aim needed a little help. You were a bit distracted though, I forgive you.”

You burst out laughing and Wanda joined you. You met Steve’s gaze from the other side of the room as he was getting you drinks and enjoyed the special smile he would only reserve for you from this day on.

The Christmas spirits were working hard this year and you thanked them wordlessly, gently pulling Wanda into a half-hug.

You couldn’t even be mad when Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ started blasting from the speakers and Tony with the others gave you a meaningful look, encouraging you to live up to your nickname and sing along. Especially since it led to Steve approaching you and letting you hid your embarrassed self in his embrace, kissing the top of your head with hushed laughter and mumbled ‘leave her alone’.

“She’s right, you know,” he hummed softly then and suddenly, you were glad no one could see your face for a whole different reason – your love-struck smile.

“Yeah. She is.”

Merry Christmas to me. Merry Christmas to us.

°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°

What she said. Merry Christmas to you all (Veselé Vánoce vám všem) :-*

Thank you for reading and a like if you dropped one; they made we very, very happy :))

#christmas fluff #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america fanfic #avengers #fluff #festive fluff #reader insert #traditions kept #anika ann

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hobisbeech · 5 years

Text

Horroria || yandere!jungkook

Summary: Jungkook had met you in junior college, that was his first interaction with you, years past by and Jeon Jungkook still knows your whereabouts. Stalker much? Not in his eyes.

A/N- Hello lovelies ! Here’s a brand new story, let me know if you like it, It’s a part of Yandere BTS, and first up its Jungkook <3 This story is inspired by this song. Also S/O to @yeontanismypresident for continuing to inspire me <3

Published: 06/05/19

‘You’re the sunlight that rose again in my life,” it’s a mantra he always repeated to himself. It was from one of your favorite Kpop songs. Of course, Jungkook would use it as motivation. If it had any significance to you, he would’ve most likely done his research to know everything about it. Jungkook always had a obsessive personality, he would obsess over anything that amazed him. For instance, when he was in college he had picked up photography. Learning everything he needed to know to capture beautiful and intricate photographs. At that time, he had enjoyed taking wildlife and surreal photographs of people that would walk down the sidewalk at the downtown plaza. Animals, that would randomly stare off, not noticing the humans that surrounded their environment. He lived for these captured moments.

That was one of the hobbies, he knew you liked. He would capture photographs of you without necessarily making himself known in your view. He liked how selfless and innocent you seemed. Even though, he knew you had a bit of a rebel side. Noticing you one night, while you silently exited your house, without trying to wake up your parents as he was undercover, followed you to and from the party you had been invited to. He took pictures of you, as you adjusted your hair before stepping into the doorway of the house where the party was being thrown. He watched as you greeted your friends, how your smile would envelop everyone in sight, even him. His heart melted against his ribcage, he knew one day you would be his. But, not now. He knew you weren’t ready yet. So, he gave you time. Which gave him time to get his plan perfected, he couldn’t afford any slip ups in his plan. Oh no no no no, he definitely couldn’t. Everything had to be perfect.

For his [y/n].

He watched you from a high tree branch, he had secured himself to the trunk with rope and made sure in case he drifted off he wouldn’t pummel to his death. He watched you from his binoculars, capturing the moment with his high tech camera. He captured you dancing away to the music that was blaring from the speakers. He watched as you downed several shots, just because everyone else was drinking them. He scoffed, he didn’t like it when you tried hard to fit in. He didn’t think it was necessary to do that. ‘Aish,You don’t have to succumb to their actions,’ he thought. Nodding disapprovingly he continued to watch you, he began to note what he needed to leave for you on your nightstand so you wouldn’t wake up with an undeserving hangover. ‘She’ll thank me later,’ he thought to himself as you had fallen back into his sight. You had dropped yourself on a couch that was off to the side in the living room. Jungkook locked eyes with your body, he watched you as you wiped off sweat from your neck and your forehead. He swallowed some of his built up spit, Jungkook never really knew what intimacy really felt like. He had his round of one night stands but they were never you. He knew that when you and him would finally get that chance, that sparks would fly and the big lady would sing her heart out. He would fantasize about you calling out to him, wanting him to be deep inside of you. Wanting his body with yours.

“In time my sweet [y/n], we will finally be together. I just have to get you to see that,” Jungkook murmured to himself.

The party was coming to an end, Jungkook had untied himself and safely climbed down from the neighborhood tree. He placed his binoculars back into his backpack, and placed the camera’s lanier over his neck. He proceeded to walk towards the house, he walked past you, slightly bumping into your shoulder, he grabbed the hood of his jacket to cover his head. You were waving goodbye to your friends, assuring them that you would make it home okay, when you felt a heavy shoulder hit your side. You looked to see who it could be, but saw a guy with a hoodie on, you waved at your friends goodbye, and then you were walking towards Jungkook’s direction.

“Hey you! Hey!” you yelled out, trying to get the mysterious male’s attention. Jungkook recognized your voice and his entire body stiffened up. He couldn’t believe that you would easily call out to a stranger, but he wasn’t any stranger, he was your future boyfriend he reminded himself.

[y/n]reached the mysterious male, placing a hand on his covered shoulder, “Hey, you need to watch out where you’re going man, you could’ve taken my shoulder with you.” You giggled, stabilizing yourself from pummeling to the floor. “There’s a chance I might’ve had too much to drink,” You hiccuped.

Jungkook smirked to himself, you were very silly when you were drunk. He pushed his hoodie off of him, and looked at you with his doe brown eyes. Your eyes fluttered at his gaze, “Whoa, you’re cute.” You gasped placing your hand over your mouth, eyes blowing up in embarrassment, blushing over what you had accidentally blurred out. Jungkook shyly smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to bump your shoulder like that.” He had finally answered, hoping he could have the courage to continue talking to you. “Oh, well then it’s good that I reached you then, instead of my initial plan of following you to your house and egging it,” you chuckled, running a hand through your hair, “phew, I’m hot.” Jungkook’s eyes bulged out, and looked at you with concern, “You were thinking of egging my house?” He chuckled, smiling to himself, my [y/n] is silly, he thought.

“If I Had to take matters into my own hands, yes.” He chuckled, looking down at his feet and back at you when you abruptly stopped, “Wow, I didn’t think I was going to get to my house so fast,” You giggly stated, placing your hand out to him to shake. “I’m [y/n], and I believe we’re neighbors.” Of course my darling, I’ve known you for so long, I love you, Jungkook wanted to say, but instead said, “Yeah, I think we had a class together in junior college, I’m Jungkook, I live right up front,” he tenderly grabbed your hand and you both shook it. You flashed him a smile, and he did the same. “See you around,” he said, running a hand through his hair to get his bangs out of the way.

[Y/N] was in awe with him, even in her drunken state, before she got a chance to get another word out, in a blink of an eye he was gone.

Jungkook rapidly made a run for the side of [y/n] house, leaving her behind in a frazzled phase, ‘it’s okay, she needs me to do this for her,’ Jungkook thought to himself, climbing the tree that had an elongated tree branch that was directly next to your bedroom window. He knew you always kept the window unlocked. He softly opened the window, making sure not to make so much noise to disturb your parents. Jungkook loved coming to your bedroom, he could smell your presence, making himself feel like he knew you. He grabbed his backpack trying not to drift from what he was supposed to be doing. He grabbed the aspirin bottle and a closed water bottle and placed it on the nightstand, with a little note saying drink me.

Hearing the front door being unlocked he knew that was queue for him to leave, “sleep tight my angel,” he whispered, taking a last look around your bedroom before making his way out your bedroom window, to climb down the tree.

He chuckled to himself, when he remembered a moment where you had almost caught him. He thought that could be a story he could share with you, when you finally got together. It was like a ritual for him, watching your parents leave and then waiting for you to get picked up by one of your girlfriends.

It was like clockwork,

7 am: your bedroom blinds would be opened.

7:15am: Your mom and dad would walk out right behind each other, waving goodbye to you.

7:45am: You would walk out, with your backpack strapped behind you, locking the door and making your way to the bus stop.

8am: He would walk across the street and climb the tree going into your bedroom.

One morning, he had climbed the same tree that he had climbed everyday. He looked around your room, smelling the candle you would ignite every evening. Looking at the pajamas you had haphazardly left on the floor that morning. He always skimmed through your stuff and made sure to not move anything out of place. When suddenly he heard the front door open. “Holy shit! She shouldn’t be back yet,” Jungkook muttered, grabbing his backpack and heading out the window he had originally came in from.

[Y/N], opened her bedroom door cursing at herself for forgetting her language arts notebook. “You dimwit, you need this for class.” For 4 years straight, Jeon Jungkook tried his best to not get caught, he was too in love to stop.

4 years later

“[Y/N] make sure that those files are on my desk before you leave, I need them signed and sealed. We have our big break tomorrow,” your head editor explained as she grabbed her suitcase and walked out of the office. “Yes ma’am,” you answered before you got a chance to turn around and ask her about your project. “Aish, she’s always leaving in such a hurry,” you whined to yourself.

You sat down on your seat, straightening your skirt underneath. You huffed, and pouted scrunching your face as you placed the documents that were separated by a paper clip inside each individual envelope and licked it closed. Once you were done, you haphazardly packed them together grabbing them and proceeded to walk towards your boss’s office. She had left it slightly opened for you. You thanked the gods, you would’ve been screwed if she had closed it behind her. Placing the heavy envelopes on her desk you huffed, “fuck this is heavy,” You sighed, ‘I really hope I get my big break tomorrow,’ You thought to yourself, as you closed her office door behind you.

You were working at your dream place, almost had your dream job, head editor. But, you sucked it up and instead became the assistant editor. You had been at this office for 2 years, and tomorrow was going to be the day your work was finally going to get recognized. Your boss had told you, there was going to be an opening for another head editor and to keep working hard that you could probably be picked for the job. Keeping your hope alive, you did as told. Made sure everything was done on time, made sure you took notes at every meeting. Stayed behind late at night to finish projects before their due date. Making sure your boss looked good at all times. It was super exhausting but you did it anyways.

You packed up your stuff, placing the heavy duffel bag on one shoulder and your actual purse on the other. You pushed your chair under your desk and cursed under your breath, ‘I really need to empty out this bag and just carry what I need, shit.’ You slowly walked to the main door as your heels echoed throughout the building, pushing the heavy door open you let it go behind you as it auto locked. The sun was starting to set, ‘must be getting late,’ You thought to yourself, as your eyes adjusted to the leaning darkness.

You made your way to your bus stop, since that’s the only transportation you could afford at the time, with all the debt you had accumulated. You leaned against the sign and placed your heavy duffle bag on the concrete floor next to it. You sighed harshly, all you wanted to do was get home, and strip out of your tight formal clothing and heels. When suddenly you felt an arm come around you and a saw a rough looking hand come close to your face, “ What the actual-“ You were cut off by a towel covering your nose and mouth. Your scream was muffled, “It’s okay sweetie, I got you. Don’t worry, I’m gonna take good care of you,” Your eyes widened, you had heard that voice before. But, where? Before, you could pinpoint who he was, your vision started to blur, “It’s okay, [y/n], Jungkook’s got you,” and once again your screams were muffled and your eyes fluttered closed, and that was the last thing you heard.

Today

‘ Wow this is gonna be so much fun ! I can’t wait till everyone shows up. ‘ you grinned as you rearranged the chairs in the backyard. ‘ Honey, where do you want me to start setting up the food at? ‘ he asked you, as he closed the bbq pit. You slightly scratched at the side of your head and hummed, placing your closed fists on each side of your hip. ‘ Uhm, I think I’m going to have to make more room. I will be right back, ‘ You scurried, back inside looking for a spare table you knew you had hidden somewhere. Think think think, where could it be? You thought. You looked in your bedroom and the kitchen and it was nowhere to be found. You huffed, pouting in disbelief that your table was now lost. Suddenly, something shiny from below you shined into your sight, and your curiosity winning, making you follow in its direction. As you followed, it seemed as though the light just kept getting farther and farther away. ‘Hey ! Let me reach you.’ You hollered at the light, suddenly you felt a hand grab your arm from behind, not wanting to turn around, you stilled in your steps. ‘Let me go,’ You muttered. “I can’t do that,” the voice answered, deep and rough.

You gasped out of your dreams, blinking various times as someone got close to your side, “[Y/n, are you okay? You must’ve been dreaming.” He softly spoke, feeling worried that maybe you were feeling ill. “What the fuck?! - When- Wait.. who are you? How do you know my name?!” You yelled, as you tried to move back from his grasp, but not being able to go far due to being tied down. “No, my angel, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Jungkook tried his best to speak to you, in the calmest and softest voice he could muster. Trying to reach for your cheek, you scampered back, “Don’t!” Jungkook sighed, retracting his hand back and softly rubbing down his wrinkled jeans. He stood up and opened up the curtain that neatly kept the room dark. “[Y/n], look at how nice the weather looks, once I explain everything, we can probably go out and enjoy it, whaddaya say?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “you must be kidding me!” His head tilted slightly, “jagi, why are you so upset?” He walked to the side of the bed, “do not call me that!” You sternly stated, “and why wouldn’t I be upset? You literally have me strapped down.” You muttered, tugging at the straps that were buckled down around your wrist.

Jungkook sighed and slightly chuckled, “its for your own protection, I don’t want you leaving me.” His eyes wandered around, until they finally connected to yours.

Your gaze softened, “you might have the wrong person, I don’t even know who you are,” you pleaded to him, your eyes threatening to spill. Jungkook felt his heart break, ‘how could she not remember me,’ he thought to himself. “[y/n], jagi we went to the same junior high, we were even neighbors,” his voice cracked a little at the end, he could feel all the emotions wanting to explode out of him, he reached for your hand and this time you let him envelop them in his own. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to explain everything to you okay?” He softly caressed your hand.

You nodded your head, and continued watching him. He had black hair, with a side parting that left his bangs fall on his eyes. His muscles protruded out of his fitted t-shirt, and his veins stood out every time he would flex his arms. His hands felt slightly rough, but not enough to show he worked in a hostile environment. You couldn’t figure it out, “are you sure it was junior high? I would’ve remembered you,” You emphasized, as you tried to straighten out on the bed, but was constricted.

He chuckled, your eyes widened, ‘ that chuckle,’ You thought to yourself, ‘I’ve definitely heard that before.’ And without even thinking, you whispered, “Jungkook.” His eyes instantly brighten and his smile made an appearance, “jagi, you do remember me?” Your heart instantly sank, your eyes blew up, “no no no no no, this can’t be happening,” you tried retreating your hand from his but he just tightened his grip on you. “I had a restraining order on you, after I caught you in my bedroom, a week after we had met.” Jungkook sighed, “it was my mistake, you weren’t supposed to be home that early,” he rubbed the back of his neck, and returned his gaze back to you. “I just never understood why you were- still obsessed with me,” you added, trying to remove your hand from his once again. “You need to stop, or I will make you stop,” he threatened, intertwining his fingers with yours. You squeaked, pushing back on the headboard. “P-please don’t hurt me, I will do anything you say okay? Just let me go please,” You whined, feeling the air in your lungs escape you with no defeat.

Jungkook sighed, “now why would I do that? I finally got you to myself and I’m not planning on letting you go any time soon.” Tears began to stream down your face, “please,” You pleaded once again. “ I won’t tell anyone I promise, I will forget everything I saw-“ before you could finish your sentence Jungkook had pinched your jaw between his hand, “ Listen closely, I’ve loved you for so long, 4 years to be exact. I’ve stayed away for long as I can. I love you, I want to take care of you,” he stated, sitting upright and keeping his eye contact with you. “I won’t tell a soul-“ you muffled out. Jungkook was growing irritated with you, “I’m not gonna hurt you my sweet [y/n] but my patience is growing short,” he groaned out, squeezing your jaw slightly tighter. You couldn’t hold your sob in any longer, “Jungkook please, I just wanna go home. Let me go home,” You sobbed in between your words. Jungkook groaned in frustration, forcefully pushing you back, hitting your back and the back of your head on the head board hard. “Fuck,” you whimpered, biting into your bottom lip to suffocate the pain you were endearing.

You neared your legs closer to your chest, and placed your head into it, trying to muffle your cries. Jungkook perked up, “I think I know what’s going to help you calm down my dear sweet [y/n],” you didn’t dare look up from your folded knees. He began to hum, humming a tune you were oh so familiar with. “Please don’t,” you answered out loud. Jungkook ignored you, “oh you want me to sing it for you jagi? Okay, at your request.” He ran his hand through his hair, trying to push his bangs away from his eyes. He walked closer to you, scooching on to the bed beside you, he ran his fingers down your hair and slightly down your back, he continued the ministrations on your hair, and began to sing.

You began to scream, “leave me alone ! Please, I don’t want to hear the song,” you looked at him as your tears just continued to fall, “this is our song babe, of course I’m gonna sing it for you.” He released his hand from your hair, and stood up. “I’m going to leave you, so you can listen to me serenade you. I’m gonna go get my speaker, don’t go anywhere.” He wiped away a couple tears but you forcefully moved your face from his hand.

“I JUST WANNA GO HOME!”

“LET ME GO HOME,”

You continued to yell, as you watched his silhouette, disappear behind the door. Your screams, were muffled from his singing.

“JUNGKOOK!!!”

#yandere!jungkook #yandere jungkook #BTS jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jungguk #yandere jungkook x reader #obsessed jungkook #y/n is in trouble #jungkook angst #BTS yandere #yandere!bts #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

From Under Liquid Glass (1)(Branjie)- Ortega

a/n: in the words of Malcolm Tucker, i’m on turbo! i’m sorry to disappoint u all and say that no, this is not part 3 to Your Move, although the good news is that a) re-reading it when i had to resubmit gave me all the feels and made me fall in love with the universe all over again and b) i finish work for 6 weeks so so soon, so i’ll soon have lots of time to get a part 3 constructed. yay! in the meantime, please enjoy this. as always…of course it’s a lesbian au. what else would u expect from me. it’s a completely self-indulgent almost-autobiographical thing that i began a while ago and i never submitted, so if people enjoy it then i’ll write some more. lots of love, bye!

p.s. the pin number line is stolen from a film. i think it’s called Employee of the Month. i watched it so long ago that i cannot remember.

p.p.s. i promise i’ll make my author’s notes short one day

Trigger Warning: lots of discussion around anxiety so avoid if u don’t want to face that

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes was always told she’d have it all. She was never told that “all” would include crippling anxiety. Signed off from work at 27, Brooke moves back to her childhood home and has to get her head around her fall from grace.

Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo has no job, no degree, and -£32.65 to her name, but she prides herself on keeping a level head. That all changes when a certain high school crush moves back into town and back into her life.

***

“Brooke?”

Brooke’s eyes sharply darted up to her colleague, her friend, and the only person she could trust in this godforsaken hellscape of a workplace. She felt like a small, trapped animal.

Nina’s eyes were kind, but worried. “Should you even be here today?”

Brooke blinked one, twice, three times. In an effort to keep her breathing steady she took a big gulp of air, which was restricted somewhat by the pressure on her ribcage. Was she about to have a panic attack? No, she could reign it in. She wished she could stop crying, though, the tears falling in a steady stream from her eyes which hadn’t stopped since Nina had entered the dance studio and asked her how she was. It wasn’t a secret that Brooke was having a tough time of it at work- the pressure of a chaotic management to get as many children as possible into the most prestigious dance schools in the country was tearing her mental health apart, but she’d always been able to cope with tough things, been able to push on and get through it. Although now, it was looking increasingly difficult.

Remembering Nina’s question, Brooke looked up at her. She tried to push a smile onto her mouth as she shook her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks in the process. Brooke almost wanted to laugh. She must have looked horrifying.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. I think you just need some time away,” Nina sighed, putting a comforting hand on Brooke’s arm and letting it rest there. Brooke’s heart broke when she realised that Nina’s own eyes were tearful. “God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you how you were, it’s just made things worse-”

“Nina, the wind blows and I cry,” Brooke deadpanned, rolling her eyes at herself and causing her friend to laugh. She took a deep breath. “But no. Yeah. I…can’t be here just now.”

Nina nodded. “Do you want me to go and tell Michelle?”

Brooke exhaled loudly. She didn’t want to have to actively seek out her head of department in the state she was currently in. She thought about it for roughly three seconds, but in that time about fifty thoughts managed to run through her head like the end credits of a film played at double speed. “Yes please.”

Nina said some other vaguely comforting things. Brooke couldn’t process them. Her mind was replaying the scene from only four days ago over and over in her head- she had been at the doctor’s, sitting all scrunched up in the chair in front of her.

“I would really like to sign you off, because it’s your work that’s causing you stress. But if you’d rather give it a couple of weeks to see how you feel and make another appointment then we can definitely do that.”

Brooke wanted to laugh at the memory. Even in the fucking doctor’s surgery, a shell of her former self, in a literal appointment she’d made to try and repair her fractured mind, she had still been too afraid to say the words- yes, do it, sign me off- as that would have meant it really was completely over. Instead, she was here at work, hands shaking, mouth bone dry, and she was still typing at her computer in an attempt to get her reports finished.

Eventually, Michelle appeared. They spoke, and Brooke still hadn’t been able to stop her tears falling. Michelle had been supportive if not sympathetic, and Brooke had apologised for causing them all inconvenience once, twice, three times. Eventually, Michelle told her to phone her doctor and go home, and took her into her office to make the necessary calls. Brooke had taken some deep, shuddery breaths that felt as if she was trapped under ice.

She hit call seven consecutive times before there was any answer.

“Hey, Mum. Um. Can you come and pick me up from work?”

***

It was sort of entirely ridiculous, the fact that Brooke had reached the age of twenty seven and had never learnt to drive, but the moment that she saw her Mum’s white, midge-splattered family car roll up outside reception she had never been so glad of having not had a license. It had taken roughly 45 minutes for her to reach the school that Brooke taught in, and on the drive back to her house Brooke listened to her chatting away about how she’d had to take her cat to the vet’s for his injections that morning so she’d had to drop him off back home before she could come for Brooke. Brooke had been worried about phoning her Mum, and she knew she worried about her, but she reasoned that she was probably just glad Brooke was coming to be at home with her.

Brooke had thought about going back to her own flat and resting up there, but she knew all she had waiting for her there were some slightly withered potted plants. She needed to spend at least a day back home with her parents, be treated as if she was back in high school all over again. As pathetic as it sounded, she just needed looked after.

As the cars sped by on the motorway, Brooke looked at her reflection in the wing mirror, running her fingers through her hair and noticing her dark roots coming through in dismay. Brooke had always had a long, thick head of platinum hair, but various escapades in highlights and lowlights over the years had cause roots to begin to appear every so often. She’d always been organised enough to get it sorted before it ever got too bad, however as she looked at herself now she realised she must have slipped up. She noticed her Mum looking over at her from her position behind the wheel.

“I’ll treat you to a haircut while you’re off,” she said quietly, her tone cheerful and making Brooke’s heart hurt more. “And we can make a nice dinner tonight. How does fajitas sound?”

“If you’re nice to me I’ll cry,” Brooke said dryly, sighing deeply and sinking further down into her seat. She saw the sides of her Mum’s mouth jerk up quickly into a suppressed smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle and deepening her crows’ feet.

“I think there’s some bubble bath in the bathroom cupboard, and I’ve still got some of that Liz Earle face mask your Dad got me at Christmas. You can get a nice relax when we get home.”

“You are queen of serotonin,” Brooke gave a small smile, rubbing at her tired eyes.

It was hard feeling like she’d let people down. She’d forever been seen as a success in her family- the hard-working, quiet, well-behaved little girl, the head girl of her high school with straight As, a solo seal ballet dancer with an offer from Cambridge and eventually a First Class Honours degree in Education. A well-respected dance teacher at the last school she’d worked at, with staff who all loved her and children who respected her. The move to her current school should have been a great development opportunity- a private, fee-paying secondary school well-known for its excellence in the expressive arts. Instead all that had come with it was pressure, scrutiny, and absolutely zero support from any member of management. It was hard for Brooke to admit she was struggling, and it was even harder to accept that she’d lost her battle with work- she was going home. She wouldn’t be returning for weeks. She knew that several of the girls she taught had exams coming up in the near future, and her competition group had finals in a month. The thought of all of this made her stomach sink and her heart thud deeply, fight-or-flight impulse kicking in although instead of telling her to run away, it was telling her to run back. But she couldn’t of course- she was trapped in her Mum’s car rolling down the motorway back to the house she grew up in, back to the town she grew up in, and back to mundanity and quiet.

Eventually, Brooke arrived home. She shuffled, numb and dazed, through the doorway, being brought back to earth with a bump by her family pet Henry, still a little tired from his vaccines and rubbing against her legs. She tuned in and out as she listened to her Mum explain that she’d have to go back to work until the evening (despite being sixty-eight, her Mum insisted she would never be able to retire) so Brooke had to be in the house on her own for a while. She had looked worriedly at her as she broke the news, as if Brooke had been about to break down sobbing, but she was strangely comforted in the fact that it would just be her and the cat and her house full of memories. It would be like spending time with an old friend.

So once her Mum left for work, Brooke tried to push her own work out of her mind. She took a long, hot bath and then found some cosy sweatpants and a huge black hoodie in one of the closets in her old bedroom, mixed up with old clothes she’d brought back from uni before she’d started her first job. It was funny to be back in her little pink-painted microcosm that she’d spent so many years in, really where she first began her struggle with anxiety. Brooke frowned at herself as she thought. She shouldn’t use the word struggle- she should use the word relationship, or battle, or coping, but if the very fact that she was back living with her Mum after a complete work-related mental breakdown didn’t indicate a fucking struggle, then what did?

Brooke then knelt down on her old white carpet and opened her wardrobe, the bottom of which contained a bunch of sentimental items that she had never gotten round to throwing away- old programmes from dance shows, certificates from exams, photos, her old high school yearbook. Opening it, she found the photos from her leavers’ prom and her eyes fell on one of her and her friends all standing lined up on Brooke’s staircase. She smiled as she remembered her girlfriends- Plastique, who she hadn’t spoken to in months, now working as an air hostess for Emirates. Yvie, who had moved to New York and was touring with some acrobatics company- she exchanged the odd half-arsed catchup Facebook messenger message with her now and again. Scarlet, who she’d fallen out with before uni over some childish thing- she couldn’t remember what, but they hadn’t spoken since. Bianca, who only lived then next town over but could never make their schedules match up for a coffee, so busy was she with her job at a fashion editorial. Detox, who she’d fallen out of contact with. It was so fucking sad. Everybody else seemed to have a little group of school friends they still spoke to, at least if she went by what instagram showed. Looking at the photo, Brooke felt a million miles away from the girl with her hair swept up in a bun wearing a blue satin ballgown, and she couldn’t quite believe it had once been her.

Pushing the yearbook to one side, she finally found what she was looking for- some mindfulness colouring-in book her Mum had once bought her for Christmas full of different patterns. At the time, Brooke had wanted to make some comment about how it was cheaper than therapy, and the memory made her snort an ironic laugh. She sat gently on her old bed, all freshly made up with white sheets and pillowslips although still with its old mattress that sagged in the middle. She coloured for an hour or so, and then decided to listen to some relaxation tape she’d found through an anti-anxiety app she’d once downloaded in a vain attempt at self-care. It was hard to switch off. Every time she finally felt as if her mind was clear, some thought from work would hit her out of nowhere with a start, like a car crashing into her. So it was a welcome relief when she eventually drifted off into a nap, her mind finally at peace from its self-inflicted torture.

Brooke woke to find it was still light outside, her Mum perched gently on the edge of the bed and her eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Good sleep?” she asked, her voice quiet. Brooke stretched in response. “I need to take a walk to the shop to grab stuff to make fajitas. You want to come with me?”

Every fibre of Brooke’s being wanted to stay curled up in the bed, but she found herself saying yes.

That was how twenty minutes later she found herself staring with glazed eyes at a crate full of red onions, as her Mum tried to find the one that was the least bashed. Brooke took a deep breath and tried not to grow irritated with her as she watched her pick up and put down onion after onion.

“Mum, you’re not quality control. Just get one in there,” she said weakly, reaching over herself and putting one in the shopping basket her Mum had slung over her arm. As they traipsed the aisles, Brooke found her heart hammering in her chest as she realised- here she was in her home town, wearing black baggy sweatpants and a black shapeless hoodie, Birkenstocks on her feet, with black roots poking out through her hair. She was a complete sight, but her saving grace was that most of the people she’d known from school had moved out, and that it was a relatively big town. She wasn’t really likely to bump into anyone she knew. At least, that’s what the logical part of her brain told her. The part captained by anxiety had convinced herself that the supermarket was a front and that the aisles were all about to peel away to reveal her standing on stage as part of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway in front of an audience of millions.

Eventually, they had completed their circuit of the shop and Brooke was helping load everything onto the conveyor belt when her Mum suddenly gave a small cry. “Shit! I need cat food.”

“I’ll get it,” Brooke said, trying her best not to sound downtrodden as she strode slowly away from the checkout desks. On the rare occasions she’d spoken today she’d either been on the brink of tears or she’d given her best impression of Eeyore on beta blockers, and it was a million miles away from the voice she knew she was able to speak with. It frustrated her.

Reaching the pet food aisle a couple of metres away, she marvelled at the astronomical price of ground up pieces of animals that humans didn’t want in sauce, picked up four little gold foil trays and was about to turn around when the unthinkable happened.

She heard her name.

At least, she thought she had. It sounded as if it was being said in a girls’ voice, perhaps her age or slightly younger. Either way, that wasn’t good news. Frozen in place, she decided to turn back to the tills when the voice stopped her again. This time, it was clearer, distinctive, and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke slowly turned around, trying to mask the confusion on her face when she locked eyes with the girl who had spoken her name. She was small, with tanned caramel skin, dark hair and perfect makeup, and Brooke didn’t recognise her at all. What she did recognise, however, was the voice.

The girl took a couple more steps towards her, putting down her bags full of stuff from other shops and giving an awkward wave. “Hey! It is Brooke Lynn, right? Shit, sorry, you just really look like a girl I knew in high school-”

“No, yeah, it’s me…” Brooke began, then trailed off, embarrassed because she looked exactly like someone that was failing at life and because she still had no idea who the fuck this girl was. “Um sorry, this is embarrassing, I actually don’t remember you.”

To her credit, the girl gave a blush and a loud laugh. “Aw no, shit, no, of course you don’t. I mean, why would you, right? I’m Vanjie, remember? We went to the same high school? When you were in sixth form you helped out with the Year 7 dance club? I went to that.”

A brief flash of memory shattered through Brooke’s already very crowded mind- Vanessa Mateo, a small, slightly chubby girl with braces and a big attitude, who answered her dance teacher, her friends and Brooke back, who had a lot of potential and a fiery temper. Brooke did remember her. She was very different to the girl in front of her just now.

“Oh, God, yeah, no, I remember you,” Brooke stammered out, trying and failing to cover up her disbelief. “No, yeah, shit. I didn’t recognise you at all, you look so different!”

“How so?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow, as if she was daring Brooke to start digging.

“Well, um, obviously everyone looks so different back in high school. You got the braces off, obviously. And you lost weight, right? You look so good. Not that you were needing to lose weight, I mean you were what, fourteen? And there’s nothing wrong with being bigger, obviously. I’m not saying you were big at any point, just-”

“Jesus, are you havin’ a stroke?” Vanessa suddenly let out a peal of laughter, her eyes at once mocking but kind. It was a funny gaze to be regarded under, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Brooke found herself letting out the first genuine laugh she’d omitted in days. “Girl, it’s fine. I was ugly. We all were in high school. Except you. You always looked fine.”

Brooke gave a humourless laugh, gesturing down at her clothes. “‘Looked’ being the operative word. I usually don’t go out like this, honestly.”

Vanessa gave her a once-over with her eyes and shrugged. “You don’t look so bad. Could wear a bin bag and your face’d still look the same.”

Brooke felt a sting of blush prick at her cheeks, not used to being flattered. Vanessa frowned, clearly sensing Brooke’s embarrassment and quickly changing the subject.

“So what brings you back here? I know you didn’t stay when you left high school. What’re you up to now?”

“Oh, uh,” Brooke felt her heart tightening. It would be so easy to lie- it’s not like she’d ever see this girl again after their chance meeting in a supermarket cat food aisle- but if she was being honest, Brooke didn’t even have the energy to come up with a simple lie. So she felt herself jumping straight into deep, freezing cold conversational waters, and her heart froze up as she spoke. “I’m just back home for a visit. I actually got signed off work today. So. Yeah. I was a dance teacher at one of the private schools through in the city. I mean, I guess I still am, I’ll have to go back at some point. But, yeah. That’s where I’ve ended up. I bet that’s the glamorous life you would have expected the head girl to end up living when you were sat in assembly all those years ago.”

Vanessa gave a sympathetic smile. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry. Still, it’s good you’re taking time out and being open about it and stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go around telling every fucker all my problems. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Here’s all my emotional baggage. Hope you enjoy it.”

Vanessa’s face lit up as she laughed again, and Brooke felt something in her heart warm up. Maybe it was because Vanessa’s reaction had been so blissfully unremarkable, as if Brooke had told her it was going to rain tomorrow. Maybe it was the way they were talking like old friends, despite the fact that Brooke’s only claim to knowing this girl was through teaching at a dance club she went to twice a week ten years ago. Brooke often forgot, however, that she’d always been under the spotlight being head girl in sixth form. The year sevens, straight out of primary school, had all looked up to her, and that was exactly the year group Vanessa had been in. It felt weird seeing her as an adult, quickly working out in her head that she had to be twenty-something by now.

“So, uh. What did you end up doing yourself? Do you still dance?”

“Dance? God, no, I can barely even walk in a straight line these days. Uh, no, I do nothing. I’m professionally unemployed at the minute,” Vanessa’s foghorn voice grew quieter, rubbing her neck as she spoke. “I apply for jobs, they reject me because I have no experience and no A Levels, the cycle begins again. It’s a great job. I’m lovin’ life.”

Brooke smiled at her and shook her head. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Job hunting is a full-time job in itself, you need to be kind to yourself about it.”

Vanessa smiled shyly as Brooke spoke, which made a little bubble inside Brooke pop. She’d so rarely seen Vanessa smile before, since most things she’d said to her in dance club had been met with a defiant scowl or a frown. She looked nice when she smiled.

Brooke was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by her Mum shouting over from the till. “Brooke! What’s my pin number?”

“5280, Mum. Now we’ve gotta change it again,” Brooke shouted back, delighting as she turned back round and saw Vanessa laughing at the exchange. Brooke realised she was still holding the cat food. “Well, I’d better go before my Mum gets frauded. But it was nice seeing you, Vanjie.”

“You too, Brooke Lynn. Take care, okay? Hey,” she said suddenly, reaching into her shopping bag and holding out a bouquet of pink lilies. "Here. I bought them to brighten my flat up, but I think you need ‘em more than me.”

Brooke blushed in spite of herself, and she watched as Vanessa smiled shyly back at her. “Oh. Thank you, that’s sweet.”

Brooke could’ve sworn Vanessa blushed back at her as she shrugged. “Well. I’ll maybe see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Brooke stuttered out, as Vanessa picked up her shopping bags and passed by her with a little wave. Dazed and confused, almost as if she’d felt something land on her but couldn’t feel what it was, she made her way back to her Mum and handed over the cat food to the girl at the till wordlessly. Her Mum raised an eyebrow.

“Ooh, who was that? A gorgeous girl giving you flowers?”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Mum that’s not…no. It was a girl from high school, we were just catching up.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I know I always give flowers to whoever I catch up with from high school,” her Mum said dryly, avoiding Brooke’s eyes as she packed up her bags. “Come on, then. These fajitas won’t cook themselves!”

Brooke nodded and absent-mindedly sniffed the flowers in her arms, a smile forming on her face that she wasn’t aware of until it was firmly planted there.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #from under liquid glass #ortega #tw anxiety

102 notes · View notes

lucidpantone · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Visitations

Someone recently asked the tag if Sander and Robbe stayed together forever. Here’s a fic giving you the answer. Thanks for the inspiration.

Read the rest on Ao3

Italics is the Past. If not, it's August 15th.

*************************************************************************************************

Sander sat in the dark. Questioning, why did he have these thoughts, retracing each one, letting one dark thought morph into another. Asking himself why do my thoughts do this. If my last thought had been different from my previous thought I wouldn’t be thinking what am thinking right now but they just kept going and going and going because thoughts never stop. Even when you’re sleeping. Thoughts only ever stop when….

The hospital room door swung open.

The harsh glare of the hallways fluorescent lighting poured into Sander’s room.

Sander eyesight took a moment to readjust and as it did he saw him standing there.

He looked like an angel drenched in a yellowish afterglow.

“Sander…” hearing Robbe say his name brought a small smile to his face. They hadn’t seen one another in awhile.

“I told her not to call you.” Sander grunted as he rolled himself on the bed to face the wall.

“Your mom didn’t call me. The hospital did. I am still your emergency contact.” Sander heard the door close behind Robbe.

He could hear Robbe rustling in the darkness. Curiosity got the better of him and Sander turned back around towards Robbe. Sander hadn’t even noticed that Robbe was in his work clothes. It was such a departure for Sander seeing Robbe like this in a shirt, tie and trousers instead of his usual beat up vans, black Trasher hoodie and slightly too big jeans. Robbe looked good, he looked so adult.

Sander noticed Robbe’s work bag already on his desk chair. Sander watched Robbe unbutton his shirt, slip it off, remove his tie and pull his undershirt over his arms. Robbe was standing in the dark, bare chest. He took a moment to kick off his loafers and head towards the bed.

Before he got under the covers Robbe checked the time on his beat up Casio watch shaking his head at whatever information the device was providing him.

Sander knew the drill. They had this routine down. Sander and Robbe had been in this exact situation several times before. In this exact hospital actually, maybe even in this exact room. All the sterile white hospital rooms looked the same to both of them now.

Sander’s back felt cold as he pressed it onto the hospital wall. Robbe slid into bed with him. The beds in the observation rooms were all singles so to fit Robbe and Sander onto one bed Sander had to lay on his side with his back to the wall and his upper body sprawled onto Robbe’s chest but Sander and Robbe both already knew this. This wasn’t the first time. As Sander put his ear to Robbe’s chest he felt his warmth radiate onto him. It felt calming. They laid there for a minute until Sander spoke up.

“You don’t need to come back here to take care of me. I am not your sick boyfriend anymore.”

Robbe looked down at Sander and grabbed onto the nape of his neck slightly pulling at the ends of his hair.

“No big deal. I was in the neighborhood” Robbe said in a dry tone. Sarcastic but with a hint of sadness to it.

Both Sander and Robbe knew that he most certainly was not in the neighborhood. Sander imagined that Robbe made up some lame excuse to leave work early and hop on a train from Brussels to Antwerp in attempts to make the 8pm visitation time cut off. Sander was glad he came. He hated that fact. Robbe deserved better, they weren’t even together anymore but Robbe made everything better. When Robbe was around it made Sander feel almost safe. Hopeful that eventually this darkness that clouded him would leave him.

Can I ask you for a favor? Sander whispered.

Robbe nodded. Their bodies relaxing into one another.

“Can you take Bowie with you?” Sander looked up at Robbe trying to find his eyes in the darkness, and when he did, he let some honest truths come out. “I just think i'm going to be here awhile…... am not doing so great.” Sander murmured the last part of his confession.

Robbe responded by giving Sander a kiss on the forehead and pulling him in closer.

“I don’t know if you still remember but it's …” Robbe finished Sander’s sentence for him.

“Fresh in the morning and a third of a cup of dry food at night. I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”

Robbe kissed Sander’s forehead again. He pulled Sander even closer to him. Tighter. Sanders lips were practically meeting Robbe’s jawline now. Robbe cradled him towards his chest as he ran his fingers down his arm and onto his ribcage. Sander buried his face into Robbe’s neck to muffle a sob as he felt Robbe tracing the outline of Sander’s first tattoo. Sander could practically visualize the text.

In Elk Universum

Sander was crashing. Robbe tried to distract him.

“You want to hear a story baby?” Robbe asked ever so softly.

Sander was crying now but he responded in between sobs. “Is it the one about the house by the beach?”

“That’s the one” Robbe said sweetly. Taking a moment to kiss away the tears on Sander’s right cheek.

Robbe began to recant the story about the two boys who fell in love at the house by the beach. He walked his index finger and middle finger across his chest to depict the first boy a small brown hair skater type. Robbe moved his hand which was placed on Sander’s nape, down Sander’s arm and grabbed Sander’s hand. Robbe gently unfolded Sander’s index finger and middle finger and began to walk Sander’s fingers across his chest to meet the brown hair skater boy.

Once both the brown hair skater boy and the artist were standing directly across from one another Robbe continued the story.

“So we had our artist who fell in love with his skater boy.” Robbe took a second to use his index finger to slightly massage the top of Sander’s index finger and then he continued.

“The artist would say that he saw the skater boy in the moonlight and that he just knew….”

That was Sander’s queue. “That he was the one”.

Robbe gave out a long sigh “Yeah, that he was the one”.

Robbe walked his fingers over towards Sanders fingers and placed his index and middle finger underneath Sander’s fingers allowing his thumb to massage the top of Sanders fingers.

Sander broke Robbe’s grasp and clasped their hands together interlacing their fingers between one another.

Sander looked up at Robbe and in a sudden moment of courage he asked him..

“Do you think they make it? The skater boy and the artist?”

Robbe looked down at Sander gulping down on whatever seemed to be stuck in his throat but before Robbe could respond Sander added on.

“You know if the skater boy could forgive the artist for all the shit he put him through.”

Sander then collapsed onto Robbe’s chest before Robbe could even form a response. Sander pulled on Robbe’s hand turning it over while still tightly clasping onto it.

Sander brought Robbe’s hand towards his mouth and gently placed a kiss on the text tattooed across Robbe's wrist.

Neither of them spoke after that. They just laid together in silence.

But as Sander began to drift off into slumber he heard Robbe faintly say.

“Always. They always make it back to each other. In every universe Sander”.

*************************************************************************************************

“Sander”

“Sander Driesen” The nurse rattled off.

Sander popped his head up from in between his legs and walked across the waiting room towards her direction.

He followed the nurse through the double doors into a patient room. Sander despised talking to shrinks. He had talked to so many over the years that he had constructed a well prepared monologue by now. This shrink was new he had never seen her before. He had been referred to her from his previous therapist because he concurred that he needed a more senior medical professional to evaluate him. It was all the same to Sander. He had this role down. He would be quick, say what they wanted to hear. Maybe throw them an emotional bone here or there and be on his way.

The doctor was roughly in her late forties. A curly haired brunette with strands of grey hair sticking out and large black rim glasses. Sander was perceptive with these medical types they’d been around him his whole life and he already knew by looking at her she was going to make him work for it. Sander threw his leather jacket off and splashed down on her couch and waited for her to start her shtick.

“Hey Sander, I am Dr. Bakker. I hear you came in to request that your meds be recalibrated?”

Sander leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees answering back.

“Yeah, I’ve been edgier than usual” Sander told her, making a hands shaking motion.

“And I'm having trouble sleeping.” Sander was always having trouble sleeping. This was nothing new but the start of autumn always made him blue. He wasn’t sure why, I mean he was but he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself just yet.

“It looks like you have had a recalibration every year for the past 4 years”

The doctor stopped there. Goating him for more information. Sander considered playing his usual game but he wasn’t in the mood. So he gave it to her strait.

“What can I say, I get a little more crazy every year” Sander twirled his index finger in a circular motion around his temple.

Dr. Bakker wasn’t amused.

“Sander, what's your earliest memory?” Sander thought not this freudian shit again. This is why he despised talking to shrinks. Memory this and memory that. Parents this and parents that. So he changed gears.

“Doc, do you ever question memories?”

“How so?”

“I mean do you question the concept of how you remember them. Capture them?”

“How do you decide which one to remember? Which one was good? and which one was bad?”

“I don’t know Sander, how do you remember them?”

“I draw them.”

“On your body?” Dr Bakker said pointing her pen at Sander’s arms. His full sleeve tattoos on full display.

Sander gave the doc a wicked grin. Okay he thought. Let's play.

“When I was younger I used to draw my favourite memories. The good ones. The ones I wanted to capture? ”

“The ones that made you feel safe?” Dr. Bakker added on.

“Oh, your good doc” Sander giggled making a trigger signal towards her direction.

“Sure” Sander clasped his hands in front of him and replied with a tinge of drama in his voice.

“The ones that made me feel safe”

“I’d draw them and place them around whatever room, surface, habitat I was infiltrating on the day”

“And they made you feel safe” The doc probed again. In a condescending manner. Pressing her pen onto her scratchpad.

Sander was annoyed now but he flashed her one of his typical fall back asshole smiles. In attempts to brush her off. It was the Robbe smile the one he had learned to weaponize long ago. Sander never quite got it right. Sander was always better at obvious distractions, not overt strategy like Robbe. Robbe’s smile confused his recipient, made you think that you thought of that, when you hadn’t. A smile wrapped up in qanswers a question within an answer. Sander had tried to make that smile part of his arsenal but Robbe was always better at flipping the axis, breaching for impact, navigating the fall outs. He could simultaneously be your guardian angel or your ruthless protection squad.

Sander had drifted off for a second. The doc’s pen taps pulled him out of his own conscious.

He finally responded “The good ones, sure”.

“So how do you decide what's good or bad? black or white?”

“Me” Sander pointed at himself. Acting dramatically astonished that the doc would even consider him capable of making these decisions for himself.

“Wouldn’t have a clue. I only stopped drawing because I couldn’t afford to buy new sketch books everytime I thought about throwing myself off a bridge.”

“Do you know how expensive sketchbooks are doc?”

Sander was entertaining himself now.

He looked up at the doctor. She was expressionless.

His eyes shifted.

“It’s a joke doc. Jeeezz” Sander threw up his hands. In a give me a break fashion.

“Anyways I don’t know anything about good or bad, black or white. I, myself, am a maverick. I operate in shades of grey.”

Dr. Bakker was visibly frustrated by Sander’s grandstanding. So she let go of all the niceties.

“Who’s Robbe?”

And now….Now Sander had had enough. This was going to be a throw away session.

He threw up his muddy Doc Martens on Dr Bakker’s Beige couch and sprawled himself out. He turned his cheek towards her and said.

“Robbe who?”

Dr. Bakker replied sternly.

“You have had almost half a dozen in-patient stints in the last five years. You’d checked yourself out against doctor orders every time. Robbe is noted on your personal records as your emergency contact. Who is he? ”

She was starting to sound demanding. Sander was getting under her skin.

“Oh him” Sander considered continuing his smart aleck routine but he was generally curious what the doc had to say.

“His my ex-boyfriend”

“And was he good or bad to you?”

Sander popped back up now. Placing both feet on the ground firmly.

Sander wasn’t sure how to reply. He could lie or he could tell her the truth.

Robbe was the best. The sanguine type of person that if the world knew about them they would in case them in amber like some sort of prehistoric jewel to keep them safe.

Sander noticed the time it was nearly five. The session was nearly at its end. So he told her what she wanted to hear. Tried to expedite the process.

“His a good person”

“What about when he is with you? Is he good then too?”

Ohhh. That hit a nerve.

“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t been together in a long time.” Sander said in a steady voice attempting to give away nothing.

“That's a shame. He seems to have shown up for you a lot, and you know what they say?”

The doc was glib.

“People need people”

And time.

Sander couldn’t have got up any faster and headed towards the door. Dr. Bakker noticed Sander immediacy and asked him. “Somewhere you need to be?”

“On my way to Brussels” he snapped back. He was done playing patient/doctor.

“What’s in Brussels?” Sander paused as he twisted the door handle.

He looked back at her.

“Nothing. Just something I forgot”

As he walked out of the room he heard the door slam behind him.

*************************************************************************************************

Robbe heard him before he saw him.

Jangled trucks, Loose hardware, a slab of maple, the grind of steel.

Lucas Van Der Heijden slid into Robbe’s life unannounced via a four foot handrail above ground.

Front side, lip slide.

Roll up, Fakie.

Drop in, ride the bowl, keep it sweet.

Off the edge, Pop, Back Foot Slide, Flip.

Ride the pocket.

Need a break, back side disaster.

Just for fucks Lucas thought.

Front side, big air, tail grab.

Don’t lose it. Speed it up.

Last one for the cute guy looking at me , Lucas clocked.

Tuck knee, chicken wing, front side air.

He’s still staring…. One more.

Front nose, rail slide.

Clips.

Oh Fuck

Bails.

Lucas’s board flies out from underneath him. Luckily his feet catching him before he eats any real shit.

Robbe sees the board flying towards his direction. He runs to it, grabs it. Thinking, this is his chance.

Lucas pops back up. Running his fingers through his hair, trying to collect himself as he walks towards the cute guy with the black Trasher hoodie on.

The two men stop a couple of feet away from one another.

“Wouldn’t take you for a guy that rides girls?” Robbe shoots out in the cockiest tone.

Lucas chokes on his own spit. Unable to piece a sentence together after that.

He finally gathers himself and gives Robbe his gutsies reply.

“Only for business purposes. Never in private” Lucas lifts his eyebrow towards Robbe.

Robbe lets out a little snort. He thinks to himself this guys funny and gay.

Robbe finally hands Lucas back his GIRL brand skateboard.

“Robbe” He says leaning in to give Lucas a skater bro style handshake. The kind that happens high on the chest but Lucas stops him and grabs his hand and gives him a real handshake.

“Lucas”

“Your Dutch?”

“Your not” Robbe huffs at Lucas. Intrigued by this little shit.

Robbe hopes he isn’t being obvious as he checks Lucas out.

Lucas is roughly 6ft (1.8 meters).He has somewhat longish Hazelnut hair, long enough that you could see it form curls at the ends and a pair of striking glacial eyes the kind that feel like you peering into the bottom of the ocean. Robbe knew eyes like these, the kind that saw inside your soul and turned you inside out. He had experience.

Lucas was a semi-pro skater, just in town doing the rounds. Breaking in another skatepark crossing it off his metaphorical list.

“Do you mind?” Robbe pointed at slightly elevated pavement.

“Going to need a ledge for class.”

“You teach?” Lucas asked curiously.

“Yeah, I teach the under 14’s, Tuesday’s and Friday’s.

“You must be a pretty decent skater to teach….”

“I am okay. I have my moments.” Robbe gives Lucas a flirty smile.

“Ok, Mr. Okay” Lucas taunting Robbe in a ho hum tone.

“If you're the real deal. Name your three favorite skaters?”

Robbe shot back like a gun. “Natas Kaupas, Tommy Guerrero, Mark Gonzales”

“Oh shit” Lucas said surprised. Throwing up his hands apologetically for his presumption.

“You are the real deal Robbe and your old school”

“Yeah. I mean I like my skaters like I like my music” Robbe added.

“Just the classics” Robbe threw Lucas a wink.

Robbe was pleasantly surprised. It had been a moment, since he felt giddy. There hadn’t really been anyone significant in his life since Sander. I mean he slept with guys, went on dates but he was never really into those guys it was more an itch he needed to scratch.

Plus Sander was still awkwardly making cameos in his life.Three years after their break up. He stumbled in every few months saying he needed to visit Bowie. He was in town to tattoo a client. He was “just in the neighborhood” and thought he should drop by.It always ended the same. They’d end up fucking, he hung around for a few days, they pretend everything was okay. They never talked. At least not about them. Sander and Robbe were pros at protecting themselves from the world but never each other.

The set up had become a bit toxic.

Something needed to change.

“So, Lucas. I am here twice a week. How come I've never seen you before?”

“I know most pros that pass through here.”

“How do you know am a pro?” Lucas questioned with a perfectly placed crooked smile.

Robbe rolls his eyes casting them down on Lucas.

“Front side, big air, tucked knee. On a tuesday? Show off!”

Lucas chuckled. Robbe caught him.

“I am not from around here.” Lucas admits. Seemingly a little disappointed.

“Shame, I could have taught you a thing or two if you took to my class.”

“Oh, yeah” Lucas said pressing the back of his tongue against his front teeth.

“I can come now”

“I just won’t be able to keep up with the attendance.”

“Too bad” Robbe replies as he moves dangerously close to Lucas, invading his personal space. Lucas pulls back slightly. Robbe was making him nervous.

Robbe starts to back away from Lucas finding his board on the ground in his path.

“So what do you suggest I do then?” Lucas shouts back to Robbe with his arms spread out wide.

Robbe flashes him a calculated smile. He pops his board’s tail, slams its back down on the ground and begins to accelerate on the asphalt. He throws a Frontside 360 Ollie a couple feet in front of Lucas and pounds the landing.

The ground quakes beneath them.

Robbe slows to a stop.

Lucas raises his chin into the air with his arms out wide again. Waiting for Robbe’s response.

Robbe seizes the moment and yells out to him. “Try bribing the teacher”.

Lucas stands there incredulous, smiling to himself.

Knowing. He was fucked.

*************************************************************************************************

He fucked it.

Sander thought as he stepped out into the August night and scanned the curb.

Robbe was lighting a cigarette for some in-shape blonde with a fresh crew cut. Sander felt a twinge of jealousy. It wasn’t because he was shocked that someone found Robbe attractive, it's because everybody found Robbe attractive.

Sander was witness to the metamorphosis that Robbe went through in his late adolescents. Robbe went from a neutral tone caterpillar into a rare saturated butterfly. Sander could vividly recall when his precious wunderkind began to emanate. They would go out to bars together and as soon as Sander left Robbe alone someone would stroll up and offer Robbe a drink or sometimes more. It didn’t bother Sander at first, he was glad people finally saw Robbe the way he saw him but the doubt set in. Robbe would linger, he would hold someone’s stare to long, he’d flash his signature smile at some guy, he’d flip his beautiful mop of hair to attract attention and he did.

Sander was losing him. He knew it. All his preferential treatment was dissipating. All the gestures he thought were reserved for only him were becoming public. Robbe wasn’t his special secret anymore. He had options. He could leave whenever he wanted. Find someone who wasn’t so much work.Who didn’t spend months hospitalized, who wasn’t so broken, who didn’t need him. Logically, Sander knew this was unfair. If anything when Robbe sensed Sander’s worries he dismantled them. He poured himself into him. Robbe gave Sander everything, his body, his time, he forgave him. He loved him.

After the break up, Sander was selfish. He knew that much. Robbe would call him everyday in tears adamant that he didn’t want this. That he loved him. That he didn’t need Sander’s charity of time. He didn’t need some trial run to test their relationships dexterity. In the end, Sander’s worse fears crystalized and he hurt Robbe. He didn’t mean it. THEY WERE ON A BREAK. On paper Sander did nothing wrong but in his heart he knew he had gone too far. Push their relationship into some fruitless purgatory. Sander was sure Robbe would leave him but he didn’t. He stuck around but in return he took away the one thing that made Sander feel safe. Robbe stop saying I love you. He didn’t look at Sander the same. If they made love when Robbe would let his guard down it wasn’t really making love it was merely a semblance of a once perfect thing. It only made Sander sadder, it plagued him, it took him into some of his darkest corners.

Sander was tired. He wanted off this roundabout without any exit signs. He loved Robbe, why wasn’t that enough. He spent the last few years coping with the aftermath the only way he knew how. In the almost four years apart Sander riddled his body in atonement. In hopes that Robbe would notice it.Tattoos scattered over every inch of his personal surface. Except the blank canvas above his heart. He kept that for Robbe. He had promised it to him when they were younger. He told him that that’s were the faces of their children would go or some other symbol of his devotion.

Sander lost hope when Robbe texted him asking him to take Bowie back because he was moving to Amsterdam to be with Lucas. Sander knew then, it was over. So he began to draw out the design that would go into the blank space on his chest. It was time to cover it up. Time to let it go. Sander had resigned himself to a life without Robbe in it, but then it happened, he didn’t see it coming. Sander and Robbe chernobyld.

“You ready?”

“Yeah” Robbe replied as he waved off the tall blonde trying to retain his attention.

“Where did you park?”

Sander pointed towards the bottom of the street. They started walking shoulder to shoulder towards that direction. Sander pulled out the joint placed behind his ears and lit it.

“Oh my mom said Happy Birthday by the way.”

“I’ve still got five days” Robbe pointed out.

“I know but I just think she wanted to let you know she misses you”

Robbe blushed a little. “I miss her too”.

Sander signaled to Robbe that they needed to cross over the road and as he stepped off the curb.

Two adolescent girls rode by on their bikes clearly unaware of the world around them.

A blonde and a brunette with electric blue streaky hair yelling at the top of their lungs

“Try this one, I promise this one is really good”. Sander could make out that they were passing back a 16oz can between them. The type that should be illegal to upcharge to triple the price at every concert.

“Dumb kids” Sander scoffed back towards Robbe’s direction.

As they reached the other side of the curb Sander turned around to face Robbe.

“Let’s go for a walk” Sander suggested.

Robbe dropped his shoulders and let his neck slightly relax forward.

“Sander am tired. I've been at work all day.”

Sander clocked the time on his Casio watch.

“It’s only 7:24. I’ll carry you on my shoulders if that helps.”

Sander pulled on Robbe’s arm.

“Come!”

Sander grabbed Robbe’s hand for mere seconds placing it on his shoulder signaling Robbe to jump on his back.

Robbe shook his head side to side.

“No, no, old man. Wouldn’t want to injure you.”

Robbe walked in front of Sander.

Sander took a moment to lightly punch his shoulder and proclaim.

“I am only twenty eight asshole.”

Robbe gave Sander a smile. A genuine one. He pushed his man bag to the side stepped directly in front of Sander and tapped his shoulder.

“Come...”

Sander was way to cool to be seen being carried around in public but he thought fuck it. For Robbe. He jumped on, maneuvering his arms awkwardly as he held onto whatever was left of his joint.

He settled in. Hovering his chin over Robbe’s shoulder.

Robbe teased. “Remember when I use to carry you all around your house when you were sick.”

“When I was “sick” Sander replied repeating the word sick with a tone of disgust.

“You mean when I was having an episode.” His tone soften.

“Well yeah…. Whatever. Anyways, I use to carry you off the bed, to the shower, down the stairs, to the kitchen. So your mom could feed us.”

“I know. It was great having my own personal mode of transport.”

“Fuck off” Robbe said jokingly.

Sander drew the last pulls of his joint towards Robbe’s mouth. Robbe popped his head out and sucked on it. The smoke of his exhale disappearing readily into the twilight.

“Yeah it was great getting paid”

“What” Sander questioned.

“Oh did I forget to mention that. Your mom was paying me.”

“Sander Driesen. Robbe Izjerman’s first client. Who knew I was such a great personal assistant.”

Sander gave out one of his signature snorts.

Robbe took one final puff of the joint and Sander threw it away.

He finally adjusted his arms and wrapped them around Robbe’s chest. He placed his head onto Robbe’s shoulder a moment of tenderness that took Robbe by surprise because Robbe knew that's where Sander use to always place his head. That’s were Robbe’s first tattoo is located.

They walked down the road. Robbe pushed Sander up his body slightly adjusting his gripped.

Sander finally broke the silence.

“No, but seriously did she really pay you?”

Robbe let out a thundest laugh turning his head towards Sander and lifting his eyebrow as some sort of admission of truth.

They continued to walk down the street.

Riffing back and forth on this joke.

Blurring into the dusk of night.

*************************************************************************************************

They always made love at dawn.

Before the heat of the day submerged them.

It was the lazy type of love making where your body mostly reacts on instinct versus effort. However this morning was different Robbe woke up slightly feverish a sudden hunger to feel Sander underneath him. Robbe dragged his body on top of Sander, straddling him. He was still a bit sleepy so he moved slowly in no mood to rush through the moment. Robbe pressed his right hand on Sanders chest steadying himself as his left began exploring the plains of Sander’s chest. His hand slid down till he felt the coarseness of Sander’s pubic hair and then the girth of his cock slewing in his hand as he took a hold of it.

Robbe stretched his body over Sander shoulder extending his right hand to grab the bottle of lube on the nightstand. A souvenir from the night before. Nowadays they weren’t so stringent about condoms they had been together for several years, completely trusted one another and had a couple of dozen STD tests between them.

Robbe poured an excessive amount of lube on his hand letting the overage dripped onto Sander’s dick. He moved his hand up and down Sander a couple of times until he felt a rapture possess him. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

He elevated his hips and pushed them forward. His ass practically hovering over the tip of Sander’s penis. Sander hadn’t participated much as of yet aside from shooting Robbe a smile when he felt the liquid friction on his growth.

But Robbe gave Sander a soft plea signaling for him. Sander used one hand to grab Robbe’s waist and the other to guide himself inside of Robbe.

As soon as Robbe felt Sander enter him he sucked in hot air through his teeth.

He closed his eyes and let his hips crash onto Sander. Waves of pleasure violently dragging him through the water.

The tide beneath him gaining traction. Robbe was mesmerized by the molten sensation engulfing him.

Making him move closer and closer to his own edge.

At first he thought Sander’s voice was a daydream.

“Baby, look at me”

No, Robbe thought. He didn’t want to let go of the moment. Hid eyelids felt like cinder blocks. Weighted down by his own euphoria.

But Sander implored, “Baby, please”.

It took everything Robbe had to will his eyes open. Sander’s bejeweled gazed watched over him. Protective but ravenous.

Sander pressed his heels into the linen sheets and picked up the pace. Robbe readjusted and placed both his hands on Sander’s collarbone arranging his thumb directly over Sander’s guardian angel. He had etched Robbe’s charm and chain onto his body. Looking down at Sander’s act of fidelity wound Robbe up so tight he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hold on. Robbe let out a rough gasp as his body uncoiled. The spurts of cum decorating his chest and the back of his elbows.

Robbe began to freefall onto Sanders chest but Sander caught him from the back of the neck and dug his fingers into Robbe’s hair. He pounded his hips into Robbe accelerating the pace faster and faster as he released one final jerk into Robbe. Sanders head and shoulders uncontrollably shoot up causing Robbe to catch his boyfriend’s mouth as Sander let out the longest moan into his mouth.

Sander fell back onto the sheets as Robbe kissed him deeply.

Once they both stop spurting Robbe peppered Sander with kisses from his lips, down his neck, taking a moment to nip at the three icons right below his adam’s apple. A lightning bolt, a sun, and the black side of half a ying yang.

Robbe nuzzled his head underneath Sander’s chin and just laid still for a moment.

Neither of them noticed when they fell back asleep but the heat woke them.

India was sweltering in the summer.

Sander had surprised Robbe with a graduation present/early 22nd birthday present and booked them a trip.

It was perfect timing as it also coincided with a training course Sander had been dying to attend. He had become bored of his usual work. All the shop’s patrons asked for the same tattoo designs and Sander needed a new challenge. He had become obsessed with hands. He wanted to learn how to tattoo hands but none of that silly juvenile shit like a heart on a knuckle. Sander wanted to learn how to do intricate henna style mehndi patterns. The kind of designs that require a commitment. The shit that was needle to bone. The shit that fucking hurt.

He looked up who was the best in the world at this craft and found out it was a little old lady in Mumbai. She looked like she could be your grandma but she also looked like art. Mehndi patterns all over her body. Sander just had to meet her. He was completely fixated, Robbe wasn’t opposed to India but it wouldn’t have been his first choice but he really just wanted to make Sander happy.

It had been a rough year for them both. Sander had had two in-patient stints at the hospital. One occurring during Robbe’s final year university exams. Robbe was completely burnt out. In between trying to be there for Sander and staying up till early hours every morning studying he was glad that Sander suggested getting out of Antwerp. India completely revitalized their relationship. They made love everyday, Sander began sketching images that actually inspired him and Robbe worked on his portfolio. Somehow between the chaos of Sander’s hospital stints and his late night study sessions Robbe managed to get decent marks at university and landed himself into a master certification program in architecture. Robbe never thought he would consider architecture but over the years by Sander’s side he learned how to somewhat draw at least enough to draft renderings. The rest he mostly did on his computer. Sander was usually by his side showing him what programs to use; guiding him on shapes, colors and dimensions. In truth without Sander, Robbe wouldn’t have made it as far. Sander’s passion for art inspired Robbe to find something to be passionate about too.

“Mama Riddhi is going to love you” Sander snapped Robbe out of his concentrated navigation. Robbe was getting dizzy as they whine through a maze of corridors that seemed never ending.

“I can’t wait to meet her, you won’t shut up about her”

“She’s amazing, a true vet. She knows all about Plato, Darwin, Bowie. She’s got a killer eye too. She’s a visionary.”

It warmed Robbe to see Sander like this again. His eyes wild with eager.

They finally arrived outside the school-like building. Sander guided them inside. Robbe scanned the rooms. He was in awe of their adornments. Multi size vishnu statues sprawled out everywhere, Hindu mantras written all over the walls, lavish carpeting covering the floors. The rooms looked alive.

As they entered the back garden. Robbe saw a crowd of people gathered around who he assumed was Mama Riddhi.

“Mama Riddhi, I brought you someone”

Robbe stepped forward and saw her. Sander was right, she did look like she could be your grandmother but she also looked like art. Mama Riddhi wore a teal Saree her arms completely exposed, her artistry on full display. Patterns upon patterns etched onto her skin; on her hands, her forearms, her elbows. Her designs graffitied onto her body like some sort of second skin.

“Your right, he is beautiful” Mama Riddhi confirmed as Sander and Robbe walked up to her hand in hand.

“I told you so. He's my inspiration.”

Robbe could feel his cheeks turn a rosy hue.

Mama Riddhi stepped forward to meet them. She took ahold of Sander’s free hand examining it making sure the wrapping had stayed intact.

“Are you ready?” she asked Sander.

Sander nodded like an excited toddler. Robbe knew the likelihood of Sander leaving India without some sort of tattoo was unlikely. They didn’t travel halfway across the world for Sander not to get something but Robbe was a little apprehensive when Sander told him he was going to get Mama Riddhi to do his hands.

Sander insisted that he design the tattoo himself. Robbe had seen early drafts of it and for all intent and purpose the design was pretty tame for Sander. It was a back of the hand design, a horizontal black line down Sander’s middle finger and three vertical black lines on his thumb and a couple of black bands on his pinkie finger. Sander didn’t let Robbe come to the sitting for it he said he wanted to surprise him at the unveiling.

So here they were about to uncover what Sander had decided to do to himself. Mama Riddhi sat Sander down on a garden chair and slowly began unwrapping his hands.

“Oh Mama Riddhi tell Robbe the story you told me”

“The one about humans?”

“That’s the one” Sander said sweetly.

“Do you like love stories Robbe?”

“I mean, sure, yea” Robbe responded looking over towards the grandma as she unwrapped Sander’s hand.

Mama Riddhi began.

“Okay...this one is Sander's favorite.”

Sander scrunched his nose as confirmation.

“So, originally humans had two faces, four arms, four legs, and they were happy like that. Complete.”

Mama Riddhi grabbed Robbe’s hand and pulled him in front of Sander as she spoke. Exposing Sander’s hands to Robbe as she continued.

“Then we defied the gods. So the gods split us in two as punishment. And by doing so they tore us away from our other half. “

Robbe could see Sander’s tattoos now. He looked at them closely. He could make out ornate loops on his wrist, and hidden within the loops was an S on one hand and an R on the other.

“And each of us, when separated, are always looking for our other half because that's our nature.”

Sander read Robbe’s expression. To see if he had noticed it yet.

“So when one is met with another's half. The pair are lost, in an amazement of wonder, friendship and intimacy. And one will not be seen out of the sight of the other.”

“And the reason is. Human nature was once originally one.”

Robbe finally spotted it. Sander had carved a black band onto his ring finger.

“We were whole.”

“And the desire, and the pursuit of wholeness is love.”

Sander and Robbe said nothing to each other. They stayed suspended. Lovestruck. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them broke their gaze. They just stood there. Taking in the story, remembering it, frozen, itched into that moment.

Eventually they flew back home.

A couple of weeks later Robbe would move to Brussels to start his certification.

A month after that.

They broke up.

#wtfock #wtfam #sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #wtfock fic #sobbe fic #rosander fic #wtfock robbe #wtfock sander

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today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

The Most Beautiful Moment In Life

moodboard made by me

A story based on the fictional HYYH world about six boys with unimaginable problems and their friend that can’t do anything to help.

Warning: mentions of depression, abuse, substance abuse, death, suicide, violence, homelessness, bullying, eating disorders.

Wordcount: 37k+

A/N: I decided to combine the whole fic into one post so people wouldn’t have to keep referring to the masterlist to switch between parts. Hope this makes things easier for you 💜Epilogue by @dimpled-gukkie

01. Intro: The Most Beautiful Moment In Life

Jin stands on the beach, arms resting on the hood of his truck as he stares out at the ocean. The bitter wind whips his hair in his eyes and fills his head with the smells of salt and seaweed. You’d never know it’s the end of summer. The sky is an anemic gray, the water dull and choppy. Its chaotic churning matches the whirlwind in his stomach. His fingers shake and he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the anxiety that seems to pulse through him like a live wire.

He’s been gone all summer, doing a program abroad in Japan and he’s supposed to start his third year of university in just a couple weeks. But here he is on the beach because they always meet up here. It’s tradition. Every summer they mourn/celebrate the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. They spend the day at the beach, goofing off, having a big bonfire and staying out all night. It’s always been like this. All seven of them, together every year. Even though they hang out all season, the annual end of summer beach day seems almost like a reunion of sorts.

But after everything that happened…will any of them even show up? Jin feels the blood drain from his face as the terrible thought he’s been trying to avoid suddenly appears in his mind. Will anyone not show up?

With a quick clench of his fists, he pushes off his truck and runs his hands through his hair. He’s been absent this summer, even before then he was going to school full-time and was really only able to see his friends on the weekends and some holidays. And with how little he saw them, they all seemed worse every time he came around. There was nothing subtle about the change in each of their lives. And nothing he could do to help them. He watched each of them slip further and there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing he could do.

With each passing week, the gap between he and the others grew and before too long, he felt like an outsider, a fly on the wall observing rather than being a part of it. And then that whole thing with Yoongi. With Tae and his dad. And Jungkook and Jimin…and Hoseok…

He sucks in a sharp breath, his heart clenching like a cold fist in his ribcage as he stumbles to the cab of his truck and throws the door open. He rummages for a few seconds through the food wrappers and trash on the floor on the passenger side before finding his red notebook. Then he slams the door shut again, drops the journal open on the hood and begins to write.

Do you remember how it used to be? How we fit like a seven piece puzzle? Chaotic and messy on our own but a perfect picture when we were together…

02. Hold Me Tight

We were nothing until we became something. And we were only something when we were with each other.

One Year Ago.

Kim Seokjin sat in the bed of his truck, back against the cab, his red journal propped up on his legs as he scratched his pen across the lined paper. He’d always loved writing. It was why he’d decided to become an english major. This notebook had been a gift from his parents, inexpensive but meaningful. A symbol of their support of him pursuing a passion with little promise of fame or fortune. He didn’t care. It’s what he loved.

Every so often, he lifted his eyes from the page and stared out at the ocean. At the expanse of sea, glittering in the sunlight. Beach day was always his favorite day. Sure, it signaled the end of the summer, and the air, though still warm, carried the faintest bite of autumn, but it was a day for him to spend with his six best friends. The ones that he’d shared his life with for the past five years. Sure, his friendship with them looked different now than it did back then. Life had been a harsh beast, threatening many times to rip them apart but they always prevailed and their bond had become stronger every time because of it.

“Jin-hyung!”

Jin tore his eyes from the water to look further down the beach and a smile spread across his face when he saw two obscured figures making their way toward him. One tall and lanky, the other shrouded in a black hoodie. Namjoon and Taehyung.

He climbed out of the bed of his truck and tensed his body as the two younger boys reached him and lunged, each throwing their arms around him and causing him to stumble back.

“Yah!” he exclaimed. “You’d think we haven’t seen each other in a decade.”

Taehyung smiled, his mouth shaping into a rectangular grin that the rest of the boys had come to love. “Another year, another Beach Day.”

“And then you’re off to school again tomorrow,” Namjoon added mussing up the older boy’s hair.

Jin ducked out from beneath his arm and patted his hair back into place. “What? It’s not like I’m moving across the country. I’ll still be around.”

“Much less though,” Taehyung said. Jin’s eyes lingered on the ugly purple bruise blooming around the boy’s left eye, at the cut on his lip that split open when he had smiled. With a quick swipe of his sleeve, Taehyung wiped the blood away that had welled up. How many stains were hidden by the dark fabric of his black hoodie?

The three of them heard more shouts and laughter and turned to find their other four friends running toward them, hair and clothes whipping in the harsh wind. A few more yards and the seven of them were together again, as it should be. As it always should be.

“Jungkook-ah” Taehyung yelled to the youngest boy as he flung his arms around him. “I’ve missed you so!”

“My brother!” Jungkook yelled back and dramatically threw his body against him in a crushing hug. “Where have you been all my life?”

Taehyung looked again to Jin. “See?” he said. “Jungkook-ah gets it.”

Jin could only laugh as he watched the hug turn into a power struggle in the sand. The wrestling match quickly became a dog pile as Jimin, the third youngest, jumped on top, followed by Hoseok and finally the second oldest, Yoongi. Namjoon, more of a lover than a fighter, stood back with Jin, arms folded across his chest as he looked fondly down at their friends.

They spent the day together there on the empty beach. Seven friends drawing messages in the sand, racing each other along the shore, eating junk, wrestling and laughing, their normal lives forgotten, washed away by the crashing waves. By the time the sun was setting, their throats hurt from screaming, their limbs ached, their eyes burned but it was the happiest they’d been all year. It was a day to forget the present and live in the good times of the past and the possibilities of the future.

It grew dark. Not pitch dark. A bright darkness that made the sky a cobalt blue and everything else a crisp black. All they could smell was the tang of sea salt, all they could hear was the breaking of waves as they all lay in the sand and looked up at the stars. The world seems to spin a bit slower at night. The temperature had plunged when the sun set and when they finally couldn’t stand the cold anymore, they built a bonfire right there on the beach.

For hours the seven of them joked around, brought up funny memories, burst into song and played games, the punishment always the same, taking a dip in the frigid ocean. Before long, all of them were damp, their hair plastered to their foreheads in wet, salty strands. At last, sleepiness began to settle over the group, sending them all into silence. No one wanted to acknowledge that Beach Day was coming to a close. Everyone dreaded returning to the real world the next day.

After several minutes of silence passed, Hoseok finally sucked in a sharp breath and got to his feet. “I brought something,” he said digging into his pocket. When he pulled his hand back out, it was wrapped around a plastic baggie of pills. The rest of the group watched with bated breath. “I feel like this is a good moment to start over,” he said as he watched the flames lick at the cold air. “And what’s a better way to start over than getting rid of the temptation entirely, right?” His eyes lifted to peer around the circle. The others nodded, a few of them giving him small smiles of cautious encouragement. The boy had been struggling with addiction for years. This wasn’t the first time he’d decided to quit cold-turkey. But they all clung to the hope that it was the last.

“We’ll help you through this, hyung,” Jimin said with a determined nod. Hoseok smiled back, his eyes glittering at the promise.

Then with his own definitive nod, he opened the baggie and turned it upside down over the fire. The others cheered as his smile became wider. At last he stuffed the empty bag back in his pocket and fell back down into the sand. Yoongi clapped him hard on the back and Jimin leaned into him, nuzzling his side until he lifted his arm and slung it over the younger’s shoulders.

Jin smiled from where he leaned against the tailgate of his truck, his eyes scanning his circle of friends. The next morning he was heading off to college. Sure, his dorm wasn’t far and he planned on coming home on the weekends but…

His eyes flew to the dark bruise on Taehyung’s face, to the pale, sallowness of Jimin’s cheeks, to the threadbare places on Namjoon’s old clothes, to the dark stress circles under Yoongi’s eyes, to Jungkook wearing Yoongi's sweatshirt providing him the comfort he doesn't often receive at home

…he couldn’t help but worry about them. They had a much rougher life than he did and though he did what he could to help, he was afraid that life was getting the best of them. And there was only so much he could do to try and keep their heads above water before he too might sink and they all would drown.

03. Autumn Leaves

Apart, we were fragmented but together, we were unbreakable. And that was all we needed. Until it wasn’t.

November.

School had always been hard for Park Jimin. Luckily, the fact that Jungkook and Taehyung were almost constantly by his side made it bearable. They were his best friends and protectors against those that liked to pick on him because of how small he was. It wasn’t his fault that when the other boys hit puberty, they sprung up like weeds while he stayed closer to the ground. Though the taunting, the name calling, the abuse, made it feel to him like it was his fault. Like he should have tried harder, thought bigger, been stronger.

It’s hard to feel good enough when the world tells you that you never will be. Even the medication didn’t help much. The constant taunting throughout the years had worn him down. Chipped away at his meager self-confidence until there was nothing left to help but a razor blade and a bottle of sleeping pills. That didn’t work. And after he’d gotten out of the hospital and gone through treatment and promised his parents he’d continue going to therapy and taking his anti-depressants, he turned to the one thing he wasn’t too weak to control. Food. Everyone else already thought he was small. Maybe if he made himself small enough, he could just disappear entirely. If nothing else, the smaller the target, the harder it is to hit.

Jungkook and Taehyung were like his fortress walls. Taehyung already dealt with his alcoholic father so fighting off a few bullies at school was nothing to him, and the stress of being in foster care had driven Jungkook to the school’s weight room and onto the field so just his appearance was intimidating enough to keep others away. There were still the whispers though. They’d seep into Jimin’s head, constantly reminding him that if anyone ever found the chink in his armor, he was done for. Living in constant fear was exhausting.

Jimin’s parents had gone to the principal about it but he said nothing could be done if it wasn’t happening on school grounds. And of course, bullies are smart. They’d taunt him in the halls and then wait in the shadows to pounce. They’d only gotten to him once before, a day that Taehyung was in the hospital with a broken arm and Jungkook had to stay after for detention, and after that, his parents started picking him up. They’d talked of homeschooling him but couldn’t make it work. But Jimin assured them, as long as he had Taehyung and Jungkook, he’d be okay.

And so the three of them were a unit. You rarely saw one without the other two. They’d worked it out with the principal for at least one of them to be in every class with him. It had been that way since middle school. Now here they were their senior year. It was nearing the end of November now with no incidences so far. Only seven more months to graduation. Jimin could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Have you talked to the guidance counselor about your dad?” Jimin asked Taehyung as they sat together in the cafeteria. The taller boy had come to school that morning sporting a new blackening bruise on his cheekbone.

Taehyung shook his head and stuffed a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “You saw what the principal did about your situation. You think a teacher is going to be able to do anything about mine?”

“I could always come home with you one day,” Jungkook said as he sat down in front of his tray. “The two of us could give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“No, it’s okay,” Taehyung uttered. “It’s better not to provoke him. He doesn’t get like this very often. It’ll be fine.”

Jimin and Jungkook exchanged knowing glances. “Not very often” had turned into Taehyung sporting a new cut or bruise every week. It was getting worse and they all knew it.

“Do you want to stay at my house tonight,” Jimin asked.

Taehyung shook his head and pushed a pea around his tray with the tines of his fork. “No, Mina is going to be home tonight and it’s best if I’m there too. You know, to…”

“Right,” Jungkook cut him off.

Taehyung’s younger sister spent most nights at her friends’ houses, luckily she was popular and had a lot of friends to be able to do this with. But on those nights where she was home, Taehyung always made sure to be there, just in case their dad decided to drink. Jimin remembered Taehyung staying at his house one night back in middle school and the next day at school seeing Mina with a black eye. His friend swore to never leave her home alone again after that and he’d kept that promise.

“Better eat your vegetables so you can grow big and strong.” Jimin looked up to see Jiho and a few of his friends sitting at the table across the aisle. The guy hadn’t gone one day without tormenting him since sixth grade.

“I don’t think midgets can grow big and strong,” his friend, Kijung, retorted from beside him.

The rest of the table laughed while Jiho stared directly into Jimin’s eyes, a vicious smirk on his lips.

Jimin quickly looked away again, a shudder running down his spine. “Did either of you finish your calculus homework from last night?” he asked as he grabbed his backpack off the bench next to him and began digging into it.

Jungkook and Taehyung ripped their eyes away from the other table and locked on each other, forks hovering just outside their mouths. Of course they didn’t do it. With a roll of his own eyes, Jimin pulled out his text book and opened it to the assigned pages. He’d been using his homework as a bookmark and now laid it on the table for the two to see. He ran a hand through his newly dyed orange hair as Jungkook and Taehyung fumbled with their own backpacks and searched for their notebooks so they could copy down his work.

“Seriously, guys,” he said. “What would you do without me?”

“Probably fail math,” Jungkook uttered and pulled the smaller boy’s homework closer to him so he could hastily scribble down the answers.

“I’ve got the brains, you got the brawn.”

“What do I get?” Taehyung asked looking up with his mouth full of rice.

Jimin looked down at his barely touched tray of food, over to Jungkook’s somewhat normal sized lunch and then to Taehyung’s tray piled high with everything on the line. He smiled fondly. “The appetite,” he finally said before picking up a piece of melon and nibbling off a corner.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over tonight?” Jungkook asked Taehyung as the three of them made their way out of the school.

Taehyung shook his head. “Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Can’t. I used up my minutes for this month and Fake Dad refuses to buy me more.” He always referred to his foster family as his fake family. Fake Mom, Fake Dad, Fake Brother 1, Fake Brother 2… “I’m hanging out with Yoongi-hyung though after this so just call him if you need to reach me.” Then he brought up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Jimin-ah, isn’t your mom picking you up today?” Jungkook asked, his eyes scanning the row of cars that were idling on the curb.

Jimin’s own head moved along before his gaze settled on a dull, yellow hatchback. “No, it’s Thursday,” he said and lifted an arm to wave at the driver. “Hobi-hyung and I have group therapy.”

An arm stuck up from the opposite side, hanging out the driver’s side window and Jimin hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said to his friends before jogging over to Hoseok’s car and slipping into the passenger seat. Then with a horrible grinding sound of metal on metal and a shudder, the car pulled away from the curb.

“How’s it going, hyung?” Jimin asked as he positioned his backpack on the floor between his feet.

“Just fine, kid,” Hoseok replied gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

It had been a few months now since Beach Day when the other six had witnessed him dump his pills into the bonfire, but even now he looked like he was feeling the lingering effects of withdrawal. Dark circles stained the skin under his eyes and his complexion looked pallid. Not at all the usual golden color. The boy who was normally a perfect depiction of sunshine, had become overcast. He looked exhausted.

“Are you sleeping at night?” Jimin asked.

Hoseok glanced at himself in his rearview mirror and immediately straightened up. As if he could hide what Jimin had already picked up on. “A bit,” he said.

“How much?”

“Enough.”

Obviously the boy didn’t want to talk about it. Jimin had told him he’d be there to help in any way that he could but how could he if Hoseok refused to let him?

The two had been friends for five years but really bonded in the hospital while Jimin was recovering from his suicide attempt and Hoseok was going through his latest bout of rehab. They’d connected immediately, both lost souls having been seeking comfort in the wrong things. Going to group therapy together and encouraging each other in their battles with their demons had brought them closer together. And then when they both had finished inpatient treatment, they stayed close. Sure, Jimin had Jungkook and Taehyung but he’d always have a special connection with Hoseok. He was the older brother Jimin had always needed. It was hard seeing his hyung struggling so much. He hated when any of his friends were hurting. None of them deserved it.

With his lip caught between his teeth, he pulled his phone out of the side pocket of his backpack, opening a text conversation with Yoongi.

Party at ur place tmrrw? Hobi needs us

Yoongi: Sounds good. Spread the word

thnks hyung

Yoongi: Np

After group therapy, Hoseok brought Jimin back to his house, pulling up to the curb and putting it in park. The two sat in silence for several seconds as the engine idled, Jimin chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Is it true, hyung?” he finally asked quietly. “Is the pain really back?”

Hoseok drummed this thumbs against the steering wheel, his eyes glued to the dash. His pale lips pressed into a thin line and he gave a sharp nod. He looked ragged. More so than Jimin had seen him in a long time. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t noticed the stress lines creasing his young face. Or the way his mouth turned down. Or how his shoulders slumped forward as if his struggles were literally crushing him under their weight. Jimin felt the guilt like a fist grab his stomach and twist hard.

When they’d first met, Hoseok was an incredible dancer. The guys had all gone to a couple of his shows and even as a high schooler, his moves had been impressive. Jimin always loved the idea of dancing but felt it would just be another thing to add to the long list of things he was bullied for. The last thing Jiho needed was more material.

And then, one night during rehearsal, Hoseok had tripped backward off the stage, falling several feet to the auditorium floor and landing on his neck. He’d suffered a pretty bad spinal injury and the doctors weren’t even sure if he’d ever be able to walk again. Luckily, he regained his ability over the course of a few weeks, but the pain lingered in his neck and spine. He began to rely on pills to help but he kept taking them even after the pain finally subsided. The guys had gotten used to him being high. In fact, if he wasn’t, he wasn’t Hoseok. He was a zombie, a shell, lifeless and hollow. But with the pills, he was full of energy, down for anything. Fun.

After throwing the pills in the fire during Beach Day, he’d gone through the initial withdrawal period. Every time Jimin saw him, he looked like death, but as time went on, he began to resemble the Hoseok they knew before all of this. The one that could be happy and hyper without the high. But maybe it had been an act. An exhausting act, but one nonetheless. And now the pain was back.

“You’re not going to go back to the pills again, are you, hyung?”

“Would you be disappointed in me?” Hoseok asked, finally looking over at him. The sadness in his eyes said it all. He’d been fighting hard, suffering in silence for several months and now he looked ready to give it all up.

Jimin lifted his hand and put it over the older boy’s where they rested on the steering wheel. His fists were clenched so tight, they felt like steel under Jimin’s own soft palm.

“I would never be disappointed in you, hyung,” he replied, keeping his voice steady and strong so Hoseok knew he meant every word. “You could completely relapse and I’d never be disappointed in you. Recovery is hard. Addiction is hard. We have bad days and we have worse days.”

“Some days are unbearable,” Hoseok whispered. “I know our therapist says to take it a day at a time but—”

“Forget what the therapist said,” Jimin interrupted. “If taking it a day at a time is too much, then take it an hour at a time. Or a minute or a second. As long as you make an effort, you’re winning, hyung. And we’re all rooting for you. I’m rooting for you.”

Hoseok’s grip on the steering wheel loosened under Jimin’s hand and the boy looked at him. A spark flashed through his tired eyes. Something like determination. A newfound desire to keep going. “Thanks, Jimin,” he uttered and gave him a weak smile before looking away and sniffing hard.

Jimin gave the older boy’s hands a quick squeeze before pulling his own back and snatching his phone up out of his lap. His fingers danced across the screen as he typed.

party tonite?

…

JK: alredy here

T: Mina’s gone. i’m down

NJ: see u then

Y: 👍

J: Leaving now.

Hoseok glanced down at his phone where it rested in the cupholder, the screen lit up with the group message. Jimin’s breath hitched when he saw the corners of the boy’s mouth twitch upward then he watched as Hoseok shifted the car back out of park and glanced over his shoulder to check for other cars.

“Yoongi’s?” he asked.

With a smile, Jimin unlocked his phone again so he could let his mom know he would be home later. She sent back a thumbs up and a heart as they turned at the end of the street and headed toward Yoongi’s place.

The second oldest of the group lived in a cluster of train cars in a yard near the river. He’d made a sort of deal with the owner a while back that he’d help maintain the place in exchange for somewhere to live. As long as he didn’t bring shady people around or do anything illegal, the owner didn’t bother him.

This was where the seven friends congregated. It was their home away from home—for some even more home than their own. A place any of the six could go and they would never be turned away.

The night descended into chaos much like it regularly did. It always started out tame enough. A few of the guys—usually the youngest three—would crowd around the small tv that sat on Yoongi’s coffee table, playing old Atari games, while a few of the others would just talk in the kitchen area, hunched over a pizza box. The older four being of legal drinking (and purchasing) age each usually supplied some type of alcohol and would experiment with mixing them. It would pretty much go downhill from there.

This night was no different. At one point, Jimin was jumping up and down on the couch with Taehyung, the two screaming the lyrics to the techno-y song filling the room when he was smashed in the chest with a pillow. Feathers exploded into the air and he sprawled off the couch and onto the plywood floor, his fuzzy head swimming even faster as he looked around dazedly for the source of the assault. At last, his eyes focused on Hoseok’s beaming face and he narrowed his own at him.

“It’s on, hyung,” he growled before grabbing a cushion off the couch and swinging it up hard.

Suddenly, the rest of the boys joined, grabbing whatever stuffed object they could find and before long, the place looked like a plushie and feather factory had exploded. Cotton and feathers covered every surface and the boys were rolling in fits of howling laughter. Jimin felt higher than a kite even as he lay among the feathers and fluff, Hoseok laying on his arm.

But once the laughter died down, a heavy silence fell over the place and within minutes, most of the guys were passed out drunk where they’d landed. Jimin, however, pulled his arm out from under Hoseok and sat up on his haunches. He swayed with sleep, fighting it hard. He needed to go home. The other boys were in situations where their absence probably wouldn’t even be noticed. Even Hoseok’s mom—out on dates most nights ever since her divorce from his father—probably wasn’t wondering where he was. But Jimin’s parents were different. With his past and his problems and the bullying, they had come to worry a lot more easily about him. They always trusted he was safe when he was with the guys but if they expected him home, he had better come home.

He could have texted. He could have called and his mom or dad would have come and picked him up, no questions asked. But instead, he decided he’d rather not bother anyone and make the short trek home.

It was a stupid idea. It was stupid. It was stupid and he knew it in his gut but his head was too numb to realize just how stupid and so he wobbled to his feet, stood there for a second to regain his balance and then slipped out the door and into the frigid night, alone.

He would have been fine had he stayed on the sidewalk. Just kept walking and not stopping until he was safe inside his house. But as he walked past the minute mart two blocks from home, his head lifted and his eyes locked on a rack of chips through the window. He had eaten barely anything all day and they sounded so good and he found himself veering off the path and pushing his way through the glass door, inside.

He may have even been fine if he’d just grabbed the chips, paid for them and left. Even if he’d tripped on the welcome mat once he was inside, or fumbled with his wallet for a few seconds, or dropped a bill while he was trying to stuff his change back into it, he would have been okay. But the fact that he did all of those things instead of just one, meant that a car was pulling up to the curb just as he was exiting the store. Just a few seconds longer and he would have been hidden again by the shadows and the occupants of the car wouldn’t have even glanced his way.

But instead, he stumbled out the door, the driver’s eyes immediately catching the movement, and his lips twisted into a malicious grin as he set his sights on Jimin.

“Where you goin, midget?”

Jimin’s blood turned cold at the familiar voice and suddenly it was as if the alcohol vanished from his system. He turned slowly, his mind no longer sluggish, but racing. And when he saw that three others were climbing out of the car along with Jiho, his stomach twisted and he felt bile rising in his throat.

“Leave me alone, Jiho,” he cracked and swallowed hard.

The bigger boy laughed and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t see your guard dogs anywhere,” he said and made a point to look around. “Getting a little brave, are we?”

Jimin didn’t waste another second to respond. Instead, he twisted around and took off running down the sidewalk. His heart pounded in time with his sprinting footsteps and staggered when the sound of his pursuers reached his ears. His breath became ragged in his throat and his body tingled with fear. He reached the end of the block and whipped around the corner, his shoes skidding on the sidewalk and he almost lost balance but regained it quickly, using his hands to push himself back up. There was an alley just a few yards ahead and beyond that, he could see his house. He was almost there. Relief flooded his body as his eyes locked on his front porch.

And then he felt a hand grab his hood and tug hard.

Jimin flew backward, a cry ripping from his throat as his body hit the pavement. And then more hands were on him, yanking him back up and shoving him into the dark alley.

Jimin finally found the strength to pick himself up almost twenty minutes after Jiho and his friends left him there in the alley. His whole body trembled and he couldn’t catch his breath. He didn’t know if that was from the multiple kicks to the chest or if he was in the middle of a panic attack. Either way, he fought for air for what felt like an eternity before finally being able to breathe normally. After making his way slowly back to his house, he unlocked the door and nearly fell into the entryway when he twisted the knob while still leaning against it for support.

The house was quiet and dark and surely, his parents were in bed. He didn’t want to wake them. He didn’t want to spend any time assessing the damage done by Jiho and his lackeys. He just wanted to sleep. So, he crawled in pain up the stairs on his hands and knees, down the hallway and then climbed into bed with his torn clothes and shoes—shoe? When did he lose the other one?—praying he didn’t die of internal bleeding or a concussion in the night.

When he woke the next morning, he stiffly shuffled into the bathroom to finally see how he looked. Awful. That’s how. His bottom lip was swollen on one side, a deep cut slicing through it and down into his chin. There was blood crusted below his nose and several cuts and scrapes on his face. One eye was swollen practically shut, the skin around it a sickly green color. He had a big slice on one ear and bruises resembling fingerprints on his neck. His ribs ached and it hurt to breathe and when he lifted his shirt, he found his chest and stomach stained purple and black.

There was no way he could go to school like this. So he didn’t.

He texted his mom from his room, telling her he felt extremely sick and couldn’t get out of bed. She offered to stay home from work to take care of him but he insisted she leave. And his dad had left that morning for a week-long business trip. He was safe. Surely, over the weekend, most of the bruises and cuts would heal enough that they wouldn’t be too noticeable come Monday. He’d just have to avoid his mom. He texted Taehyung and Jungkook that he’d gotten sick and would see them on Monday. He could put this whole thing behind him. Hopefully. He just needed to be more careful from now on.

Jungkook’s nostrils flared, and the line of his jaw became prominent. “I’ll kill him,” he snarled, his eyes roving over the students in the hallway as he searched for Jiho.

“Jungkook, no,” Jimin said softly and he brought a hand up to rest on the trembling boy’s arm.

Even though it was now Monday, the slice on his mouth hadn’t healed as much as he’d hoped. His eye was no longer swollen but was surrounded by a fading yellowish bruise. He looked better though. Good enough that he could hide it from his mom by wearing a hat and some makeup and keeping his head down.

At his touch, Jungkook immediately loosened, his face smoothing over again and he met Jimin’s eyes. “Why did you go back home alone after the party? Why didn’t you wake me up? Or Tae? Or any of us? We would have gone with you.”

Jimin raked his teeth over his bottom lip, wincing when he felt a sharp sting. “I know,” he said. “It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Jimin,” Taehyung said quickly. “Don’t ever say something like that.”

Jimin nodded. He couldn’t believe it though. He’d done an incredibly idiotic thing going out alone like that. Of course, something bad would happen if he did something so careless. He deserved it. Of that, he was positive.

04. Run

Life began to get to each of us.

January.

December came like a quick intake of breath and went like a heavy sigh. Once the cozy feeling of the holidays was over, winter became harsh and merciless. An icy fist that squeezed and squeezed until there was no warmth left. Taehyung was used to it though. He’d never liked winter. Not since his mom had died just after Christmas his fifth year. Mina had been too young to remember her, being only three years old, but Taehyung could remember her perfectly still, as if he’d talked to her just the day before.

He and his sister used to stay up late a lot—at least whenever they were both home—curled up on their shared bed, facing each other, covered in two layers of clothes and three blankets because their father turned the heat way down whenever he wasn’t home, which was often. Not often enough though in Taehyung’s opinion. But they would lay like that for hours and Taehyung would tell Mina stories about their mother. He didn’t have many spectacular ones—being he really could only remember a few from such a young age—but once those ran out, she started asking him simpler things. What did mom look like? What did she smell like? What did she sound like? Feel like?

“She looked like spring, smelled like flowers, sounded like rain and felt like sunshine.” How else could he describe her? Maybe his memories were clouded by the happier life he’d lived with her in it but he’d rather have this version of her in his mind. He needed it. Needed something good to cling to.

The first time his father had hit him, he’d apologized profusely afterward, and made Taehyung promise he’d never tell a soul. He didn’t. And he didn’t the second and third time either or any time after that. He’d never told anyone, other than his friends and only because they grew suspicious of the bruises and the injuries and his unexpected late night calls asking if he could sleep over.

Over the years, he became good at reading the signs and predicting when his dad was going to have an outburst. If he got home from work and slammed the door behind him, it was time to retreat to the bedroom and bolt the door. If he came with a freshly bought bottle of alcohol, it was time to leave. Taehyung’s only reason for not moving out was Mina. He’d made a promise to her and himself that he’d always be there to protect her, even if that meant taking the brunt of the abuse himself. Which it always did.

He’d ended up in the hospital a few times keeping his dad away from his sister, stepping in the way of the punches, even tackling the man to the floor to give her a chance to run. It always ended badly but he never complained. Not when it would be so much worse for her. She didn’t deserve to live in fear like this. He didn’t either but especially not her. He at least had good memories of their mother. She only had the nightmares that came with having a monster for a father.

When things got too hard, his friends were his escape. Five of them had their own problems. And five of them had families that would get suspicious if he came around too often and he couldn’t risk anyone going to the police and tearing him away from his sister. The one person he could always count on to help and be his safe place was Namjoon.

The boy was an orphan living secretly at the gas station where he worked. Taehyung didn’t have to hide anything from him. In fact, there were countless times in the past where he’d show up at the gas station pounding on the door at two in the morning, broken and bleeding and Namjoon wouldn’t say anything. He would just let him inside and make room for him on the small twin blow-up mattress he dragged out of the broom closet every night. And if he was too worked up to sleep, the two would go out into the city and find something to do. This usually involved spray paint and a concrete wall. More than once the two found themselves running from police sirens, having been caught mid-tag. Namjoon wasn’t the best influence but he was what Taehyung needed.

“Take this,” the older boy said holding out a pint of ice cream to him.

Taehyung looked down at it. “I don’t feel like eating ice cream right now, hyung,” he uttered and swiped his tongue across the fresh cut on his lower lip. The taste of salt and iron grated against his tastebuds. His whole head hurt from the evening’s beating. He was ninety percent sure he had a concussion.

“For your lip,” Namjoon replied dropping it into his hand.

Taehyung winced when he touched the cold container to his wound but immediately started to feel the pain fade as his lip began to go numb.

“So, I overslept this morning,” Namjoon said as he grabbed a lollipop from the rack on the counter beside where Taehyung sat and unwrapped it.

“And?”

“And Mr. Bang-nim found me this morning.”

“Did he say anything about all this?” Taehyung asked gesturing toward the mattress on the linoleum floor.

“He said if he finds me sleeping here again, I’m fired.” Then he stuck the candy in his mouth and twirled the stick between his fingers.

Taehyung’s stomach dropped when he saw the unease written across his hyung’s face. The boy had nowhere to go. Taehyung would have invited Namjoon to stay with him but of course he’d never want to subject one of his friends to the hell he had to deal with every day. Though it didn’t matter either way. Namjoon didn’t like asking for help. He wanted to be the one his friends came to, not the other way around. The boy was independent and stubborn to a fault.

“I’ll just have to be more careful,” Namjoon said with a shrug. Of course he was only acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Taehyung knew better.

Light flooded the dim store as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot and Taehyung felt his heart skip at the idea they were going to be caught. But when he looked out through the storefront window, relief flooded his chest. Jin’s 4x4 truck sat idling in front of the gas pumps.

“How’d they—”

“I texted him a bit ago,” Namjoon interrupted, a gentle smile lifting his mouth and causing his cheeks to dimple.

Taehyung hopped off the counter and set the pint of ice cream down before making his way outside. Jin rolled the driver’s side window down, music pouring from inside the cab. The other boys’ voices rose above the singer’s vocals as they screamed along to the song.

“Long time no see,” Taehyung said slapping the oldest boy’s hand when he stuck it out the window.

Jin smiled. “It’s only been a week, Tae,” he said.

Taehyung shrugged. “A week is an eternity in this town.”

The smile on Jin’s face faltered for a second and Taehyung noticed his eyes trail down to the younger’s wounded lip. He quickly swiped his tongue across it to catch the remaining blood. “How’s Mina?”

“She’s fine,” Taehyung said. “At a sleepover.”

The oldest boy’s eyes lingered on his for several moments before he finally gave a small nod. “Hop in,” he said and motioned with his head toward the back of the truck.

Taehyung scrambled over the side and dropped into the bed beside Jimin, who sat with his back against the cab, happily cramming chips into his mouth from a bag. “Want some?” he asked as he offered the bag to him.

“No thanks,” Taehyung said and barely got settled beside his friend when the truck lurched forward and they pulled back out of the gas station.

It was pretty late and almost every food place was closed save for the all-night diner they frequented. There was nothing quality or good about the food there but it was cheap, and greasy and filled their bellies. The waitresses had come to grow fond of them over the years, knowing each of them by name and favorite flavor of milkshake.

The seven of them were the only ones there, which was a good thing since they tended to get a bit rowdy. Their plates had just barely been delivered when Yoongi decided he was going to try and cheer Taehyung up by throwing a handful of french fries at Jungkook. A food fight quickly broke out between the two and the poor waitress had to dodge away to keep from getting hit by a rogue fry.

They spent hours there, stuffing their faces and drowning their problems in ketchup and grease until finally, none of them could bring themselves to take one more bite. Then they made their way sleepily back to the truck, Taehyung flopping into the bed again, this time with Namjoon, and letting his head fall onto the older boy’s lap. The gentle rock of the truck as it made its way down the road and the streetlights that passed intermittently overhead made his eyelids droop dangerously low. He probably shouldn’t fall asleep if he really did have a concussion, but the sound of the engine, the warmth of Namjoon’s thigh pressed against his cheek and the comfortable weight of food in his belly made it impossible for him to keep his eyes open and soon he drifted off completely.

Taehyung woke to the strong smell of coffee wafting into his nostrils and he opened his eyes to a chipped ceramic mug inches from his face. Jimin smiled warmly from the other side. It took Taehyung a few seconds to figure out where he was and why his body was aching so bad until he shifted and realized he’d slept all night in Yoongi’s bathtub.

“You know I don’t like coffee,” he uttered, batting his friend’s hand away.

“It woke you up, though, didn’t it?” Jimin asked. His voice was much too cheerful for this time of morning. What time was it anyway?

Taehyung raked his hand through his greasy hair. “How long have I been out?”

“It’s almost noon. You should eat something, Tae,” Jimin said and offered his hand to help the boy climb out of the tub.

Panic rushed through him like ice water. “Noon?” he asked. “I need to get home. I need to be there when Mina gets back from her sleepover.” He tripped out of the bathroom and through the living room, past the other boys crowded around a table as Jin tried to build a house with a deck of cards.

“You’re up!” Jungkook exclaimed throwing his arms up.

“JK!” Jin yelled, his hands frozen in midair. “Stop with the sudden movements!”

“I gotta go,” Taehyung said as he rushed past. The gust of wind he created caused Jin’s card house to collapse and he let out a heavy sigh.

Taehyung didn’t stop though. As soon as he was out of Yoongi’s home, he broke into a run and kept running until he burst through the front door of his apartment. His eyes scanned the empty front room. Liquor and beer bottles littered the kitchen counters, junk mail piled high on the table and scattered on the floor around it. The place was a dump but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. The quiet, however, was. He barely took a step when a whimper cut through the silence and then suddenly he was running again. He paused in the hallway, eyes on the shadows moving in the room at the end. The door was barely cracked open so he couldn’t see who was in there. But then he heard a choked cry. Mina.

Taehyung flew back out of the hall and wrapped a fist around the first thing he could grab, a beer bottle, then charged back down the hall, bursting into the bedroom just as his father’s hand connected with his sister’s cheek.

“Don’t touch her!” Taehyung roared shoving him back hard.

His dad stumbled back more in surprise than pain and he stared at the boy with wild, glazed over eyes. The man reeked of alcohol even at this early hour of the day. He bared his teeth and looked like he was about to lunge. But Taehyung didn’t give him the chance. He rushed forward instead, swinging the beer bottle back and sending it crashing down on his dad’s skull. The man staggered again, this time stunned by the blow. The bottle had broken when it came in contact with his head.

Taehyung could have stopped there. He could have grabbed his sister and turned and ran, maybe taken her back to Yoongi’s. The other boys would be able to help them. But no, the sight of his dad striking her had caused the time bomb within him to finally detonate and now he knew nothing but rage. With a scream that sounded too far away to be coming from his own lungs, Taehyung surged forward again, jabbing the broken bottle into the soft flesh of his father’s stomach. He felt it lodge deep in the man’s belly and a sickening groan fell from his father’s lips but it did nothing to keep Taehyung from stabbing him again and again until blood soaked the front of the man’s t-shirt and coated his own hands and clothes.

In the chaos, he couldn’t hear anything but his own gasping breath and the cries that continued to tumble from the man in front of him until his dad finally collapsed to the floor. Then his sister’s screams reached his ears, her voice already going hoarse from yelling for so long. With a violent shudder, Taehyung staggered back, letting the broken and bloodied bottle fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. His mouth fell open in a silent scream and his knees gave out. As he fell to the floor, his sister caught him, sobbing into his ear.

“What have I done?” Taehyung uttered. “What have I done, Mina? What have I done?”

“You saved me, Tae,” she cried into his neck. “You saved us.”

Their father lay motionless in front of them, the red spreading across his shirt until you could no longer tell what color it had been originally. It seeped down into the carpet, a dark stain that would never fully go away.

“You have to leave, Mina,” Taehyung said, his voice shaking so hard it came out as barely a whisper.

“No, Tae,” she cracked. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.” He grabbed her hard by the shoulders and pulled her down in front of him. His eyes drilled into hers. She had their mother’s eyes. “You have to get somewhere safe. I can’t come with you.”

“But you have—”

“Our dad is dead!” Taehyung screamed. “Our dad is dead and I killed him!”

A whimper fell from Mina’s mouth and for the first time, Taehyung noticed the bruises welling up under he skin. There were so many. How long had their dad been hitting her before he’d gotten there?

“Please, Mina,” he said more gently. “Please, go to a friend’s house. Tell them dad isn’t here and neither am I and you don’t know where either of us are. Please. I’ll come for you when it’s safe. But until then, you have to go.”

Mina nodded, her head jerking up and down erratically as she tried and failed to keep whatever last bit of composure she had. Then suddenly, she fell against him, a wail tearing from her throat and he clutched her to his chest, tears streaming down his own cheeks. His hands were coated still in his father’s blood and he raked his fingers through his sister’s hair, holding onto her, pulling her closer, smelling her, feeling her against him. Who knew if he’d ever see her again?

Mina changed her clothes and washed the blood out of her hair from when Taehyung had held her, before rushing out of the apartment. He didn’t go outside but watched her from the front window. She’d texted a friend and asked them to pick her up and now he watched as she got into their car, her head lifting, her eyes locking on his one last time before she climbed into the the backseat and then she was gone.

He didn’t know what to do. That moment of clarity when he’d needed to get his sister away was gone and now all he could do was stare at the messy living room in shock. With his back pressed against the door, he sank down onto the carpet, his hands catching him as he fell. His hands. Covered in sticky, drying blood. His father’s blood. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

A murderer.

His head began to pound as the thoughts swirled in his brain. It was all too much. Everything was too much. The coppery smell of blood filled his nose, filled his head, filled the room and it overwhelmed him. His hands shook and his breath hitched and he couldn’t inhale deep enough. Too much. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

His eyes watered and his nerves were shot and he was numb but could feel everything at the same time and it was overwhelming. His skin crawled and his heart hammered and his lungs were on fire and he couldn’t breathe and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out the world and it was all too much. He killed his father. He was a murderer.

A murderer.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. He didn’t know if he’d fallen asleep or passed out but when his gaze fell on the digital clock on the microwave, he saw that he’d been out for nearly nine hours.

It was silent in the apartment. Silent as the dead. His head slumped to the side and he looked at the entrance to the hallway. His father was back there. Or rather, his body. If he crawled just six feet to his left, he’d be able to peer down the hall and see his dad’s body slumped against the wall in the back bedroom. Immediately, Taehyung felt like he was going to be sick. He made his way clumsily to his feet and tripped into the kitchen, barely making it to the sink before he heaved and the contents of his stomach emptied into the basin. He spit a few times before sitting up again, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. When he brought his arm up to wipe his forehead, his eyes locked on the brown, dried blood that crusted on his skin. Then he looked down again at his white t-shirt. Well, it used to be white.

He rushed out of the kitchen, turning his head away as he passed the hall so he wouldn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of what was at the other end, then slipped out the front door, locking it behind him. He zipped his jacket up to his chin, glad that at least the dark sweatshirt hid the stains, and pulled the hood up over his hair and his sleeves down over his hands. He kept his head down to conceal any blood spatters on his face as he made his way through the dark streets and to the gas station.

To his relief, there were no cars there, but then another thought occurred to him. What if Namjoon wasn’t there either? What if he’d been caught again by his boss? He had to be there. Taehyung didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

He jogged up to the front door and peered in. The place was dark. It looked deserted. As the panic started to set in, he raised his fist and beat it against the glass. At last, he caught movement from within. And then Namjoon appeared in one of the aisles toward the back. He seemed to recognize who it was immediately and hurried over. A lollipop stick stuck out of his mouth and he switched it from one corner to the other in a nervous habit as he unlocked the door and opened it. Only then did he notice that Taehyung was covered in blood. Slowly, he lifted a hand and pulled the candy out of his mouth.

Taehyung’s breath quivered as he met the older boy’s eyes. “I did something really bad, hyung.”

05. Whalien 52

Finding the minuscule fissures in the surface and digging its fingers in until we began to splinter.

February.

An annoying ringing shattered the silence within the dark gas station causing Kim Namjoon to stir. With a groan, he started to roll over on his mattress when his body hit something. He froze in his half-sleep before remembering he wasn’t alone on his bed. An arm flew out and draped over his shoulder, hand hovering in front of his face.

“Tae,” he uttered and reached over to turn the alarm off on his phone.

Taehyung didn’t stir.

“Tae,” Namjoon said again a little louder. This time the boy let out a sleepy groan which tapered off into a snore. With a sigh, Namjoon got up off the mattress, his joints cracking as he did so and he winced rubbing his stiff neck. “Tae, you have to get up. You can’t be here when Mr. Bang-nim shows up.”

It was still dark outside but Namjoon had learned never to let himself sleep until sunrise again. The gas station he worked at was a weird one that actually closed at night unlike the majority of the other stations in town. He was the opening and closing shift Monday through Friday and his boss took the middle shift, but the man came early in the morning to drop off the day’s till and Namjoon couldn’t be caught sleeping there again. One more time and he’d be fired and back on the street.

He’d been by himself for much of his life. His parents had left him with his grandmother one weekend saying they were going on a special vacation for their anniversary. Only, they never came back. Namjoon’s grandmother was an old, frail woman. Much too frail to take on a child—he was barely five at the time—and he spent most of his childhood fending for himself. When he was twelve, she developed cancer and passed away within just a few weeks of receiving the news. As soon as she died, Namjoon ran. He was so afraid of being put into foster care, never having a real home, never having a real family. He’d basically already been fending for himself for seven years before that.

There’d never been any record of his parents abandoning him or him living with his grandmother so it wasn’t hard for him to disappear without a trace. The boy was clever and intelligent for his age and he was able to make it into the city and fake his way into school. He didn’t care much for the classes, but going to school meant getting breakfast and lunch for free. It was there that he met Hoseok. The two became friends quickly, both having an interest in music. Hoseok was a dancer and Namjoon loved writing songs and melodies. Hoseok was already close with Yoongi who at this point was just discovering his love for producing. Together, the three of them would spend hours after school at Hoseok’s house—since Namjoon didn’t have one and Yoongi’s parents didn’t approve of his newfound hobby—writing music together that Yoongi would then go home and produce on his computer. Nothing ever came of it but for Namjoon, this was a pivotal time in his life. He developed a friendship with a small group that grew bigger until there were seven of them, the others like the family he never had. Brothers he was so desperate for. And for this friendship, he’d be eternally grateful.

Eventually, they all figured out his situation, though he tried to hide it as he didn’t want to be a burden on any of them. They found ways to help him out though, whether it was Jimin inviting him over for dinner once a week or Yoongi asking him to stay the night—or several nights—to help him work on a new song. The boys helped him as much as he would let them.

Taehyung, though, helped him the most, probably without even realizing it. The first time Taehyung called asking if he could stay with him—at that time he had been working and sleeping at the gas station for a few months—Namjoon was hesitant to let him. He’d needed a job so he could afford food and a cellphone and already felt guilty having to secretly sleep at the station but he had nowhere else to go, and he worked the opening and closing shift anyway, so what was even the point of leaving at night? But then when Taehyung showed up at the gas station with a broken nose and a bruise on his throat that resembled a handprint, Namjoon couldn’t turn him away.

Sure, the other boys were amazing. Always willing to help him, always wanting to do whatever they could, but it made him feel reliant on them and the last thing he wanted was to not be able to take care of himself. But Taehyung wasn’t like that. Taehyung made him feel needed for once.

When he’d shown up in the middle of the night covered in blood a month before, Namjoon hadn’t wasted any time pulling him into the bathroom and helping clean him up as much as he could. He used the small travel size shampoos and soaps the gas station carried and scrubbed at Taehyung’s hair and skin until the water in the sink ran clear. He had him change into the only other set of clothes he had, taking the bloody ones, dousing them with bleach and lighter fluid and then bagging them up and tossing them into the dumpster in the alley.

Then together, the two of them went back to Taehyung’s apartment. Namjoon and Taehyung—silent in his still shocked state—dragged the body of Taehyung’s father into the bathroom and dumped him into the tub. After that, Namjoon put Taehyung to work in the kitchen, having him bag up all the liquor bottles and the mail on the floor while he took care of the back bedroom. He scrubbed at the carpet with bleach until there was no trace of blood left.

He’d grabbed several bags of ice and two rolls of duct tape from the gas station and now he emptied the bags into the tub before taping the window shut. Then, he shut and locked the door and sealed the cracks. With his eyes and nose now burning with the smell of bleach, Namjoon finally made his way back into the living room, only to find Taehyung standing there in the middle of it completely still.

“Tae?”

At the sound of his name, the boy had looked up to meet Namjoon’s eyes. Taehyung’s face was shining with tears as they trailed down his cheeks but you’d never know he was crying by his stone-like expression.

“I don’t even feel bad for doing it, hyung,” he’d uttered and when Namjoon looked down at his hands, they were clenched into trembling fists. “I was just so angry. I couldn’t stop. What’s wrong with me, hyung? Why don’t I feel guilty for killing my father?”

Namjoon had dropped the bag full of bloody paper towels and bleach right there next to the hallway and rushed over to Taehyung just in time to catch him before he could collapse to the floor. The boy sobbed into his chest, clinging so tightly to him that his fingers bruised his skin. Namjoon held him for a long time there in the middle of the living room, not saying a word and not loosening his tight grip on him. Finally, Taehyung’s sobs quieted to sporadic sniffles and then he let go of Namjoon, sitting back on his butt and dragging his hands down his face to wipe his tears away.

“What do we do now?” Taehyung had asked, his voice raspy and low.

Namjoon looked around at the several trash bags filled with evidence of their being there. His attempt to conceal the body wasn’t going to hold up forever. Eventually, it was going to start to smell and someone was going to discover it. Not to mention the man had a job. His absence wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

“We need to get you far away from here,” Namjoon finally said and Taehyung’s eyes widened in fear.

“Please don’t send me away, hyung,” he said. “I can’t do this on my own.”

With a sigh, Namjoon got to his feet and held a hand out to him. “Then we need to figure out a way for you to hide.”

Taehyung had been staying with him ever since then. Every morning before the sun came up, he would leave and every night after closing, he’d return. Namjoon wasn’t sure what he did during the day and would spend the whole time worrying the boy wasn’t going to show up in the evening, but so far, he always did.

“Tae, come on, man,” Namjoon said again, giving the boy a hard push and sending him rolling off the other side of the mattress with a groan of protest. “Unless you want to hide in a broom closet all day, you have to get out of here.” Taehyung finally stirred, getting slowly to his feet.

He rubbed at his eyes, staggered and caught himself on a rack of magazines before he could topple over. “Don’t make me leave today, hyung,” he whined. “It’s cold out there and I don’t have anything to do. Just let me stay here today, please?”

“Do you want to get caught?”

Taehyung slowly peeled one eye open to look up at him. “I’ll stay hidden. I promise. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Just then, headlights flashed across their faces and Namjoon’s eyes widened. “Get in the bathroom,” he said quickly before shoving him into the tiny space. Then he picked up the air mattress and threw it in after him. Luckily, the thing was light. After looking around to make sure there was no evidence of him being there, Namjoon ran into the backroom, unlocking the door that lead to the alley and slipping outside.He stood there behind the store for several minutes, waiting for his heart to stop hammering and the sweat that had broken out on his skin to dry. It was cold outside. A cold so sharp it stung his lungs with each breath and made his head hurt.

At last, he stuffed his numb hands into his pockets and, as nonchalantly as possible, walked around to the front of the store to meet his boss.

Mr. Bang was just getting out of his SUV when Namjoon came around the corner. The sky had lightened to a pale gray already.

“Morning, Namjoon,” the man said with a friendly smile and made his way toward the locked front doors.

“Morning, sir,” Namjoon replied. He watched with coiled nerves as his boss withdrew a key and unlocked the store. Then when he followed him inside, Namjoon’s eyes shifted to the bathroom door.

“There are a few boxes in the back that need unpacked if you want to do that while I open the register,” Mr. Bang said as he slipped behind the counter.

“Already done, sir,” Namjoon replied shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

A sharp knock came from the direction of the bathroom just then causing Namjoon to jump. Immediately, he felt his face go pale. Maybe Mr. Bang hadn’t heard. But when he looked back at his boss and saw that the man was looking curiously now at the bathroom, a sense of dread overcame him.

“We better not have a rat problem again,” the man uttered to himself as he, to Namjoon’s horror, got out from behind the counter again and made his way toward the bathroom at the back of the store.

Namjoon watched as everything seemed to move in slow motion. His eyes could only focus on the man’s hand as he reached for the doorknob, and silently begin to pray that by some miracle, Taehyung would somehow be able to squeeze his long, lanky body into a dark corner and disappear.

No such luck. The door creaked open, revealing an unsuspecting Taehyung, blanket wrapped around him as he sat on the cold tile floor.

Namjoon let out a groan and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe his boss would keep it a secret. Maybe he’d understand the situation and let them stay. No, he knew better than that.

“Hello,” Taehyung said quietly, his mouth lifting into a guilty smile.

Namjoon’s eyes drilled into the back of his boss’s head as he waited with bated breath for the man to speak. The silence was thick, making it hard for Namjoon to pull air into his lungs. Then at last, the owner of the gas station turned to look at him. The expression on his face was unreadable at first. Completely blank like a mannequin’s. Surely, the man recognized Taehyung from the news. The boy’s picture and his father’s had been on every network since the discovery of the man’s body in their apartment. The police had already questioned the other boys, none of them giving any sort of answer more than a shrug and an “I haven’t seen him,” and Namjoon hadn’t even been questioned since there wasn’t any record of him existing in the city anyway.

“Namjoon, come outside with me,” Mr. Bang finally said, his voice steady, his face still unreadable.

With a quick glance back at Taehyung, Namjoon followed after him through the back room and out the exit into the alley.

Mr. Bang finally turned to face him, raking his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. “Namjoon, I’ve turned a blind eye a lot over the three years you’ve worked for me. I paid you under the table. Didn’t say anything when stock didn’t match with my inventory list. Didn’t say anything when I found out you were sleeping here.”

“So you knew—”

“I did,” Mr. Bang interrupted. “And I hoped it was only temporary. But Namjoon, you’re harboring a fugitive. I can’t have that in my store. I could lose the business. I could go to jail. I’m sorry but the two of you are going to have to go somewhere else.”

Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut. He just had to think for a moment. There had to be some way for him to be able to keep his job. He wet his lips. “Mr. Bang—”

“I won’t call the police. But you can’t work here anymore. I’m sorry, Namjoon. I really am.”

With a sigh, the boy opened his eyes again, finally meeting his boss’s—well, former boss’s. The man had been like a father to him for the past three years. A good boss. Which had made Namjoon work hard to be a good employee. He’d only taken items when he was really desperate. Though, lately he’d been a lot more careless. Taking candy and food and alcohol. Even if he wasn’t hiding Taehyung, he deserved to be fired. Finally, Namjoon took another deep breath. “I understand, sir,” he said and extended his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

The man’s mouth lifted into a sad smile as he reached out and shook Namjoon’s hand. “If there’s anything I can do for you. If you need money, or a lawyer—”

“No thank you, sir,” Namjoon cut him off. “I can take care of this on my own.”

Mr. Bang gave him a sharp nod. “I’ll give you a few minutes to collect your things.” Then he turned and went back into his store.

Namjoon stood there in the alley for several more minutes, eyes on the ground as he kicked at the gravel with his shoe. What was he going to do now? He was homeless again. Homeless and harboring a fugitive. Taehyung wouldn’t last long on the streets. Namjoon had been taking care of himself for a long time. He knew what parts of town to avoid. He knew how to evade. Where to go if he needed temporary shelter. How to survive on as little food as possible. But Taehyung…he was only a boy. While his life hadn’t been a luxurious one, or even an okay one, at least he’d had a roof over his head. Clothes on his back. Food in his stomach. He needed that again.

Finally, Namjoon went back inside. Taehyung was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, his bottom lip between his teeth. He straightened up when he saw his hyung come from the back room.

“We have to go,” Namjoon said walking past him to the broom closet.

Taehyung followed after him. “Where?”

Namjoon opened the closet and grabbed his worn, black backpack then started stuffing his few belongings into it. Beanie, face mask, phone charger, copy of Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami, a journal and a pen.

“Hyung.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Namjoon replied and pulled the confused boy after him.

Mr. Bang stood by the door, a shopping bag in one hand and an envelope in the other. He held them out to Namjoon as they approached. “Take these.”

Namjoon looked down at the bag. He could see several cups of ramen, water bottles and a few other things through the opaque plastic.

“I don’t need your help, sir,” he said and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taehyung look at him.

“Hyung, I think—”

“He’s my responsibility,” Namjoon interrupted. “I can take care of him.”

“At least take your last paycheck.”

Namjoon glanced down at the thick envelope then up at his former boss as he took it from him. When he opened the envelope, his eyes widened. “Sir, I can’t accept this. It’s so much more than my normal pay.”

“Just consider it severance.”

With a nod, Namjoon stuffed the envelope into the pocket of his coat and looked again at the man. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to work for you, sir. And for letting me stay here for as long as you did.”

Mr. Bang gave him a tight-lipped nod before stepping out of the way so he could pull Taehyung out the door.

“What do we do now, hyung?” Taehyung asked as the two made their way back into the alley behind the gas station.

“For now, we find somewhere to hide until it’s dark.”

“And then what?”

Namjoon yanked him down between two dumpsters just as a car pulled into the alley a block down. The two sat there in tense silence until it passed by them. Then Namjoon peaked his head out, not letting Taehyung get back up until the car had turned out of the alley and onto the street.

“Hyung?”

He looked at the boy who looked back with saddened eyes. He seemed so much younger, so much smaller all of a sudden. He was only a couple years Namjoon’s junior but the uneasy expression on his face made him look like a scared child. Namjoon opened his backpack and pulled out his beanie and face mask.

“Don’t worry, Tae,” Namjoon said handing the things to him. After Taehyung put them on, Namjoon pulled him against him and they made their way farther down the alley. “I’ll figure something out.”

Throughout the day, Namjoon racked his brain, trying to come up with a solution to this rather large problem of theirs. He couldn’t ask any of the guys. Yoongi could lose his home if he was caught with Taehyung, and the others lived with their families. But maybe Jin…

The oldest boy in the group was home for an extended weekend and was the one to answer the door when Namjoon knocked. He’d had Taehyung hide in the shadows created by the neatly trimmed hedge along the side of the house just in case one of Jin’s parents answered instead.

“Joon?” Jin said stepping out onto the porch. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” Namjoon replied and looked down at his feet. He hated being here. He hated what he was about to do. Hated asking for help. Because it just made him feel like he wasn’t capable. Like he was worthless.

“What are you doing here so late?” Jin asked, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. “Is something going on? Are the others alright?” Suddenly his eyes widened in horror. “Is it Taehyung?”

Namjoon bit his lip and gave a pathetic chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he said then heard a rustle behind him as Taehyung stepped into the light.

“Hey, Jin-hyung.”

Jin’s eyes darted to the side to meet the younger boy’s over Namjoon’s shoulders. “Tae?” Then he looked at Namjoon again. “Has he been with you this whole time?”

“Yeah. He’s been staying with me at the gas station.”

“And the two of you haven’t been caught?”

“We were today,” Taehyung answered, his words muffled by the face mask he was still wearing, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of the coat Namjoon had given him a month ago.

“You guys can’t be here,” Jin said and took a step back so he was back on the other side of the threshold. “I already had to lie to the police and to my parents…and if anyone sees us talking—”

Namjoon let out a heavy sigh and looked up at Jin. “Tae has nowhere to go, hyung. He needs you right now.”

Jin shook his head. “I can’t,” he cracked. “I’m sorry, Joon, I can’t.”

Anger flooded Namjoon’s gut as he bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re supposed to be his friend,” Namjoon uttered so Taehyung couldn’t hear. “Any of the other guys wouldn’t even hesitate to help. You know I wouldn’t normally ask for a favor but I’m desperate. Please don’t make me beg.”

Jin lifted his eyes to the ceiling, blinking hard and letting his head fall back. “Joon, I don’t think you understand what you’re asking of me, here.” Then he looked at him again. “Where would I hide him? How would I keep this from my parents?”

“He’s our brother, hyung” Namjoon growled. “You would figure it out because that’s what family does.”

Jin stepped back further, hand reaching up to grip the doorknob. He looked like he was ready to turn and run. “I’m sorry, guys,” he said again shaking his head. “It’s too much to ask. I’m sorry. Really. I wish there was something I could do.”

There is something you can do, Namjoon thought as he ground his teeth together. But he just stared back at the boy. He could see the despair written across Jin’s face. Maybe he really was trapped. Maybe he really couldn’t help no matter how much he wanted to. At last, Namjoon’s face smoothed then with a heavy sigh, he turned around. “Let’s go, Tae.”

Taehyung gave a curt nod then looked back up at Jin where he stood in his doorway. “Bye, Jin-hyung.”

“I’m sorry, Tae,” he cracked.

“I know.”

Namjoon didn’t turn around again to say goodbye. His chest felt so tight, he didn’t even know if he could speak. So instead, he kept walking down the path, Taehyung’s footsteps echoing behind him. Then he heard the faint sound of the door closing and the tightness dissipated, leaving him feeling emptier than he ever had before.

“Where do we go now, hyung?” Taehyung asked from behind him.

It was so cold now and Namjoon had no idea what to tell the younger boy. They couldn’t stay out in the open like this. Someone would eventually recognize Taehyung. No, he needed to get out of the city. Far away. He needed to disappear.

Namjoon lifted his head, looked farther down the street, his eyes settling on the empty bus stop. Immediately he felt a lump forming in his stomach. He knew what he had to do.

“Come on,” he said taking Taehyung’s arm in his hand and pulling him down the sidewalk. When they reached the bus stop, he had the younger boy sit on the bench as he studied the schedule attached to a pole. A bus would be arriving any minute. Just their luck.

“Are we going somewhere?” Taehyung asked.

“We aren’t.” Then he sucked in a sharp breath and turned to face the boy. “But you are.” Then Namjoon tugged his beanie down further over Taehyung’s ears and lifted the mask around his neck up to cover the lower half of his face. In the bulky sweater and coat he wore, his lanky, teenage body was well hidden making it hard to tell how old he was.

“Wait until you’re at least a few towns over before you get off,” Namjoon said, trying his hardest not to meet the scared boy’s eyes. “Then you need to find some sort of shelter. If you can stay there, do it. If not, try to stay in populated parts of town. You’ll be safer that way. Understood?”

“I’m scared, hyung,” Taehyung said, his eyes turned down in the corners and silently pleading with Namjoon not to make him go.

Namjoon felt his heart shatter in his chest. He’d told Taehyung he’d keep him safe and he’d failed. With a sharp intake of breath to clear the fog from his eyes, he shoved his hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew the envelope of money he’d received from Mr. Bang.

“Take this,” he said to Taehyung and pressed it into his hand, not even giving him a chance to reach out and take it himself.

“But, hyung, this is all your money.”

“I’ll be fine,” Namjoon said with a shake of his head. “You need it more than I do. Please, just take it and find some place safe to hide.” At last he met the boy’s eyes. “Just find somewhere to stay put and once everything calms down, I’ll come and find you. We’ll figure something out together, okay?”

Taehyung nodded and then the two turned when the bus came around the corner. Suddenly, Namjoon felt unease like a chunk of ice settle in his gut. Maybe this was a mistake. His thoughts were interrupted though when Taehyung threw his arms around the older boy and clutched onto him for dear life.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, hyung.”

Namjoon pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down hard to keep the tears from spilling over. In a moment of weakness, he buried his head into the younger boy’s neck, and inhaled deeply. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he’d do without Taehyung either.

Namjoon was the one to finally pull away. With a hard sniff, he stepped back, letting one hand linger on the boy’s shoulder for just a moment longer, giving it a fond squeeze before dropping his arm entirely. The bus had already been sitting for a little while behind them, the driver waiting for the two to finish saying their goodbyes.

“Call me any time day or night if you need anything,” Namjoon said. “Even if you don’t need anything, just call sometimes so I know you’re alright.”

Taehyung nodded quickly, his breath trembling in the cold. Or maybe it was something else. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, his voice low and quivering just a bit.

Namjoon nodded back then motioned with his chin toward the bus. He watched Taehyung step on, stopping at the top of the stairs to pay for his fare before heading back to find a seat.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see Taehyung again. And as the bus pulled away, he hoped and prayed to whatever was out there that he would, but something told him this was a permanent goodbye.

06. House of Cards

It wasn’t long before we’d break apart, shatter like a glass vase on the tile floor.

March.

Min Yoongi let out a heavy sigh, leaning way back in his computer chair until his spine gave a satisfying crack. He’d been sitting hunched forward at his desk for hours now and this song he’d been working on for the past two weeks was just starting to finally take shape. His stomach growled and he glanced up at the corner of his monitor to see that three hours had passed since the last time he checked. Which meant he hadn’t eaten anything in almost six.

Just a little bit longer, he thought and rolled his shoulders before leaning back in.

The sound of a groan and the crunch of couch springs came from the room next to him and Yoongi pushed back in his chair again to peer through the doorway.

“Kook-ah,” he cracked, his voice raspy from not being used in so long. “Are you getting up?”

The maknae groaned again but sat up, his eyes still shut and his bottom lip jutting forward in a sleepy pout.

“You need to get going soon so you aren’t late for school.”

Another groan. “But it’s Friday. Can’t I just skip?”

“Taehyung’s been gone for almost a month now. You want Jimin to be alone?”

Jungkook was silent for a few seconds as he mulled over Yoongi’s words. “No, I guess not,” he said then with a huff, got to his feet.

A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth as he sat up and rolled back over to his desk, the wheels of his chair catching and scraping against the plywood floor.

His place was nothing special. Sheet rocked walls, plywood floors and no windows. He wouldn’t even call it a house. He’d barely call it livable. But it was home.

Each of the guys—besides Jin—had lived there at one time or another with him and Jungkook basically lived there all the time. Yoongi didn’t mind. He’d grown very fond of the boy. In fact, he saw a lot of himself in him. The kid was driven. He had so much potential. But life had dealt him a cruel hand. Luckily for him, Yoongi had been through something similar.

His parents had been the type to have his life mapped out for him from birth. They knew where he was to go to school, what college, what classes, what major, what profession he was supposed to end up with. He was their golden child and he tried to live up to their impossibly high standards for as long as he could. But music never factored in for them and when he discovered his love for it in middle school, his priorities changed. No longer did he have time for all of his AP classes or clubs or sports. It was music, music, music.

At sixteen, he dropped out and his parents—disgusted at their disgrace of a son—wanted nothing to do with him. Quickly, their golden child became less valuable than tarnished brass and they dumped him out on the street.

That was almost four years ago. The boy still spent most nights working on songs, writing, producing, marketing to try and get his foot in the door of the music industry but nothing had really happened. He wasn’t one to give up though.

“Hyung, have you slept at all?” Jungkook asked peaking his head into the doorway of Yoongi’s studio.

Yoongi’s eyes stayed glued to his monitor. “I slept yesterday,” he uttered suddenly feeling a rush of fatigue. He blinked hard.

“Have you at least eaten recently?” Jungkook took the older boy’s silence as a no and leaned in to place a bowl with an apple and a boiled egg on the edge of his desk. “Try to get some rest today, hyung.”

Yoongi grunted in reply, missing the fond smile that curled the corners of Jungkook’s mouth upward. A few seconds later, he heard the front door open. “Don’t forget your homework!” he called out.

Jungkook let out an exasperated cry before Yoongi heard frantic rustling, then a “bye, hyung!” and finally, the heavy door of the train car dragging across the ground and slamming shut with a metal clang. Once the echo faded, Yoongi cracked his neck and then leaned in again to his computer. This project wasn’t like any he’d worked on in the past. This one could possibly be the most important of his life.

He’d seen a job posting for a producing gig in Seoul; a position at a very well known label. One that had put out nothing but incredible music since it started. At first Yoongi had been hesitant to apply but then decided to give it a shot. What was the worse that could happen? They reject him?

Actually, yes. Rejection was the literal worst thing that could happen to Yoongi. Burn his house down. Steal all his money. Run him over with your car. But please. Please don’t tell him that the thing he’s worked so hard on, the thing that he’s so passionate about, the thing that made his parents actually kick him out of his house, isn’t good enough. Nothing scared him more than that.

Yoongi pushed back from his desk again. The symbolic weight of this project had taken its toll on him over the past few weeks, causing tight knots to form in his shoulders and migraines to drill into the space between his eyes until pain killers and alcohol couldn’t even dull the ache. Maybe he really did need to get some rest. Ah, but he was so close. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just a few more hours. Another day maybe. Just a little bit longer and it would be finished. And then the painstakingly long wait for their reply.

With an anxiety filled sigh, he grabbed the apple from Jungkook out of the bowl and took a bite.

Just as he thought, the song took him another two days to complete. Two more sleep and food deprived, caffeine fueled days. By the time he submitted his song, he felt ready to sleep for the next three months. Instead, that night while he was tossing and turning in bed, his phone screen lit up with an email. He reached over for it, squinting at the bright screen in the darkness. His heavy eyes popped open when he saw the name of the sender and he sat bolt upright. His heart pounded as he clicked on the email. His hands shook and he dropped his phone, scrambling to pick it up so he could finally find out if his effort had been for nothing. Then he opened the email with bated breath and his eyes roved over the first line of the email.

Mr. Min,

We were impressed with your song and…

Yoongi read the whole email several times before letting the meaning of the words completely sink in. He’d made it. He’d made it? Yoongi got to his feet in one fluid motion.

“I made it?”

Immediately, he wanted to run into the living room where Jungkook was sleeping soundly and jump up and down on him, screaming until the maknae was celebrating with him. He wanted to call the others. He wanted to share the good news. But…

What about Jungkook? What would the kid do if Yoongi up and moved to the big city? Of course he’d want to come with him. To drop out of school, leave his foster family, leave the rest of the guys behind to follow him. No, Yoongi couldn’t let him do that. His whole life was here. He needed to graduate. He needed to go to college. Make something of himself. Get out of this perpetual life of suck he was currently in. But could Yoongi leave him behind? Sure, Jungkook needed him, needed his couch, needed the security of having somewhere and someone that actually cared about him as a person instead of as a means to a paycheck from the government. But Yoongi kind of needed him too. It was nice having someone that cared about his well-being when that was usually the furthest thing from his own mind. Jungkook was always asking him if he’d slept, if he’d eaten, if he’d showered, recently.

Jungkook was the one to keep him connected to the rest of the guys most of the time. He would have become a hermit by now if the kid wasn’t constantly inviting them over to hang out. It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t like having them over. It wasn’t like he didn’t value their friendship. He could just so easily get so wrapped up in a project that he’d be glued to his computer for weeks. Jungkook kept him grounded. Kept him in this world instead of in his head all the time.

But this was Yoongi’s dream. This was the validation he’d been denied by his parents. The validation he needed. But the question was, what did he need more?

Yoongi slumped on the farthest cushion on the couch from Jungkook, empty glass in his hand. He’d been sitting there for a while, rolling the last bit of his bitter drink around in the bottom of the glass and trying to figure out how he could possibly break the news to Jungkook that he’d be leaving for Seoul the next day.

He hadn’t told anyone about the job offer, or rather the prospective job offer. There hadn’t actually been a contract signed but Yoongi had a very good feeling that there’d be one waiting for him once he got there. He’d been in contact with the label since that first fateful email a week before. They’d sent him several files to tweak and send back. Just more tests of his producing capabilities. They seemed impressed.

This party was in celebration of Taehyung coming back to them—not that they ever needed a reason to get together. He’d ended up getting picked up by the police a week before a few cities over and when he tried calling Namjoon, he got an automated message saying the boy’s service had been disconnected. Much to Namjoon’s dismay and the other guys insistence, he’d had been couch surfing for the past month while he looked for a job. Since he hadn’t been able to find one, he couldn’t pay his bill and his phone was disconnected.

Luckily, Taehyung’s next phone call had been to Jin, who had managed to persuade his lawyer father to bail the boy out and represent him in his upcoming trial. Of course, Jin had to threaten to drop out of college to get his parents to comply but they finally did much to his relief. He’d felt sick with guilt for weeks after having to turn Namjoon and Taehyung away that night they showed up at his door. He’d wanted nothing more than to invite them both in and promise the younger boys that everything was going to be okay. But what could have happened if they were caught under his roof? What would have become of his father’s reputation? Of his schooling? Even now with Taehyung in his care and out of jail, he couldn’t get rid of the guilt that still hung over his head. And now he stood in Yoongi’s kitchen, slumped against the counter, nursing his own drink.

Namjoon was having his own pity party in a different corner. The boy had confided in Yoongi a lot over the past month. Yoongi had never seen him so worked up and simultaneously so low before. His self-appointed purpose in life for so long had been as the support for his friends. As a guardian for Taehyung. And now he’d failed him. Namjoon had become even more of a wreck after waking up to find his phone had been disconnected and that Taehyung had tried calling him from jail.

“I wasn’t there when he needed me the most, hyung,” he’d said to Yoongi one night, tears slipping down his cheeks. “What kind of friend am I?”

Even with this being a party, no one seemed to be in a celebratory mood. While the three oldest brooded in their respective places, and Hoseok tried not to pass out from exhaustion on an arm chair, the three youngest clung to each other on the other side of the couch. The last couple of months had been traumatizing for Taehyung. From killing his father, to wandering around a strange city, to getting arrested and having to spend several nights in a jail cell not knowing his fate, it had all been too much.

When Jin and Jin’s father had gone to pick him up from the police station, he’d looked like a completely different person. His skin was pale and pulled taut over his bones, more prominent since he hadn’t eaten much while on the run. He hadn’t said a word to Jin and only uttered a “thank you” to Mr. Kim. His face had been completely blank and he could barely make eye contact with his oldest friend. The boy had seemed like nothing more than a shell of his former self. He warmed up a bit over the following weeks, opening up just barely, talking a little more, filling back out, and much to the others’ relief, color began to return to his skin again. But that haunting look in his eyes was still there. Who knew if it would ever go away?

With one of his supports no longer by his side at school all day, Jimin had started to notice the menacing looks again from Jiho and his friends. After being ambushed a couple months back, his anxiety had been through the roof, his nerves on edge all day every day. It was exhausting. Especially keeping up a positive front for Jungkook. The poor kid was trying so hard to be there for Jimin but the original idea had been for either he or Taehyung to be in all of Jimin’s classes which left the boy vulnerable at times. Jiho was smart. He’d never touch Jimin in school but he could intimidate him which was almost worse. It made Jimin flinch at every little thing. Made him hesitate before turning corners. Made him shrink into Jungkook causing them to stumble over each other, get tangled up. Jungkook couldn’t miss a single day, couldn’t rest for a single moment if it meant Jimin being without his protection.

The three of them looked exhausted. Looked defeated there slumped on the couch with controllers in their hands as they played some mindless video game on Yoongi’s little tv. Yoongi could see just how affected they’d each become by everything over the past couple of months. The bags under their eyes. The way they leaned into each other as if making sure they were really there. The way Jimin’s leg constantly touched Taehyung’s as if to say, “It's okay. Don’t worry about me,” while his other shoulder touched Jungkook’s as if to say, “please don’t leave me.”

That was it. Yoongi had to break the news to Jungkook. He couldn’t let him come with him. Jimin needed Jungkook. Hoseok needed Jimin. Taehyung needed Jin. Namjoon needed Taehyung. The group needed to stay together. At least the rest of them. They’d be fine without Yoongi. They’d find another place to hang out. Everything would be fine. But how to break the news to the youngest maknae? Yoongi looked down at his empty glass. Maybe a bit more liquid courage would help. He felt too conflicted right now. Too guilty still.

With a groan, he got up off the couch and he made his way to the kitchen. He was already feeling pretty out of it—the fact that he hadn’t slept well for over a week was definitely part of it. Seeing Jin there blocking the alcohol made anger flare up in the pit of his stomach. Sure the boy had eventually helped Taehyung by bailing him out of jail but the kid wouldn’t have been there in the first place if Jin hadn’t turned him away.

“You’re standing in front of the booze,” Yoongi uttered. The only reason Jin was there was because he’d brought Taehyung, and because—despite the fact that Yoongi kind of hated him right now—he was still part of the group.

Jin didn’t say anything, instead just stepped to the side so Yoongi could grab the half empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t even bother pouring more into his cup, just brought the mouth of the bottle to his lips and tossed his head back. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, liquid fire pooling in his belly until he finally had to stop so he could take a breath. Then he lowered his head again, his unfocused eyes landing on Jin.

“You know what my problem is with you?” he asked as he jabbed a finger into the older boy’s face.

Completely taken off guard, Jin tried to step back but was already flush against the counter and cupboards. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give me that crap, hyung,” Yoongi snarled. The energy of the whole room suddenly shifted as the others stopped what they were doing to watch. “Namjoon told me everything,” Yoongi continued. “You think you can just abandon your brother when he needs you the most and then just swoop in like some hero and save the day?” Jin’s eyes darted to the others in the room and he swallowed hard. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Yoongi asked, leaning in close. “You’re really just over here flaunting your silver spoon over all of our heads. Making everyone else feel like absolute crap while you’re off getting some fancy degree. Living in your fancy dorms. Coming home to your fancy house. You know, some of us actually have to work hard to get where we want to go? Most of us have to work hard just to get by. And even then, we still fail.” Yoongi let out a pathetic chuckle and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “Everything just comes so easy for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yoongi—”

“Why do you even still hang out with us? Why would you want to be around losers like us all the time? Huh? Do you like just holding what we’ll never have over our heads? Is that it? Does it make you feel better seeing how crappy our lives are, Seokjin?”

A hand clamped down on Yoongi’s shoulder and pulled him away from Jin. “That’s enough, hyung,” Jungkook said in his ear.

Yoongi spun around to face him. Over the years they’d known each other, Yoongi had watched Jungkook surpass him in height and stature. He was taller, broader, stronger. The boy was a fighter. A survivor. He’d make it just fine without Yoongi.

“Everyone, get out,” Yoongi said at last and took another swig from the bottle in his hand.

No one moved or said anything, none of them really sure what to do.

“I said out!” Yoongi’s voice cracked on the last word as he raised his voice. “Now!”

The others leapt into action then. Jin slipped out from behind Yoongi and pulled his truck keys from his pocket as he made his way toward the door. At the sight of their ride leaving, Taehyung and Jimin dropped their controllers on the coffee table and hurried after him, uttering quick goodbyes to Jungkook as they passed him. Hoseok and Namjoon left silently as well, Namjoon’s gaze holding Yoongi’s as he made his way past him. Hoseok was too tired to even care about the outburst. He hadn’t really wanted to be there anyway and now he was just looking forward to going home and sleeping. The two left, pulling the heavy metal door shut behind them and at last it was just Yoongi and Jungkook left in the silence.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh as he placed the whiskey bottle back on the counter then pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. His head was pounding and his throat burned and he just wanted to collapse into his bed. This whole night had been a complete wreck. He wanted nothing more than to just be alone so he could try and figure everything out. But when he opened his eyes again, he saw Jungkook still standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Yoongi sighed again.

“Go home, Kook,” he said finally, raking his fingers back through his hair.

Jungkook furrowed his brows. “What?”

The anguish that had been haunting him every night for the past week reawakened in Yoongi’s gut and he clenched his fists down at his sides to keep his composure from cracking. “I said, go home,” he repeated. “I’m not your parent. I can’t take care of you. You have a family. You have a home. Go there.”

He wanted so badly to take Jungkook with him to Seoul. He wanted to protect the boy from the world. He wanted to be his home. To be his family. To be there. But he knew he couldn’t and he could feel himself already starting to break apart. It’s what’s best for him. You can’t protect him. You have to let him go.

He wanted nothing more in this life than to not be the cause of the hurt expression on Jungkook’s face. “But hyung—”

“Just get out!” Yoongi screamed and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want you anymore!”

Jungkook’s breath hitched and suddenly he was silent. Yoongi didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to meet his eyes. But finally he did. And what he saw shattered him completely. The boy’s eyes were glassy, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. He wore the same dejected expression as the first time he’d run away from home and ended up at Yoongi’s. He’d told him that he’d gotten in a fight with his foster dad. That the man had called him worthless, nothing more than a means to a paycheck. That the minute he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Yoongi had pulled him in. Let him cry against him. Squeezed him tight and told him he’d never feel unwanted again…

Finally, Jungkook spoke. “You don’t want me?”

Yoongi let out a stuttering breath. “You heard me.” Let him go. Let him go. Let him go. He’ll be alright. He can make it on his own. “I’ve had to give up a lot for you. I’ve had to put my dreams on hold. My future on hold so you’d have a place to stay and someone to take care of you. You’ve been holding me back long enough. You’re not a kid anymore. You need to start taking care of yourself. I’ve done my job. Now you need to start doing yours.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, eyes drilling so intensely into Yoongi’s that at last the older boy had to look up at the ceiling. Please, just leave. Please, just go and don’t say anything.

“You’re just drunk, hyung,” Jungkook finally said and stepped forward to place his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. “You’re just stressed out and you need to sleep it off.” Then he started guiding Yoongi to his bedroom.

But Yoongi pushed him away. “I don’t just need sleep,” he growled and turned to face the younger boy again. “I said what I said and I meant it.” Then he shoved Jungkook hard, causing him to stumble back toward the door. “Go home, Jungkook.” He shoved him again. “Go home and don’t come back here.” Again. “You don’t belong here, anymore.”

“Stop shoving me, hyung,” Jungkook snapped and straightened up to his full height. The kid was massive compared to Yoongi and infinitely more intimidating. Yoongi swallowed hard but kept his expression the same. This was for the kid’s own good.

“Then grow up, Jungkook,” he barked. “Stop being some weak little child. Stop depending on everyone else. Stop expecting everyone to take care of you and just man up.”

This set something off in the boy. In one quick motion, Jungkook stepped forward and gripped the front of Yoongi’s shirt in his fists. Fire burned in his eyes and Yoongi could feel the fear rushing through his veins like ice water.

“You want to hit me, Kook?” he asked. “Then hit me.”

With a shake of his head, Jungkook let Yoongi go, dropping him back onto his feet, and he stumbled backward. A pathetic chuckle bubbled up from his throat and he shook his head. “Not even man enough to do that.”

Suddenly, Yoongi was wrenched forward again by his collar and he felt Jungkook’s fist connect with his cheek. The force knocked him to the ground and he landed hard on his hands and knees. His mouth filled with the bitter taste of iron and when he brought his hand up to swipe at his lip, it came away streaked with blood.

“I am a man,” Jungkook said looking down at him. Then without another word, he went over, pushed the door open and glanced back one more time to lock eyes with the boy that had basically raised him. With that, he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

Yoongi exhaled heavily as he let his head fall back against the floor. His head was still spinning and his face stung and he could feel a trickle of blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. He’d never felt worse in his entire life. The hangover the next day was going to suck but not as much as the hole in his chest would after what he’d just done. The look of betrayal on Jungkook’s face would haunt him forever.

Already, feeling a bit soberer now, he could feel the guilt and regret flooding his chest making it harder to breathe. No. He couldn’t do that to himself. This was for the best. He’d already decided that when he took the job. He just wished things could have ended differently. Just wished he could come back once in a while to see everyone. Have them come visit him. But not anymore. Not after everything that happened that night.

With a groan, Yoongi rolled over and got to his feet. He was supposed to head out in the morning and he still had to pack everything up. All he wanted to do was sleep, but it looked like, once again, this was going to be another exhaustive night.

07. Save Me

You can only pick up the pieces and paste them back together so many times before they no longer fit.

April.

One evening when Jungkook was ten, he and his parents were driving home from the grocery store. This was a weekly occurrence with them. One he always looked forward to because he and his dad would race each other down the aisles. This particular night, it was raining really hard. So hard that the wipers were working at a rapid pace to try and keep the windshield clear and the street visible. The sound, though a bit jarring, was repetitive enough to turn into a sort of rhythm. One that had Jungkook’s eyelids growing heavy until he slumped against the door, face pressed against his palm, and he drifted to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t to the sound of rain on the metal car roof or the double time beat of the windshield wipers. It was to the beeps of monitors and quiet conversations between strangers. It was too bright. Too white. Too sterile. It took him several seconds to realize he was lying in a bed in a hospital room. And his parents weren’t in there with him.

The night they were all coming home from grocery shopping, a semi truck had run a red light and smashed into them. His dad had been killed instantly and his mom only lived for another week before dying in the hospital of complications. The crash had put Jungkook in a coma and by the time he came out of it, he didn’t have parents. He’d fallen asleep on the way home from the store and woken up in the hospital two weeks later, completely alone in the world.

For several months after the wreck, he’d withdrawn into himself, and while he barely ever spoke a word to anyone during that time, the voice in his mind screamed at the heavens, demanding to know why he had lived. Why his family had been taken. Why he couldn’t have gone with them. He’d heard a nurse say back in the hospital that the only reason he survived was because, since he’d been asleep, his body was limp, therefore absorbed most of the impact, unlike his parents who, as anyone else anticipating a collision would, tensed up. It’s why drunk drivers so often walk away from a crash when their victim doesn’t. If he would have been awake, maybe he’d be wherever his parents were too. Maybe they could be together.

He’d been in the foster system ever since then. Being moved from fake family to fake family, temporary house to temporary house so quickly sometimes he didn’t even get the chance to memorize his address. No one wanted a preteen. Once you were past the impressionable age, you were treated more as a guest in the house rather than part of the family. No one willingly took in older kids and teenagers because they wanted to. It was always for the money. At least, that was how Jungkook saw it.

He’d learned that out of all of the kids he ever lived with, he was the expendable one. The one that didn’t need attention. Didn’t need love because he could take care of himself. Over time, he’d learned to survive. To see his fake family as a provider of the bare necessities and nothing else. He’d learned to never grow attached. To never let anyone in. To never even unpack his things because any day now, his case worker was going to knock on the door and tell him it was time to move on.

It’s hard not to latch onto the bitterness and let it fester inside you. Especially when there’s such a lack of love in your life. Jungkook shut down, made a bubble around himself of anger and hatred. He’d get into it with his fake siblings, with his fake parents. With anyone that looked at him wrong. He got into sports and started working out as a way to avoid home and clear his mind. He got bigger, more intimidating. People started leaving him alone.

Then in seventh grade, he saw a small boy get cornered by a group of guys much bigger than him. He didn’t even hesitate before getting right in the middle of it, blocking the boy with his body and staring them down until they backed off. That was the day he met Jimin. The day he figured out that his strength could in fact be put to good use. Jimin introduced him to Tae and it didn’t take long for the two to break down his walls. To show him that there were in fact people in this world that cared about him. That he could care about too.

When he met the rest of the guys, he found himself feeling angry less often. Smiling more. Laughing even. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. They were his escape from the real world. The ones that kept him going. That kept him sane. He wanted to protect them with everything he had. Protect Jimin from the darkness that enshrouded him at school.

“Out!”

“Fine!”

Jungkook slammed the front door to his house behind him and slung his backpack over his shoulder. His ears burned under the hood of his sweatshirt and hot tears glazed his eyes, threatening to spill over the moment he blinked. It seemed like more and more this was the way he’d leave. With a shouting match between he and his fake dad and then a slam of the door.

Jimin’s mom’s car idled on the curb, Jimin sitting in the passenger seat, his eyes following Jungkook as he trudged toward them.

“Morning, Jungkook,” Jimin’s mom said when Jungkook slid into the backseat.

“Morning,” he uttered and sniffed hard to keep the tears from spilling over. When his eyes were finally dry, he looked up, catching Jimin staring in the rear view mirror. The older boy’s forehead was creased, the corners of his eyes dipped low with concern. Jungkook turned his head, tearing his gaze from his friend’s and watched the houses rush by through the window. Then he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out.

Jimin: fake dad?

Jungkook glanced up again to see that Jimin’s eyes were still trained on him through the mirror. With a sigh, he looked back down at his screen, his fingers typing out an answer.

JK: yea. im fine tho.

Jimin: ok

It was obvious Jimin didn’t believe him but Jungkook was an impenetrable fortress that chose when to let people in and when to keep them locked out. He didn’t like talking about his home life, especially to Jimin. The boy had enough to worry about with school and Jiho and therapy. The last thing he needed was to be triggered by Jungkook and his miserable situation. Jimin had always been an empathetic soul, though. And maybe that was why Jungkook had been drawn to him from the start. Jungkook was comfortable around him. He felt understood even though Jimin knew very little. The only other person in the group he’d opened up to was Yoongi.

Yoongi.

The older boy had been like a big brother to him. Like a father. A protector. A home. His words still resonated in Jungkook’s head, bouncing around in his skull like a ricocheting bullet. I don’t want you anymore. He never thought he’d hear that from Yoongi. His fake dad had drilled it into him that he wasn’t actually wanted. That they only took in a fourteen year old with a temper because they knew he’d be easier to manage than their younger wards. And money was money. As long as they kept him fed and clothed, they would receive a check every month. He expected that from them. But not Yoongi. Never Yoongi.

He hadn’t believed he’d heard his hyung right at first. That, for some reason, his ears had interpreted what the boy had said incorrectly. That maybe his mind had been playing tricks on him. But then the words hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest, bruising his ribcage and crushing his lungs. They’d left him breathless.

You don’t want me anymore? He’d had to be sure. Yoongi couldn’t have said it. Couldn’t have meant to say something that he knew would cause so much damage to the younger boy. That would leave him feeling so broken. So worthless. You heard me. And he had. And he heard him for weeks after that. Those words. Those words that pierced him to the core. That extinguished his spirit and left him groping around in darkness.

I don’t want you anymore.

Leaving Yoongi’s house that night, he’d wandered the streets for a while, his anger and hurt slowly fading to numbness. And now he only ever felt one of the two. When he was angry he wanted to punch something or someone and when he was numb, he wanted to feel pain. Just needed to feel something.

He lashed out even more at his foster parents. At the other kids in the house. At his teachers and students at school. He got in a lot of fights. Provoked classmates and rough looking strangers on the streets. He was lucky no one ever pulled a knife or a gun on him. Though maybe he secretly hoped someone would.

“Why don’t you stay at my house tonight?” Jimin asked once they’d gotten to school and his mom’s car had pulled away from the curb. “Friday night’s pizza night.”

“You know I can’t turn down pizza night,” Jungkook replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a small smirk. Just the prospect of not having to go back to his fake family after school was enough to lighten his mood a bit. Just a bit, though. Yoongi’s words still dragged him down into the icy depths of a dark ocean, but the thought of staying at Jimin’s house at least gave him a chance to break the surface and take in a breath before being pulled back down again.

School had never really been a problem for Jungkook. He’d always stayed pretty much in the middle academically. Never getting straight A’s but never getting below a C. It kept his fake parents and the teachers off his back which was all that mattered to him. Though now with Taehyung no longer at school as he awaited his trial, Jungkook was having to rush from his classes that he didn’t share with Jimin to meet the boy, sometimes forgetting to turn in his homework or stopping by his locker to grab his books for his next class. He was starting to fall a bit behind and his grades were reflecting it.

Jiho had left them pretty much alone for a while now. Sure, Jungkook saw him in the halls and sometimes would catch him just looking at Jimin but it seemed like making Jimin miserable was no longer on his agenda. Maybe he’d finally gotten bored of tormenting him. Though Jungkook wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, even for a second.

“I’m sorry I forgot Tae’s homework,” Jimin said as he walked quickly down the hall toward his locker. He’d been bringing work to Taehyung so the boy would still be able to graduate on time. “I don’t know why I didn’t grab it before class. I guess I was just in such a rush. It was stupid.”

“It’s fine, Jiminie,” Jungkook said. He almost had to jog to keep up. The boy was so much smaller than him, how was he covering so much ground so quickly?

“I’ve just been stressed out ever since Tae got arrested and all that crap and now you’re having to work twice as hard and I just—” he stopped in front of his locker, hand hovering over the combination dial. He squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh then looked up at Jungkook. “I’m sorry I’m so weak, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook sucked in a breath, words of assurance at the back of his throat when he heard a locker slam a bit further down the hall. He and Jimin turned to find Jiho, by himself, coming toward them. Where were his friends?

“So the rumors are true, then,” Jiho said, his dark eyes sparkling as he leaned against the locker next to Jungkook. “Your other guard dog got sent to the pound.”

Jungkook was in Jiho’s face in a second, teeth bared. “Don’t talk about Tae like that,” he growled.

The bully’s eyes widened in fear for just a second before narrowing to slits, a devilish grin pulling his mouth upward. “Or what?” he asked quietly. “You can’t touch me. Not here anyway.”

“Wanna bet?” Jungkook asked, stepping forward again, forcing Jiho to back up against the locker.

Jiho let out a dark chuckle. “You want to hit me so bad right now, don’t you, Pitt-bull?”

He had no idea.

Jungkook could feel the muscle in his arm tightening and contracting with each clench of his fist. He wanted so badly to slam his knuckles against Jiho’s skull. Make him think twice before ever even looking Jimin’s way again. He was so sick of seeing the fear, the exhaustion, the misery in Jimin’s eyes every day when he’d come to school. Even though graduation was less than two months away, it still wasn’t close enough. Jungkook didn’t know if Jimin was going to make it. He already looked skinnier than he had even just a month ago. Much longer and he’d wither away to nothing. Disappear completely. All because of this worthless piece of trash grinning up at Jungkook. He’d been feeling so cold, so empty since Yoongi had abandoned him. But now fire built in his gut. Flames licked up his chest. Burned his throat and set his eyes ablaze. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was protect his friends. And this worm was still threatening one of them.

He’d had enough.

“Come on, Jungkook,” Jiho uttered so only he could hear. “There aren’t any teachers around. Hit me.”

Jungkook felt a cold hand on his arm, fingers curling around his bicep. “Jungkook-ah.” Jimin’s small voice was barely audible over the sound of Jungkook’s heart crashing in his ears. “Come on. He’s not worth it.”

Jungkook turned his head to look at his friend. At his tired face. At his pallid skin. His hollowed cheeks. The boy looked like he hadn’t felt happiness in years, yet somehow he still managed to greet him every morning with a smile. How was this boy still alive?

“You’re right, Jimin,” Jungkook said and glanced back at Jiho. “He’s not worth it.” Then he turned to meet his friend’s eyes again. “But you are.”

Before Jimin could stop him, Jungkook reared back and threw his fist forward. It connected with a sickening crack against Jiho’s cheekbone, sending the boy crashing to the ground on his hands and knees. A thick stream of bloody saliva dripped from his mouth and he spit onto the linoleum floor before looking back up to meet Jungkook’s eyes. His face split in a wide, red stained grin.

“Jungkook, what did you do?” Jimin whispered from behind him.

When he turned to look at him, Jungkook’s eyes caught on someone over his shoulder. Principal Song approached with two of Jiho’s friends trailing behind him.

He’d been set up. Of course Jiho and his friends had planned this. Anything to get Jimin’s second guard dog in trouble and out of the picture.

“What on earth is going on here?” Principal Song asked, his face red with anger.

Jiho’s friends rushed forward to help the injured boy up and he stumbled a bit, playing up that he was really hurt. And he probably was. Jungkook had hit him pretty hard.

“He just hit me, Principal Song-nim,” Jiho said weakly. “Just straight up punched me in the face.”

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t provoke him, Jiho,” Jimin snapped from behind Jungkook then looked at the principal. “He was just defending me.”

“Jungkook,” Principal Song barked.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle since first seeing the man coming toward him. The fire in his gut raged on, leaving his shoulders heaving and his heart pounding. His eyes drilled into the man as his fists clenched tighter. He could feel where the skin on one of his knuckles had split when it came in contact with Jiho’s face.

Jiho. He wanted to make the boy suffer as much as he’d made Jimin suffer since middle school. He wanted to make him wish he’d never said a word to Jimin. Never laid hands on him. Jungkook wanted to kill him.

“Did you hit this student?” the principal asked gesturing toward the cowering Jiho.

Finally, Jungkook pulled in a steady breath to speak. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he told me to.”

Principal Song opened his mouth but nothing came out. He obviously hadn’t expected to hear that answer and now he flapped his mouth a few more times like a fish, his eyes darting back and forth between the injured boy and the one that had injured him. At last, he gathered his thoughts. “We have a strict no violence policy here. You were all made well aware of that at the beginning of the year. Did you forget?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw. “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

“So what made you do it?”

“He’s been harassing Jimin since sixth grade.” Jungkook said coldly. “Where’ve you been?”

Again, the principal was stricken speechless. It took him just a few seconds to regain his composure. “You not liking the way we do things does not justify taking matters into your own hands.” Then Principal Song turned to Jiho and his friends. “Please escort Jiho to the nurse and then all of you get to class.” He waited as they made their way down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Then he turned to Jungkook. “You know the rules, young man. You’ll need to come with me. Back to class, Jimin.”

Jungkook watched a look of horror pass over Jimin’s face as the principal took Jungkook by the shoulder and led him away. He craned his neck around, keeping his eyes locked on Jimin’s until they turned the corner. Dread filled his own stomach. If he was suspended, how would he be able to protect Jimin? He turned his head to look back at the principal.

“Principal Song-Nim, you can’t suspend me. Jimin can’t—”

“The staff will do whatever we can to keep our students safe,” the man replied sternly. “He will be fine without you.”

That was it. Jungkook ripped his shoulder out of the principal’s hand and turned to face him. The boy was eye level with the man but more muscular and he couldn’t help but feel a flash of cruel satisfaction when Principal Song took a slight step backward.

“This school has done nothing to make Jimin feel safe,” Jungkook growled. “Something is going to happen to him while I’m gone. Just watch. And when it does, I’m not going after Jiho and his lackeys. I’m coming after you.”

Principal Song’s eyes narrowed to shining black slits. “That sounded like a threat, Jeon Jungkook,” he said. “And threats will not be tolerated at this school.” Then he straightened up, standing eye to eye once again with the boy. “You’re no longer suspended.”

“Wai—”

“You’re expelled.”

Jungkook could feel the anger churning in his belly like an ocean in a hurricane. His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw became prominent as he ground his teeth together.

“Now, if you don’t want the police to get involved, I suggest getting off school grounds immediately.”

Jungkook watched out of the tops of his eyes as the man turned and strolled away and into his office. The whole inner wall was glass so Jungkook could see him go all the way across the room to sit at his oak desk. When the principal was finally seated, he looked up, locking eyes with Jungkook before reaching slowly for the phone. Obviously, he’d been serious when he said he’d call the police on Jungkook if he didn’t leave right then. What else could Jungkook do but go? He couldn’t go back to tell Jimin what happened. He couldn’t return the next week to walk him to his classes. It was over.

With a defeated sigh, his angry expression fell and his eyes slid from the principal’s down to the floor as he trudged toward the exit. What was he going to tell Jimin?

Jungkook waited at the bus stop across the street from the school until the students were let out at the end of the day. He couldn’t risk being caught on the property and getting the cops called on him, so when he finally saw Jimin coming out the front doors, he jumped to his feet and waited anxiously there on the other side of the crosswalk like a dog at the end of his leash. His eyes followed the boy closely, never straying as Jimin pulled his hood up over his faded orange hair. He watched him make his way across the street, his hands jammed deep into the pocket of his hoodie. Watched him glance his way before shaking his head and trudging past him down the sidewalk.

Jungkook knew he looked ridiculous trailing after the boy like a puppy but he couldn’t help it. He needed to apologize. Needed to explain. Needed Jimin to stop ignoring him. Please, just stop ignoring him.

“Jiminie, just stop for a second. Please,” Jungkook finally said, grabbing the smaller boy’s arm and spinning him around to face him.

“Why did you hit him, Jungkook?” Jimin asked. He set his jaw in a hard line, his eyes drilling into Jungkook’s and for the first time, Jungkook actually felt intimidated by his icy stare. “Well?”

With a sigh, Jungkook looked back at the school again. It was several blocks away now. Jimin had gone pretty far before Jungkook caught up to him. “I just need to tell you something…”

“Yes, please do, Jungkook,” Jimin said. “Tell me exactly what you were thinking. Tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to punch Jiho at school when you know that they’ve been cracking down on their whole no violence policy, which is a load of crap, by the way, since apparently Jiho doesn’t even need to touch me to mess with me every day. And now, you’ve gone and gotten yourself suspended so what—”

“Expelled.”

Jimin went silent.

Jungkook didn’t want to meet his eyes. He kicked at a clump of moss sticking up from between a crack in the sidewalk. Stuffed his hands in his pockets and grabbed at the lint that had collected in the seams. Rolled his tongue against his cheek. Until finally, the silence was too heavy to bear and he had to look up.

Jimin’s icy facade had melted, leaving a stricken expression on his pale face. His lips were slightly parted, his shoulders heaving and then his fingers flew up into his hair and panic filled his eyes. “Y-you what?”

Immediately, Jungkook wished he could take everything back. Wished he hadn’t let Jiho’s comment about Taehyung get to him. Wished he’d controlled the fire raging in him. Wished he’d fought the urge to hit him. Wished he hadn’t just uttered the one word that could make his friend suddenly look so scared.

Jimin’s breathing turned ragged and he raked his quivering hands down his face. “Expelled?” he cracked. “You got expelled? I won’t have you? I won’t have Tae? Jiho will…” He staggered, almost crashing into the bushes lining the sidewalk if not for Jungkook reaching out and grabbing him. The boy’s skin felt clammy, his whole body trembling. Jungkook had seen his friend have plenty of anxiety attacks but this was completely different. A panic attack worse than any he’d ever had.

“It’ll be okay, Jiminie,” Jungkook whispered as he sank down onto the curb, enveloping the boy in his arms, letting him crumble into his chest as he descended further into panic. “I’ll figure it out. You won’t be alone. It’ll be okay.” Jungkook knew he was making empty promises. He wasn’t allowed back on school property. Tae wasn’t going back to school, at the very least, until after his trial and that was only if he was found not guilty. And even then, school would be over anyway. Jimin was right. He was all alone. And it was Jungkook’s fault.

It had been almost eight years since he lost his parents and the memories, the details, had faded over time. But sometimes, out of nowhere, his mom or dad’s face would appear in his mind with startling detail, leaving him breathless.

This time it was a dream that they appeared to him in. More of a nightmare, really. He could see the crash happening. Hear the collision. The jarring sound of tires squealing, brakes seizing, glass and metal crumpling. He saw his mom’s terror-filled eyes and heard her scream his name. And then he woke up.

It took him a second to realize he was laying on the floor in Jimin’s room instead of sprawling across the backseat of a car. A layer of cold sweat coated his naked torso and matted his hair down to his forehead.

He heard a groan just then and watched as Jimin’s arm stirred where it lay slung over the edge of his mattress. “Jungkook-ah?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook said sitting up and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Just had a nightmare, Jiminie. Go back to sleep.”

With another barely-awake groan, Jimin rolled over to face the wall. Jungkook peered at him from over the edge of the bed. The boy’s blankets had slipped off of him in the night and now he lay curled into a ball, his cotton pants riding up his legs to expose his boney ankles. He was so small. Too small.

Jungkook got up quietly and tugged Jimin’s blanket back in place over his body. The boy nuzzled his pillow, never opening his eyes but letting out a contented sigh. At least he seemed to be having good dreams. With a sharp breath to clear his head, Jungkook reached for his shirt and tugged it on then grabbed his hoodie and slipped from the room quietly.

The whole house was dark and silent, the place awash in cold, blue light cast by the streetlamp that filtered in through the filmy curtains covering the windows. Jimin’s house was nice. Not super nice like Jin’s, but homey, comfortable. Jungkook felt a stab of jealousy in his gut as he made his way to the entryway where his shoes were. He passed walls lined with photos of Jimin in different stages of growing up. Family photos and birthday photos and school photos. Jungkook hadn’t lived in a house where his picture adorned a wall in a long time. Having been shuffled from one place to the next so many times had made him forget what it was even like to have a place to call his. Sure, he’d been with his current caretakers for a few years now but he’d never go so far as to call those people his family or that house his home.

After pulling his shoes on, Jungkook unlocked and opened the front door quietly. It was unusually warm for a spring night but Jungkook welcomed the feeling of the wind on his face. He’d woken up with goosebumps dotting his skin and this was the comfort he needed to wash away the image of his mom’s terror-filled eyes.

He often went for walks when he needed to clear his head. So much had happened that day that this walk was necessary. Heck, the past several months had been nothing but one hit after another. From Taehyung killing his dad to getting arrested, to Yoongi suddenly flipping out on Jin and tossing Jungkook out like a piece of trash. Jungkook sucked in a sharp breath at that last thought.

He’d made it to the end of Jimin’s street, past the mini mart and out onto the main road that ran through the city. He wasn’t sure where he was headed but it didn’t really matter anyway. He could go on forever and no one would miss him. He already was nothing but a burden on the people that knew him. And he’d let down the only one that didn’t see him as such.

After hearing the same words for the past eight years of his life, that he was only as good as the money he brought in, that he needed to stop relying on others to take care of him, that he needed to grow up and be a man, it was hard to not believe it was all true. And then there was Jimin. His best friend and the boy that relied on him more than anyone else. The boy that trusted him to keep him safe and he’d failed. Failed at his one responsibility.

Jungkook cut across the street and around a corner. The school loomed in front of him, its tall, white stone clocktower raising up to pierce the sky like a blade. Jungkook sat down on the bench he’d waited for Jimin on earlier in the day and rested his head in his hands.

That dream had really shaken him. Had brought everything back. And now the hole in his chest that had finally begun to shrink with time felt gaping again. Without any warning, his chest contracted and he let out a sob. Then the tears came.

He buried his face in his arms, crumpling into a ball there on the bench as he cried. His voice echoed down the street, filling the darkness with sounds of anguish. He didn’t know how long he cried but when he finally looked up again, his lungs hurt and his eyes burned.

Jungkook leaned back, resting his head against the back of the bench so he could look up at the sky. The city lights washed out most of the stars but the brightest ones were still visible. Shining and twinkling the way stars do, completely unaware or maybe uncaring of the trivial problems of humans. Stars have much bigger things to worry about.

With a heavy sigh Jungkook got up again. The air had cooled significantly since he left Jimin’s house and now he hunched his shoulders forward and shoved his hands deep into his pockets to brace himself against the chill. He was exhausted and only now did he regret leaving the house in the first place. It was going to be a long, cold walk back.

He didn’t even see the car flying down the road toward him. The driver apparently didn’t see him either because they didn’t even attempt to slow down before plowing into him. The whole thing happened so quickly that Jungkook didn’t know it until he landed on the road on his back with a sickening crunch. The impact ripped all of the air from his lungs and he lay there for several panicking seconds as he tried to will them to expand again. When he finally was able to pull in a breath, he knew something was wrong. He couldn’t inhale right. When he tried to move his legs, they wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t feel anything. Something was definitely wrong.

His heart pounded in his chest and he could hear how ragged and shallow his breathing was. His vision blurred with every beat. The air grew thick and suddenly he felt like he was drowning. Panic washed over him like a wave and his unfocused eyes watched as the surface grew more and more distant. He was sinking further. Falling into the dark depths of the unknown.

Please, no. Please, not here. Not like this.

Jungkook could feel himself being tugged further down and he grit his teeth, struggling against current. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t fight it. He could feel his energy draining. Feel his heartbeat weakening. The sound of it slowing seemed to surround him until it was all he could hear. Until there was nothing but him, floating in this black ocean, listening to his dying pulse.

Please…not like this.

He thought of Jimin, sleeping peacefully in his bed. He thought of Tae who still constantly wore that haunted look on his face. Of Hoseok and how lifeless he’d become. Of Namjoon and how much he beat himself up over letting Tae down. Of Yoongi.

“Yoongi.”

The name left Jungkook’s lips in a cracked wheeze. His throat constricted and it took him several more seconds and too much energy to force the muscles to relax so he could breathe again.

What he wouldn’t give to see Yoongi again. He just wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to hear him assure him that everything would be okay. That he would get through this. That what happened with Jimin wasn’t his fault. Though he knew it was.

I don’t want to die alone.

A sob broke free of Jungkook’s throat and he took in another gasping breath before plunging below the surface of the dark ocean again. Memories of his life floated around him in the darkness. As if watching silent movies on a projector, his eyes roved over the familiar scenes. Of when he met Jimin, and the rest of the guys. When they had their first beach day. Of one of the many parties at Yoongi’s where Jungkook spent the whole time on the couch stuffed between Jimin and Tae while playing video games. Of the first time he went to Yoongi after his fake dad told him he was worthless. Yoongi pulling him in for a hug, his arms holding Jungkook’s broken pieces together. And finally, his eyes fell on a memory. A memory of him and his parents the night before his seventh birthday when the three of them were making cupcakes and he and his dad ended up getting into a frosting fight.

He focused on his parents’ faces. On the laugh lines creasing the corners of his mom’s eyes. On the gray flecks of scruff peppering his dad’s chin. These were the things he had forgotten over the years. The things that were so vivid and real to him now.

Suddenly the thought of dying didn’t terrify him anymore. Now, instead, Jungkook could only feel an undeniable sense of peace. He’d finally get to be with his parents. He’d finally have a family again. He was so close to the edge, he could feel it.

At last, he opened his eyes. The black sky stretched above him and through the blurry film of tears, he could still make out the stars. Now they didn’t seem like cold, uncaring orbs of light in the distance. They were much closer. So close he’d be able to reach out and brush them with his fingertips if he had the strength.

Kook-ah. What do you think you’re doing?

Jungkook blinked hard and sighed. “Yoongi-hyung?” he uttered, his words drawn out and slurred. He could feel himself fading fast.

Just hold on, Kook. Just keep fighting.

Jungkook’s heart rate plunged again, his thoughts suddenly foggy. It was getting harder to breathe. “I-I can’t…hyung.”

Do it for us, Kook. Please. Do it for Jimin.

“It’s…too…” Jungkook could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, “late…for Jimin.”

Bull.

A puff of air escaped his nose in a weak laugh. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of leaving his friends behind. He felt the warmth of fresh tears spring to his eyes when he thought about the moments he’d shared with them. The parties, the jokes, the meals at the diner. He’d had nothing until he met them, and then they were his everything. He couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

With his teeth gritted against the pain, Jungkook slid his arm along the pavement, scraping the exposed skin of his wrist across the ground as he reached for his pocket. His energy was draining fast and he knew he didn’t have much longer. By the time his fingers brushed the hem of his pocket, he was breathing hard. Just a little bit further. A choked sob fell from his lips when he realized his pocket was empty. His phone wasn’t there.

Exhausted, he let his head fall to the side, his fading vision landing on the cracked black device sitting next to him. He felt like he was going to cry with relief. His arm was too heavy to lift and for a few seconds he stared helplessly at his phone, the sound of his heartbeat slowing in his ears. But then he pulled in a breath.

“Hey Siri,” he wheezed and then waited with bated breath until at last, the screen of his phone came to life and his mouth nudged up into a weak, triumphant smile. “Call…” Who could he call? “Call Seokjin,” he finally said. As the screen changed, he waited, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the ringing fill his head. It took four agonizing rings before Jungkook heard the sound of someone answering.

“Hello?”

Jungkook’s face crumpled at the sound of the familiar voice and he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Hello?” Jin’s voice echoed again. “Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook sucked in as deep of a breath as he could. “Hyung?” he cracked.

“Jungkook-ah? Do you know what time it is? Are you okay?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond but instead, a sob pushed its way out.

“Jungkook? What happened? What’s wrong?” The older boy’s voice rose with panic.

“I tried, hyung” he whispered letting his cheek fall to the pavement. He squeezed his eyes shut as another cry tumbled out. “I failed. I failed Jimin…”

“You what? Jungkook, where are you? What happened?”

“I failed Yoongi-hyung…”

On the other end of the line, Jungkook could hear faint rustling sounds as Jin got out of bed and started fumbling around in his room. “Just stay on the line with me. Where are you?”

Jungkook took in a wheezing breath as his surroundings began to fade. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the glowing screen of his phone where it lay close to his head. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. He couldn’t feel the cold air, or the rumbling pavement. He couldn’t hear the sirens in the distance or the fact that they were growing closer.

“Just tell the guys I love them. Tell them I’m sorry,” he whispered as the tears slipped past his eyelashes and slid down his cheek.

“Jungkook, stop,” Jin cracked. “Don’t talk like that. Just tell me where you are.”

Jungkook tried to open his mouth again, tried to draw in another breath but he was too tired. Too far gone. Instead, he closed his eyes, listening to Jin go on, his voice distorting as he yelled into the receiver. At least he wasn’t alone anymore.

08. Butterfly

Before the gaps are too wide. Before the whole thing becomes useless.

May.

It had been a week since Hoseok had gotten the call from a distraught Jimin that Jungkook had been hit by a car. He’d rushed to throw his clothes on and swipe his keys off his dresser before tearing out of his house so quickly, the walls trembled with the slam of the door. His poor car could barely keep up with how hard he laid on the gas pedal, the tires protesting loudly around every turn. Luckily, there were no other cars out at this hour because, though he was driving fast, Hoseok couldn’t actually see very clearly through the panicked tears that blurred his vision.

By the time he’d gotten to the hospital, they’d already taken Jungkook back. He saw Jin first. The boy looked like he’d been woken out of a dead sleep, his face all puffy, his hair sticking out every which way, a hoodie thrown on over his white t-shirt and sweatpants. He was bent at an odd angle over the arm of the chair, leaning into the one next to him.

It was only when the younger boy lifted his head that Hoseok saw that it was Jimin crumpled in Jin’s arms. He was trembling, his small hands in his hair, his face so red and puffy that his eyes were just dark slits. He didn’t even have a coat on. Just his light blue, cotton pajamas and a pair of shoes.

“Hobi-hyung?” he cracked, his voice breaking.

Hoseok’s heart dropped at the sound of his voice and he rushed forward falling to his knees in front of him. “What happened? Is Jungkook…did he…?”

“We don’t know,” Jin said as steadily as he could, though Hoseok could still detect a hitch in his voice. The oldest was trying so hard to keep it together for Jimin. “They just took him back a couple minutes ago.”

“He wasn’t breathing well,” Jimin added. “He wasn’t…” His bottom lip quivered and he pulled it into his mouth and shook his head. Then his face twisted in anguish and he fell forward with a sob, his head landing on Hoseok’s shoulder.

Hoseok immediately wrapped his arms around the younger boy’s neck and stroked his hair, whispering gentle reassurances in his ear.

“Where’s Namjoon?” Jin asked quietly. “I texted him. Figured he’d come with you.”

Hoseok looked up to meet his eyes. “He’s working tonight.” Namjoon had been staying at Hoseok’s house now for a couple of weeks and had finally gotten a job doing night shift janitorial work at an office building. “I don’t know if he’ll see your text before—”

The doors to the waiting room burst open as Namjoon—still in his work coveralls—stumbled in. His eyes were wide as they scanned the room before settling on the three boys in the corner.

“What happened?” he asked hurrying toward them. “I got a text from Jin-hyung about Jungkook—”

“He was in an accident, Joonie,” Hoseok whispered.

At the sight of Jimin still limp against Hoseok’s shoulder, Namjoon deflated entirely, his face going pale, his jaw slackening. He looked to Jin. “Is he—”

“We don’t know,” Jin said cutting him off.

“Well, did anyone call Yoongi-hyung?”

“Tae’s trying to get ahold of him right now,” Jin said.

The four were silent for a while. The almost empty waiting room seemed too cold, too bright, too harsh for the situation. Hoseok wished he could turn all the lights off. He just wanted to shield Jimin from everything. From the prying, mock-sympathetic eyes of the few other people sitting in there. From the sounds of reception—the hushed conversations, the joking banter of the staff just trying to make it through their shift. It wasn’t right. Their friend was dying. Why did nobody else care?

Jimin had spent all of his free time at the hospital after that. Though they’d gotten word a few hours after getting there the first night that Jungkook was stable but unconscious and that his condition had stayed pretty much the same all week, Jimin still went. Still sat in the waiting room, asking anyone that came out of the swinging doors if there had been any change. There never was.

Hoseok would accompany him on the days he felt he could drag himself out of bed, which wasn’t often.

It had been eight months since he threw his painkillers in the bonfire on Beach Day and he’d been regretting it every day since then. The first few weeks were spent in his bed, his skin clammy and feverish as he fought through the withdrawals. He’d tried quitting cold turkey before but had never lasted longer than a week before going back to them. He never thought he’d make it this far. Though if the withdrawal symptoms didn’t let up soon, he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t know how much more of this pain he could take.

It had been three years since Hoseok’s accident. Only two months of that were supposed to be with the painkillers and then he was supposed to be prescribed something weaker. But the severe pain lasted and the longer Hoseok stayed on his opioids, the further into addiction he fell, until he couldn’t even function in the morning without first popping a few pills.

Three years. Three years of wandering through life in a fog. Of never being able to get his hands to stop quivering, and he could feel it, even if no one else noticed. Of pretending that he wasn’t higher than a kite—especially around his friends. He’d gotten really good at faking normal. It had become the only normal he knew.

Before his accident, Hoseok had been an incredible dancer. He’d been doing it practically since he could walk and he was well on his way to becoming one of the best street dancers to ever come out of South Korea. His path was set. He had performing arts colleges lining up to accept him, scholarships already promised to him while he was still in middle school. A lot rested on his shoulders.

Then the night before his tenth grade showcase, he’d decided to stay late after rehearsal. He’d gone through his routine so many times, he knew every twist, every pop, every step perfectly, but still he just wanted to make sure. Had to make sure he had it positively nailed. That even the nerves over the fact that there were going to be college scouts in the audience watching his every move didn’t distract him.

That night ended his dance career before it even had a chance to start. Hoseok didn’t remember falling. In fact, looking back, he couldn’t really remember anything from that night other than staring up at the ceiling in his hospital bed for literally hours, his head set up in an uncomfortable neck brace, and just letting the tears fall. His dreams were shattered the moment he heard the words “severe spinal injury��. There was no hope for a full recovery.

Hoseok’s mom had been running the dance studio since before Hoseok was born. She used to bring him with her to work when he was just a baby, her students fawning over him, pinching his tiny cheeks and passing him around between them during their down time. As he grew up, he’d join the classes, picking up on the choreography so quickly and so well that when he was finally old enough to be a student at the studio, his mom put him in with the advanced class. Even then, he spent more time helping her come up with the routines and teaching the class rather than being taught. Eventually, she gave him his own weekly slots to teach in. He loved it. He loved creating routines and watching as his students began nailing them, mirroring him and showing his own creation to him. He loved teaching the little, little kids, standing back amusedly watching them completely ignore his direction and do their own thing. More than that, though, he loved in the evenings after the last class had left, when the studio closed for the night and his mom had gone home.

He’d stay there, just him in the empty studio, the lights down and everything washed in blue darkness. He loved dancing in the dark—in the dim light so he could only catch his reflection in the mirror when he was moving. It made him look like he was a part of the air. Like he was moving through water. A spirit, caught up in the slivers of moonlight for just a flash before he melted back into the darkness again. It helped him to feel the music better. To come up with his intricate choreography. It made him well-known in the city for being such a good choreographer. A ray of sunlight that liked to dance in the darkness. A contradiction almost as beautiful as the way he moved.

“Still no change?” Hoseok asked Jimin after the younger boy had slid into the passenger seat of his car. It was Thursday, and Thursday meant group therapy. When Jimin wasn’t at the hospital, Taehyung was. Together, the two of them made sure that there would never be a chance of missing any new information.

Jimin looked down at his phone once he’d settled into his seat, his thumb gliding over the smooth surface of his black screen. “I guess not,” he uttered then looked up at Hoseok. “Tae would tell me right away if there was, right?”

Hoseok nodded quickly, not giving Jimin a chance to doubt it even further. “Of course he would,” he said. “And no news is good news, right? It means Jungkook isn’t getting worse.”

“Or improving.”

Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek. While his youngest friend’s health was staying pretty much the same, Jimin’s was getting worse. Without the protection of Taehyung or Jungkook, Jimin was now fully exposed to relentless tormenting from Jiho. Hoseok himself had called the school and talked to the principal but the man had said that they can’t do anything unless Jiho physically touches the boy. It was like they didn’t care about the fact that this was very obviously affecting Jimin mentally. Had there not been enough stories already on the news and online of kids killing themselves over bullying? Did no one care or even realize that words can do so much more damage?

Every day, Jimin was stepping onto the battle field the moment he entered the school building. Every day he faced an onslaught of mental assault. High school had become a war zone for him and Hoseok noticed every time he saw the boy that he was fighting a losing battle. The scars weren’t visible but they were deep and they’d be there forever. And no one would do a thing about it unless Jiho touched him.

“How are you doing, Jimin?” Hoseok asked knowing full well that the answer was not going to be good.

Jimin didn’t respond at first. He just kept his eyes focused on the phone in his lap. His bottom lip quivered and his thumb continued to trace circles on his phone screen. Finally, he took in a shuddering breath. “I miss him, Hobi-hyung…” he whispered. His breath hitched. “I don’t…don’t know if I can take much more…”

Hoseok’s heart splintered in his chest and he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “What can I do?” he asked. “Tell me what would help and I’ll do it.”

At last, Jimin looked up to meet Hoseok’s eyes.

“Tell me he’s going to make it. Tell me everything will be okay.” Jimin swallowed hard. “Tell me it’ll all go back to normal again.”

Hoseok closed his eyes and thought back to Beach Day. How could so much change in eight months when the group’s friendship had never wavered in five years? Hoseok couldn’t even remember the last time the seven of them had hung out without it somehow ending in an argument. Everything was different. And after Yoongi had gone off on Jin, kicked everyone out and moved, Hoseok didn’t think anything would ever return to normal. At last, he opened his eyes again, turning his head to meet Jimin’s. He could feel the fatigue keeping his eyelids from lifting all the way. His chest felt hollow and his bones felt heavy. But still, he pulled his mouth up into a smile. One not nearly as bright as the smiles he’d produced in the past.

“It’ll all be okay, Jimin,” he said, trying to make his words as convincing as possible. He knew he was lying. He knew nothing would ever go back to the way it was before. But that look on Jimin’s face. That darkness, that dull absence of the spark that always used to light his eyes, that kept him going even though there was so much trying to push him back. It was all so present that Hoseok would say anything to give him just a little bit of hope. Just something to live for. He reached over and gripped the younger boy’s hand. Jimin’s skin was dry and loose, like there was too much of it for his shrinking body. “I promise,” Hoseok added onto the end.

The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitched upward for just a second, as if that was as much of a smile as he could muster and then he nodded and turned away to look out the window at the students that had congregated in front of the school. Hoseok watched him for a moment longer. He could almost feel the longing Jimin felt as he watched the others interact. It looked so easy. So unattainable.

Please God, let things get better, Hoseok pleaded silently, then shifted gears and pulled away from the curb.

“Hoseok?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Hoseok called back. “It’s me.” He kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the console table inside the door.

He heard commotion in the kitchen and followed the sounds until he reached the doorway, then he stopped. His mom leaned back against the counter, a glass of wine in her hand. Just about a foot away, stood a man he’d never met before. The two had obviously been standing closer, doing who knows what—though with the flushed look on Hoseok’s mom’s face, he could take a guess.

“Seoki honey, this is Seojoon. I met him yesterday at the supermarket.”

Hoseok just looked at the man who looked back and raised his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi,” he said and Hoseok gave him a haphazard smile before shuffling over to the fridge.

“Hoseok used to help me at the dance studio,” his mom continued completely ignoring the fact that her son hadn’t given her new friend the warmest greeting, “he was an amazing dancer.”

Is she seriously talking about me as if I’m not even here? Hoseok pulled a bottle of iced tea out of the fridge and closed the door.

“His father and I had pretty high hopes for him before his accident.”

Her words grated on his nerves, feeling like fingernails raking down his spine and he spun to face her. This new man friend of hers just nodded uncomfortably, his eyes barely even sympathetic. Of course he didn’t want to hear about her poor poor son. In fact, he probably had been expecting a lot less talking.

“I’m going to my room,” Hoseok uttered then left the kitchen before his mom could say anything.

By the time he reached his bedroom and closed his door, his head was pounding. Therapy hadn’t been something he’d taken seriously in a long time but he still went for Jimin. And because it kept him out of the house for that much longer.

His mom and dad had split just a year after his accident, saying it had nothing to do with him even though he knew that was a lie. The only thing that had kept them together before that was their determination for their son to become a professional dancer. He’d never even really seen them in the same room together unless it was absolutely necessary. They’d spend dinners talking excitedly about Hoseok’s next show or some new college that wanted him, but then once those conversations came to an end, there was nothing else to say. At least not to each other. They didn’t care about the other’s careers, didn’t care about how the other was doing. It was all about Hoseok. Well, it was all about Hoseok as long as fame and fortune were in his future. Once those dreams went out the window, so did their marriage. It had been a loveless one anyway so what was the point?

Hoseok hadn’t talked to his dad since the split. He’d gotten a couple postcards in the mail from whatever new place his dad had traveled to but he hadn’t gotten one in over a year. And his mom might as well have been absent. She spent some of her time at the studio and most out with strange men. This was the first one she’d brought back to the house, though. A stranger in Hoseok’s home. It made him sick to his stomach.

He lay down on his bed and unscrewed the cap from his drink as he stared up at the ceiling. His shoulders were achy and stiff, as per usual at this time in the evening. He’d been taking much weaker painkillers just to take the edge off while he went through his detox, but he found that the low dosage was no longer doing enough for him. And he just always wanted to sleep. He wished he could sleep, but the pain kept him awake. The pain in his neck, in his shoulders, his spine.

With a sigh, Hoseok reached blindly for the bottle of Tylenol on his bedside table. The pills rattled in the container loudly, almost taunting him. Take as many as you want. It still won’t be enough. He popped the cap off and tipped the bottle toward his mouth. Once he felt four land on his tongue, he recapped the bottle and took a swig of his tea to wash it down. He could feel them scrape all the way down his throat, flowing with the cold liquid to settle into the pit of his stomach like rocks.

He closed his eyes and listened to the familiar sounds of his room. His computer humming softly under his desk, the baseboard heater creaking as it turned on, the muted ticking of his analog alarm clock. These were the sounds that usually kept him awake at night. He could hear the shower turn off in the bathroom—he hadn’t even noticed it until it turned off, the silence becoming more absolute. Namjoon must have been getting ready to go to work. A couple minutes later, he heard the door open and close.

“Hey man,” Namjoon said to him and he opened one eye to see the younger boy coming out in his boxers and using a towel to dry off his pale blonde hair. “How’s Jimin?”

“Don’t you mean Jungkook?” Hoseok asked sleepily.

Namjoon crossed the room to where his stuff was. He always kept his corner neat and tidy. He already didn’t like the fact that he was encroaching on Hoseok’s personal space so keeping his stuff as contained as possible was a must. At least in his eyes. Hoseok had told him time and time again that he didn’t mind him staying. That he, in fact, enjoyed the company, especially, on nights when Namjoon was off and would stay up talking with Hoseok when the pain kept him awake.

“No, I mean, Jimin,” Namjoon said. “I’m sure Jungkook is getting all the care he needs. Jimin however—”

“Not well, Joon,” Hoseok interrupted and closed his eyes again. “He’s not doing well.”

Namjoon was silent for a few seconds then sighed. “What about you?”

Hoseok swiped his tongue over his bottom lip then sat up quickly. “Did you see my mom brought someone home?”

Namjoon let out a chuckle as he grabbed his work coveralls out of his stack of neatly folded clothes beside his pillow and stepped into them. “Yeah,” he said as he tugged them on. “I scared the crap out of him when I came home from the hospital earlier.” He’d been there keeping Taehyung company for a couple of hours.

“Good.”

“You know Tae’s trial is the day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I know,” Hoseok said. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s a nervous wreck but that’s to be expected,” Namjoon said as he pulled his work beanie down over his head. “Jin’s dad thinks he’ll be able to get him off with a temporary insanity claim.”

“You were never caught, were you?”

Namjoon looked down at his hands and bit the inside of his cheek. He shook his head. “Tae won’t let me confess. He told the police he did everything himself. If I say anything, it could ruin his trial. They’d throw both of us in jail.”

Neither of them said anything as they both mulled over that last statement. Here Jungkook was in the hospital, Jimin was going through his own personal Hell and Yoongi had ostracized himself from the rest of them, not to mention Jin had basically fallen off the face of the earth having not returned for a weekend from school since going to the hospital that first night. Taehyung and Namjoon going to jail would be the nail in the coffin. The group was so close to breaking, it wouldn’t take much more to completely destroy them.

Namjoon had left a couple hours before and the sounds of Hoseok’s mom’s awful flirting had finally died down, leaving Hoseok alone in the silence. He lay on his back in his bed, the lights off because even though he’d taken that Tylenol, his head was still pounding. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone off the mattress next to him and turned it on. The screen was bright, sending a spike of pain through his eyes and into his skull. He couldn’t dim it fast enough. When the ache subsided a bit, he opened his chat with Jimin.

hows it going?

…

Jimin: at the hospital. Something happened

Wat is it? JK?

Jimin: could you come?

On my way.

Hoseok reached the hospital in record time. Faster than the first night. Jimin was alone in the waiting room, sitting in the chair with his head in his hands. When he looked up, his face was red, his eyes shining. Before Hoseok could take another step, Jimin got up, walking over to him as he wiped his face with the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt.

“What happened?” Hoseok asked.

Jimin wouldn’t look at him. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on his fidgeting fingers in front of his stomach. “H-he crashed and it took them a long time to get him stable again.”

“Do they know why?” Hoseok asked feeling weak all of a sudden. He reached out to grab Jimin’s arms, more for his own balance than to comfort the younger boy.

Jimin just shook his head. “They have to do some sort of exploratory…thing. I’m not sure.”

“Are his foster parents here?”

“They were here for like an hour, earlier,” Jimin said with a sniff.

The fact that Taehyung and Jimin were basically living at the hospital while Jungkook’s fake parents had barely made any sort of appearance over the past month had his stomach churning with anger.

Finally Jimin lifted his head, a bruise becoming apparent on his cheekbone. “What happened?” Hoseok asked nodding toward it.

Jimin brought a hand up to rub at the bruise. “Jiho hit my locker door while it was open and it hit me in the face.”

“Why didn’t I see this earlier?”

“I covered it up.”

Hoseok raked a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“He’d claim it was an accident.”

Hoseok hated Jiho. Hated him more than Jungkook’s fake parents. Hated him more than his dad for abandoning him. Hated him more than his mom for bringing strange men into their home. He used to get his anger out in the studio. It was the only way to help him work through it. Then he relied on his pills. But he didn’t have those anymore.

“You look tired, Hobi-hyung,” Jimin said at last breaking Hoseok out of his thoughts.

Hoseok’s face fell. He was tired. Always tired.

“Go home and try to sleep,” Jimin said and pushed him gently backward toward the exit again. “I’ll call you if I hear anything else.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, Jimin,” Hoseok said.

“Taehyung is on his way.”

Hoseok couldn’t tell if it was a lie or not but his skin was crawling and he needed some fresh air. So with a sharp nod and one last reassuring brush of his hand against Jimin’s arm, he left.

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to stare up at the ceiling, his mind racing, his body aching as he tried to go to sleep. He didn’t really know what he wanted. But somehow, he ended up at the studio. It looked abandoned. His mom had been working there a lot less, letting it fall to the wayside. But still, just the sight of it filled Hoseok’s chest with warmth. He hadn’t been there in years.

The sound of the light switch flipping on echoed through the empty studio. Hoseok stood there in the doorway for several seconds as his eyes adjusted to the suddenly bright room. A wall of mirrors loomed in front of him, his gaze meeting the one reflected back at him. He looked terrified. He felt terrified.

He hadn’t stepped foot in the studio since before his accident. Sure, he’d spent late nights in his room attempting to move the way he used to be able to, but those times always ended in pain and a trickle of angry tears. Those were the nights he’d find himself reaching for his pills, swallowing more than he needed. The high didn’t fill the gaping hole in his chest, though. The place where his passion had once burned bright. As bright as he was.

Everyone that knew him before his accident would say he was sunshine in human form. He always had a smile on his face that glowed almost as brightly as his sparkling eyes and his golden skin. He looked like a child of summer, made of everything that was pure and warm in the world. But that light had died there in his hospital room. He’d felt it leave his body, as if his very soul had floated away, leaving him feeling cold and empty. The only light he’d felt since then was the illusion created by the pills he took. Artificial sunlight. Nothing but fake happiness that faded with the high and left him exhausted and miserable all night long.

His footsteps sounded hollow as he made his way over to the speaker system. He plugged his phone into the stereo and shuffled through his music until he came to the right song. Then he picked the small controller up off the top of the stereo and made his way to the center of the room. For several seconds, he stood there in silence, looking at his reflection. It was too bright in the room.

With a huff, Hoseok went over and shut the lights back off, plunging the room into darkness. Much better. Then he went back and stood in the middle of the floor. With a deep breath, he pushed the play button on the remote and the room suddenly filled with music. The first time he’d heard this song, he’d closed his eyes to listen, his mind immediately conjuring up a stage, he in the middle of it. He’d created a whole routine in his mind, playing the song over and over, using his imagination to move the way his body wasn’t able to. He’d practiced the choreography in his mind hundreds of times and now that he was here, now that his feet were planted firmly on the waxed floor of the dance studio, the music pumping out of the speakers, it seemed that this was the pivotal moment. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t fail. If he did, this was really it.

He closed his eyes, feeling the music rise in him like the swell of a wave. It filled his chest then overflowed, spilling down his arms and flowing through his veins like electricity. Something ignited in him like a spark to gasoline and he began to move to the music. Immediately, he felt a twinge of pain at the base of his skull and he jerked, catching the back of his neck with a tensed hand. He dug his fingers into his skin, standing motionless until the pain finally began to ebb. Take it slow, Hoseok, he told himself then carefully rolled his neck from side to side, loosening up the muscle.

With a deep breath to calm his nerves, he started the song over. This time, he didn’t try to replicate the choreography he envisioned. Instead, he only barely moved, making small motions with his body as he went over the dance in his mind. When the song ended, he did it again, this time letting his limbs make larger movements, though still smaller than he wanted.

He did this over and over, feeling the music and letting it take control slowly. With every reset, he could feel his movements becoming more fluid, more pronounced. With every roll of his body, he tensed for the pain but since his muscles were having a chance to stretch and warm up, it wasn’t coming.

He moved through the darkness, the light from outside streaming in through the windows lining the wall high above the mirrors and he watched his form in the mirror, slipping in and out of the rays. Like a spirit dancing in shafts of moonlight. Still not perfect but getting closer.

Hoseok had lost count of how many times he played through the song. He just kept hitting the back button, losing himself in the music until finally, he collapsed onto his back, his mouth stretched into the biggest euphoric smile he’d ever felt.

Maybe this was finally the end of his struggle. Maybe he could finally dance again. Finally live his dream. Finally leave the pain and the pills behind.

He was tired and he could hear his bed calling his name. With a groan, he got back to his feet. He was going to be sore the next day. Probably for several days after this but he didn’t care. For once, he welcomed the pain.

When he grabbed his phone and unplugged it, he noticed a notification on his screen. A message from Jimin. It had been sent just a few minutes earlier. Hoseok swiped the message and brought his phone up to read it.

Jimin: I know you tried. I know youve done everything you could. I know I’m letting you down. I’m letting you all down. But I cant do this anymore, hyung. Living hurts too much. Existing hurts too much. Youll be fine without me. All of you.

Hoseok’s heavy breaths echoed through the room as he read the text over and over. At last he started typing out his own message.

What do you mean?

He waited less than a minute before sending another.

Jimin

No response.

Jimin answer me now.

Nothing.

Hoseok’s hands shook as his thumb tapped Jimin’s name. An option came up to call him and he pressed it. As it rang, he sprinted out of the studio, not even bothering to lock it back up before making his way to his car. Voicemail. With a curse, Hoseok hit redial and got into his car. The engine groaned to life and the tires peeled out as he flew out of the parking lot.

He called over and over again as he drove to Jimin’s house, not even wasting a second between calls before hitting redial again.

“Come on, Jimin,” he growled and hit redial again.

Voicemail.

With an angry cry, he threw his phone to the passenger side. It cracked against the window before disappearing down into the space between the seat and the door. Please, let him be okay. Please, let him be okay.

The house was dark when Hoseok pulled up to the curb and jumped out. Jimin’s dad was on a business trip for the next couple of weeks and his mom must have been out because the door was locked when Hoseok tried the handle. He banged on it with his fists, screaming Jimin’s name until his hands hurt and when that got him no response, he grabbed one of the bricks lining the path and smashed it into the window beside the door. Ignoring the jagged glass, he reached in and stretched his arm as far over as he could until he was able to undo the deadbolt. The door rattled as he threw it open and rushed inside.

The place was dark and silent and Hoseok’s panic grew as he went from empty room to empty room.

“Jimin!” he yelled. “Jimin, where are you? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“Answer me!” he screamed.

His feet hit the stairs, echoing loudly as he took them two at a time. He flung open Jimin’s bedroom door, eyes roving over the empty space. His shoulders heaved, his breath coming out in ragged wheezes and he whirled around again to face the hallway. The bathroom door was shut at the other end.

Hoseok’s breath caught. “No, Jimin,” he whispered before running to the door. He tried the handle. Locked. He hit his still aching fist against it. “Jimin!” He rattled the handle until he was sure it was going to come loose in his hand. “No no no no please no.”

Finally, he backed up and began ramming against it. Wood splintered with every hit and his shoulder burned but he kept throwing himself against the door until at last, it gave in, swinging open with such force that it banged against the adjacent wall. Hoseok fell in landing hard on his knees. The bathroom was pitch black and he pawed at the wall next to the doorframe, finally finding the light switch and flipping it on.

The bathtub was filled to the brim with water, and there he was, a dark form beneath its surface. Hoseok surged forward and plunged his arms into the water, displacing so much of it that gallons spilled over the edge, drenching him and the bathmat before spreading across the tile floor and toward the carpeted hall.

He clutched Jimin to his chest, the boy’s hair plastered over his eyes, his skin deathly pale, his lips blue from lack of oxygen.

“Jimin,” Hoseok cried shaking the boy. He lay him on the ground and started pushing hard against his chest. He’d never performed CPR before and he hoped to God he was doing it correctly. Though maybe it didn’t even matter anymore.

After a few pushes, he pressed his ear against the boy’s chest. Nothing.

“Come on, Jimin,” he grunted then grabbed the boy by the chin and the top of his head and bent down to try mouth to mouth. Jimin’s lips felt cold and dead against his own but still he tried forcing air into the boy’s lungs. Then he started doing compressions again.

He switched between the two over and over, his hope fading the longer Jimin went without responding. Tears streamed down his face and his own chest was beginning to ache from taking in such deep breaths to give to Jimin, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t give up. Jimin had to live. He had to be alright.

What could Hoseok do? He needed to call for help. He needed to find a phone. His own cellphone was still wedged between the seat and the passenger side door in his car, but he knew Jimin’s parents had a phone in their room just next door. Should he stop doing CPR? Should he keep going until Jimin’s mom got home? Who knew how long that would be? It would only take a second. Just two steps out of the bathroom, two down the hall and three to get into the bedroom and grab the phone. Then seven back. Could he make it? Could Jimin make it? He didn’t have any other option.

With a silent plea, Hoseok leaned down to give Jimin one more breath before tearing himself away from the boy. He scrambled across the hall, grabbing the phone off of the nightstand and rushing back to start compressions again. He used one hand to continue to push against Jimin’s chest as hard as he could while his other hand shakily dialed 911. Once the phone was ringing, he dropped it the floor so he could use both hands again.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Please help,” Hoseok said, his voice breaking on the second word. He dropped his head onto Jimin’s chest as a sob racked through him. “Please come. He’s not breathing…”

Through the anguish, Hoseok lifted his head again and continued pushing on Jimin’s chest. He could barely hear the operator on the other end but he rattled off the address anyway and then went back to alternating between compressions and breathing into Jimin’s mouth.

His strength was diminishing. His vision tunneling. Everything was fading and Hoseok knew. He just knew that it was no use. He should just stop. Just come to terms with the fact that Jimin was gone. That he’d failed the boy. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. It was almost robotic by this point. His body was long passed exhaustion but he couldn’t quit.

A few minutes later he heard the faint sound of sirens approaching and looked up to see red lights flashing on the ceiling from outside the window. Relief didn’t reach him though as Jimin was still unresponsive.

“Anyone here?”

“Up here!” Hoseok yelled, his voice hoarse.

A couple seconds later, two blurry shapes rushed into the bathroom, one pulling Hoseok away while the other replaced him doing CPR. Hoseok let the paramedic pull him out of the bathroom and collapsed against the carpet in a tired, wet heap. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. He could barely think. All he could do was breathe and pray with the last ounce of energy that Jimin would wake up.

By the time Hoseok finally gained enough strength to sit up, the paramedics had already taken Jimin away in the ambulance. Before they had gone, one paramedic had sat at the top of the stairs with him and asked him some questions. If he knew what happened. How long he’d been doing CPR. He couldn’t answer. He had no idea how long he’d been there. Had no idea how long Jimin was underwater. He wished he knew something.

After a few more questions that Hoseok didn’t know the answer to, the paramedic gave him a small card with his contact information on it and then they left. Hoseok sat in the dark at the top of the stairs for a long time debating on if he should stick around and wait for Jimin’s mom to get home or not. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be in the house anymore. He was soaking wet and cold and exhausted and he just wanted to sleep forever.

His whole body hurt but somehow he still managed to get to his car and drive home. His mom must have still been out on her date and Namjoon was still at work so the house was silent. Hoseok stumbled into the bathroom, yanking his shirt off over his head and letting it drop to the floor. It hit the tiles with a wet slap.

His reflection stared back at him. His eyes were dull, defeated, unemotional. He felt as hollow as he looked. Every inch of him was tired. His body felt weak. His thoughts muddled. He could feel himself shutting down. He wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep. Needed to just be done with it all.

Hoseok reached up and opened the medicine cabinet. He stood there in silence, his eyes scanning the rows of pill bottles until they settled on the bottle of Benadryl. His mom suffered from seasonal allergies so she took these pretty regularly throughout the spring and summer. They always made her really drowsy. Perfect.

He brought the pill bottle down from its shelf and squinted in the dim light at the writing on the label. Disclaimers jumped out at him. Caution. Warning. Danger. None of those words held a negative meaning for him. They were promises. Promises of sleep.

With unsteady hands, he popped the cap off and tilted the bottle toward his open hand. The pills rained down, some slipping through the cracks between his fingers and disappearing down the drain but most of them collected in his palm. By the time the bottle was empty, he held a pile of small white pills. With one more glance at himself in the mirror, he lifted his hand and poured them into his mouth. It took several painfully dry swallows but he eventually choked them all down. Then he carefully replaced the lid and put the bottle back in its place on the shelf before leaving the bathroom and walking calmly down the hall to his room.

He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Images of Jimin’s colorless skin filled his head. The boy’s lips had been so cold and so dead. He didn’t even look like him. Jimin used to be such a warm person. So happy even amidst his struggles. After Hoseok’s accident, he’d thought his life was over. He’d lost all hope. But Jimin had pulled him up out of the darkness. He’d been the last remaining glimmer of sunlight for Hoseok to cling to. His ray of sunlight. His little Jimin.

As he released a tired sigh, Hoseok felt a tear slip from beneath his eyelid, drawing a cold trail down his cheek. Without even realizing it, he’d relied so much on Jimin. Relied on his joy, on his positivity, on the promise Jimin made on Beach Day after Hoseok had dumped his pills into the fire.

We’ll help you through this, hyung.

The boy had hidden his own pain so Hoseok wouldn’t see it.

I’m rooting for you.

Hoseok’s face twisted and he threw his arm across his eyes as the despair crashed over him. He could feel his chest tightening, his lungs seizing as his heart hammered against his ribs. Thoughts of the other boys flooded his mind. Images of Taehyung’s boxy grin and lanky arms slung over Namjoon’s shoulders to his bloody hands and haunted eyes. Of Jungkook’s sparkling eyes and playful jabs to him lying in his hospital bed with wires and tubes sticking out of him. Of Jimin. Jimin. Sweet Jimin, golden-skinned and running on the beach to limp and lifeless, his wet, hair matted to his pale face.

I don’t know if I can take much more.

Another sob clawed its way up Hoseok’s throat, shaking the whole bed and he pushed his palms against his eyes. His breath was coming too fast, his thoughts pounding through his head like strikes from a sledgehammer. He’d clung to that last ray of sunshine, that last hope, with white knuckled fists and then seeing Jimin there in the bathtub, watching his body being toted away by the paramedics, Hoseok felt it slip through his grasp. He could feel the light receding, feel it shrinking back like the tide. The darkness was taking over, creeping in like a slow moving poison. Taking over his mind, tinging his fingers black. His stomach was a churning mess. And at his center, a blackhole.

With one last shuddering breath, Hoseok relaxed completely. The drugs started to take affect and his heartbeat slowed, the ringing in his head, the cacophony of thoughts ebbing until nothing mattered anymore.

Nothing mattered.

He lay there in silence, his eyes still covered by his palms and just listened. Listened to his computer humming under his desk and the baseboard heater creaking as it warmed up and the little analog alarm clock on his nightstand. These sounds used to keep him awake all night, along with his racing thoughts and his sore neck. But now he didn’t feel any pain. He was too exhausted to think. And the sounds became a last comfort that lulled him into a deep, endless sleep.

09. Love Is Not Over

Present Day.

Jin slams his palms down on the hood of the truck and rests his forehead against the cold metal. “Just, please, God,” he utters. “Please let them all get here.”

He hasn’t heard from any of them since he left and only found out about Jimin and Hoseok from his parents. They didn’t tell him until he returned because of course they assumed he’d been in touch with his friends the whole time. Were they still his friends? After everything that happened, was there still anything between them? Were they even all still alive?

Yoongi’s outburst back in March had felt like a punch to the gut. Jin had never held anything over their heads. He never thought he was better than any of them. The fact that Yoongi would say such a thing had cut him to the core. He hasn’t talked to Yoongi since that night. In fact, besides updates from his dad about Tae’s trial, he didn’t hear about any of them while he was in Japan. Living unaware all summer, staying preoccupied with program activities while his friends were suffering at home. It makes him feel even sicker.

The ocean matches the churning in his stomach and he gulps hard, tears pricking his eyes as he glances down at his watch. Their usual meeting time has come and gone. He turns his head either way, looking down the stretch of empty beach in both directions. No one is coming.

Jin lowers his head again to rest it against the hood of his truck. That’s it. It’s over. Everything has slipped through the cracks and it’s all his fault. He should have done more. He should have helped Taehyung the first time Namjoon came to him. He should have been there more for the others. For Jimin and Hoseok, Jungkook and Yoongi. For Namjoon. He knew the boy was sleeping in the gas station and he just let him.

What’s wrong with me?

They were all dealing with so much crap yet somehow they still had so much fun together. They loved him, they cared about him, they laughed with him. He didn’t deserve friends like them. He doesn’t deserve any of what he’s been given in this life. If he could, Jin would give it all away. He’d trade anything to see his friends again. To hear their voices, to hold them close. But it’s too late. He knows that now.

The wind whips the hair at the back of his head, blowing down the collar of his shirt, and leaving a trail of goosebumps down his back. He doesn’t move even though he’s freezing. He doesn’t deserve to feel warmth. Not when it’s his own fault that the world has grown so cold. He lifts his head, gaze falling on his red notebook, the pages fluttering. With a hard sniff, he picks it up, slamming it shut and trudges toward the shoreline. He stops at the edge, just out of reach of the tide and looks out at the water. In the distance, waves crash violently. He watches them fold into each other in a salty spray, crumbling under the weight of gravity. He feels like crumbling, himself. Maybe he could just walk in, keep going until the current sweeps him off his feet and pulls him under. He could let the sea wash him away.

Far away.

He looks down at the journal clutched tightly in his hands. A gift from his parents. They always believed in him. Always knew he’d make something of himself some day. None of it matters to him anymore, though. He doesn’t want to become a famous writer. He doesn’t want to marry some perfect girl and have a perfect family and live a perfect life. He just wants his friends back. Nothing else matters. Not his career. Not his future. Not this stupid journal and everything it represents.

With a frustrated sigh, Jin grips the journal in one hand and draws his arm back behind his head. He’s about to fling it as far out into the water as he possibly can when movement to his right catches his attention. With a jerk of his head, he locks eyes with Yoongi.

The boy freezes where he stands about ten feet from Jin’s truck. He looks different. His hair is black instead of the mint green making him look even more pale than he already was. He seems smaller too, though maybe that’s because he’s standing next to the vast ocean.

Jin can’t think of anything to say at first. Instead, he just stares, afraid that if he makes any sudden movements, the boy will disappear. But then at last, he finds his voice. “You came,” he utters.

Yoongi’s shoulders relax and he brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “It’s Beach Day,” he replies with a shrug.

Jin nods before turning and running to him, throwing his arms around the boy. Yoongi’s own arms wrap around him, squeezing him tighter than Jin thought his strength could allow. A strangled cry falls from Yoongi’s mouth, muffled by Jin’s sweater.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Yoongi cracks. “I’m so sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it. I was drunk and pissed off and tired—”

“It was all true,” Jin interrupts. “I’m the worst friend. I could have done more to help. I should have done more. You can blame me. I deserve it.”

Yoongi finally steps back, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his coat. “No,” he says. “We all screwed up.”

The two don’t say anything for a while, Yoongi looking down at his feet in shame and Jin just watching him because he can’t believe his friend is here. His chest still feels warm where the other held onto him. It still feels like a dream that he’s just waiting to wake up from.

“Have you talked to the others at all?” Jin finally asks. He’s been dreading asking the question but he has to know. “How’s Jimin? How’s Hoseok? Are they...”

Yoongi looks up at last to meet his eyes. “Well, uh…Hoseok—”

“Are you two talking about me?”

Jin spins around, the momentum swinging his arms too far and causing him to stumble as he turns to face the source of the voice. Hoseok stands there, alive and golden-skinned, Namjoon trailing a bit behind him kicking at the sand, hands in his pockets.

“Hobi?”

Hoseok’s lips curl into a warm smile, his eyes glittering and he makes his way closer, opening his arms invitingly. Jin steps into them, not completely believing that this is real. But the boy is warm, warm as a ray of sunshine and Jin closes his eyes, feeling the calm wash over him. The last he heard, Hoseok had swallowed a bottle of pills, but here he was, in the flesh, alive. Alive and warm and solid. Jin pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites down against the tight feeling in his throat.

“Are you okay, Hobi?” he asks weakly then pulls back to look the boy in the eye.

Hoseok’s own bright eyes are brimming with tears but he smiles through them and nods. “I’ve been in rehab since June but yeah, I’m doing better.” Then he puts his hand on Jin’s arm and squeezes gently. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Jin nods. “Me too.”

“Hey man,” Namjoon says coming up behind Hoseok. He stayed back to give the two some time but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He missed Jin too and it’s apparent by the way he pulls him against him. When they part, Jin looks him up and down. He seems so much more put together than the last time he saw him. His skin looks healthier, the bags under his eyes are gone and his clothes look nice. He looks less ragged, so much more put together.

“You look good,” he says to the younger boy.

Namjoon nods, his dimples becoming prominent as he smiles. “I feel good.”

Jin nods back then his eyes shift over the boy’s shoulder, looking past him back down the beach again. He’s afraid to ask where the other three are. He wants to know what happened to Jungkook, to Jimin. His dad had told him that they’d won Taehyung’s trial, the jury finding him not guilty by way of temporary insanity and self defense and the boy and his sister had gone to live in the country with relatives. At least he can find some comfort in knowing one of his friends is safe. But not knowing of the others’ fate overshadows that greatly. Slowly, he turns back to Yoongi.

“Have you heard anything from—”

“Jin-hyung!”

Jin spins around, his eyes scanning the beach frantically for the source of the voice. At last they fall on a shape running at him. He can’t quite tell who it is by the blur of tears suddenly covering his eyes but a smile spreads across his face anyway as he watches them make their way down the slope of the hill parallel to the water. And then he feels his throat close up, a sob trying to push its way out when two more figures appear at the crest and quickly start their descent. He breaks into his own run, the wind pulling the tears from the corners of his eyes, his heart hammering in his ears as he nears them. Jin barely has time to register Jungkook’s beaming face before he crashes into him, gripping the boy tight as the force of the collision sends them sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He manages to choke out only the first of many apologies when the breath is knocked out of him by two more crushing bodies.

“We missed you, Jin-hyung,” Taehyung yells in his ear

“You were gone for so long,” Jimin adds.

It’s all too much for Jin to handle and he crawls out from under them, sitting back on the sand and burying his face in his hands as he sobs. Immediately, the others’ hands are on him, their cheeks pressed against his head, his shoulder, his back.

“I’m s-so sorry,” he chokes out and sniffs hard. “I’m so sorry I left you all. I’m so s-sorry I wasn’t there when you guys needed me. I’m s-so—” he lifts his head at last, his eyes meeting Jimin’s. The boy looks different. Good different. His hair is dark, his skin golden, his brown eyes shining brightly. Jin cups the younger boy’s face in his hands. His cheeks feel fuller than they have in a year. “You’re alive. You’re alright?”

“I’m alright, hyung,” Jimin assures him with a warm smile. “I’m still in recovery but I’m alright.”

Jin turns to look at Jungkook. “You’re walking,” he says.

“Finally,” the youngest replies with a relieved laugh. “I’ve been in physical therapy all summer. Yoongi-hyung came back from Seoul to take care of me.”

Jin looks back where Yoongi stands with the other two, his mouth set in an amused smile as he leans back against the truck watching them. “What about the producing job?” Jin asks him.

Yoongi shrugs. “There will be other openings. This was more important.”

“Mina and I are living on my aunt’s strawberry farm, hyung!” Taehyung chimes in and Jin can’t help but burst into laughter at the boy’s boxy grin that seems to take up his whole face.

The other three join him on their backs in the sand, dissolving into laughter that’s perhaps a bit more hysterical than necessary. It’s hard not to be overwhelmed with everything. It’s all too much and yet Jin never wants it to end.

At last the laughter dies down and a heavy silence falls over the group. Jin sits up again, his eyes locking with Yoongi’s. The boy’s mouth tugs up into a sad smile. He still must feel guilty. It’s alright, Jin thinks. That’s all in the past and we can start fresh now. I’ll never leave any of you again.

They spend Beach Day the way they have every year in the past. Together.

The air is chilly, the wind sharp, but Jin doesn’t even feel it. Instead, warmth blooms in his chest as he watches his friends enjoy themselves and that keeps the cold away. The temperature drops as the sun sets and, as always, they build a fire on the beach by the truck. The orange flames lick at the night air, casting a warm glow on the boys’ faces. They all look happy and it’s the most beautiful thing Jin has ever witnessed. Sure, Beach Day must always come to an end. Sure, they’ll have to get up tomorrow and face what lies ahead but they’re together again. And they’ll carry each other through whatever obstacles they’ll face. And there will be many. Such is life.

Jin gets up from his spot between Yoongi and Jimin and brushes the sand off his jeans as he makes his way back to the truck. He opens the door and reaches in to grab his red notebook off the seat where he’d set it earlier. It’s so much colder out of reach of the fire and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, bracing his shoulders against the chill as he carries his notebook to the front of the truck and lays it open on the hood. The moon shines bright, casting a cold glow over everything but what the fire’s warmth reaches. And by this cold light, Jin flips his notebook open to the page he’d been writing on earlier and uncaps his pen.

Let’s not be like the vase shattered on the floor. Let’s be stronger than the glue that takes these fractured pieces of our lives and puts them back together. Let’s be the bond that never breaks.

Epilogue: Young Forever - by @dimpled-gukkie

Three Years Later.

Jin climbs the steps of the apartment building, slowly making his way to the fourth floor. He can already hear voices seeping through the thin apartment walls and into the hallway, filling the fourth floor with the comforting voices of his best friends. Before he can even put the key in the door to his apartment, the one directly across opens.

“Hyung!”

Jin nearly falls over as a newfound weight lands on his back, a small set of hands wrapped around his shoulders. “We missed you so much, we’re starving!”

Jin huffs before pulling the hands away from him and opening his door. “What did you say?” His voice is teasing, the tone you use when trying to coax a child into using manners.

“Please!” Jimin whines while smiling so wide that his eyes are basically closed, smushed by his chubby cheeks. Jin has to resist the urge to pinch them, happy to see that they are no longer hollow like they were a few years back.

He pretends to ponder his answer before “reluctantly” sighing and swinging his door wide open. “I guess I can make you something.”

In reality, Jin knows that if he doesn’t make food for the group, they’ll most likely starve or order pizza for every meal. The rest seem to lose all brain cells when in the kitchen if the many near disasters are anything to go by. Jin distinctly remembers the time Namjoon not only burned one of his favorite pans but Jungkook also managed to get potatoes stuck to a plate and defied all laws of gravity.

“Jin Hyung is making dinner!” Jimin yells into the hallway beckoning the rest of their friends to Jin’s small apartment. The first to rush out are Taehyung and Jungkook, which is no surprise as they both never stop eating. Pausing in the doorway, Jin waits for the rest to arrive before sighing as the other two apartments on the floor remain occupied.

“Are Hobi and Yoongi still working on their mixtapes?” Jin asks as he begins pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards. As a college student struggling to not accumulate student loan debt, all he has to make is an unhealthy amount of ramen. Jin proceeds to pick through his numerous flavors of packaged noodles when the door opens. Before Jimin can open his mouth to answer, Yoongi enters.

“Wow, Jin hyung. Look at you, you’re a true college student.” Jungkook snickers nearly earning him a whack on the back of the head.

“Yah! You should be nice to the one who’s making you food.” Jin chides before pouring water into the pot. He can hear Jimin softly scolding Jungkook to be nicer to his hyung and smiles. Jiminie has always been such a sweetheart.

“How’s the mixtape going?” Jin asks Yoongi while filling the pot with water. He glances in Yoongi’s direction while turning off the faucet to make sure that the boy is actually taking care of himself. Yoongi had a habit of throwing his health aside for his music, but hopefully with Hoseok working alongside him, he will take care of himself.

To Jin’s relief no dark under-eye circles contrast Yoongi’s pale skin, a result of not venturing outside for five years. Yoongi only begins to answer when Jin is once again facing the stove.

“It’s going. I’m not sure that it’s where I want it to be though. It feels incomplete.” The maknaes fall silent listening to their hyung’s worry, not sure exactly how to help since they have no knowledge of music composition.

“Have you had Hobi listen to it yet?” Jin asks pouring salt into the pot of water and turning on the stove. The faster he can get the water boiling, the faster he can cook the noodles, which means the faster they can eat.

“Yeah, he’s not quite sure either though. We just spent two hours listening to the tracks on repeat to try and see what’s off.”

“Maybe you need another voice on your track, hyung? I would gladly volunteer.” Taehyung smiles. Ever since Hoseok and Yoongi created Cypher Records, Taehyung who’s their biggest fan, has been asking to be on a song every time it’s brought up. Secretly, the duo have planned a song out just for Taehyung to feature on, but it’s a gift for his birthday.

“Have you thought about asking Namjoon hyung?” Jungkook pipes up, munching on dry ramen. They all turn to face him, giving him questioning stares at his choice of a snack. He shrugs.

“I guess I could ask Namjoon. Maybe having someone not directly involved in composition would help.”

Jungkook smiles wide, bunny grin on display from the pride of helping a hyung. A few years ago, after Hoseok and Yoongi had begun creating their record label, Namjoon quit his janitorial job in favor of running the business side of the label. Since he’s the only member of the group who’s held a real job, Yoongi and Hoseok thought that he would be best. Namjoon ran everything from promotions to contracts and anything in between. He was the one running the hustle, meanwhile Yoongi and Hoseok were the face of the company. Although some may hate being only known in the background, Namjoon is happiest there.

Namjoon and Hoseok enter at last, the final two of the group of seven. The boys cheer when they enter and pull two chairs over. They all sit huddled together in silence, the sound of boiling water filling the room. It’s a comfortable silence. The type you get after being with someone for so long, and Jin feels himself relax after a long day of classes. That is until Jungkook starts munching on another dry ramen packet.

“Yah! Can you just wait?” Jin yells exasperatedly. Jungkook pouts in response before slowly putting it down on the counter.

“He eats all the time, hyung. I don’t know why you’re surprised.” Jimin says, ruffling Jungkook’s hair affectionately.

“Yeah, ever since he started playing intramural sports he’s always hungry.” Tae laughs before taking a bite of the dry ramen. “Yuck! How are you eating this?”

“I’m hungry,” Jungkook mumbles. “I gotta feed these muscles.” Flexing his bicep, he gives it a slap for extra measure causing the boys to fall in a fit of giggles.

“Jungkook-ah put your muscles away, you’re scaring me.” Tae says. While Jungkook focused on becoming a muscle man, Taehyung has been more focused on eating the delicacies of life. Because of his new affinity for food, Tae and Jin have developed a stronger bond through their love of trying new dishes. Although, Taehyung does make sure to eat a handful of strawberries a day; they remind him of his days with his aunt and sister on the strawberry farm after the trial.

“Alright, children, dinner is ready,” Jin says pulling dishes down from the cabinet. One by one, the boys pile noodles into their bowls before settling around the living room. There’s only a small table in the kitchen that seats four, so they sit in a circle sprawled across the floor and couch. They’re all silent, focusing only on eating after a long day of classes and work, until Jungkook starts slurping the remnants in his bowl.

“Did we adopt a toddler?” Jin remarks.

“We adopted two.” Namjoon pinches Jimin’s cheek that’s stuffed with noodles. Jimin’s eyes go wide and a blush paints itself across his cheeks as he turns his gaze away.

“I think if we’re being honest, we’re all just overgrown toddlers,” Yoongi adds.

The boys all scoff and he rolls his eyes. Yoongi likes to think he’s an adult. That he’s finally outgrown his childish fears and that he’s become more mature. But when he sits among his group of friends he still feels like he’s a teen, mind filled with wonder and the feeling that nothing’s impossible. It feels like everyday is Beach Day with the boys by his side. Like he’ll never have to be alone like he was back in Seoul.

“That would explain why I saw Jin throw his psychology textbook across the room yesterday and throw a tantrum,” Hoseok says.

“You don’t understand! I have to memorize all the Psychosocial Stages. There’s too many to remember,” Jin whines, glaring at the textbook lying on the coffee table.

“Have you ever thought about going back to creative writing? I feel like you were happier then,” Hoseok responds.

“No, I like psychology. It’s just a much harder subject. I think with psych I’ll be able to actually help people. I can save them from what you all went through. I can almost make up for not being there.” The boys fall silent, each face more stoic than the next. Jin rubs his hands together nervously.

“We forgave you a long time ago. You don’t need to do this to pay us back.” Namjoon reaches over to give a comforting squeeze on Jin’s arm.

“I-I know. I want to do this, though. Besides, if you ever do need me again, I’ll be able to help.”

“Well we appreciate it, hyung.” Hoseok smiles. “On a less serious note, I’ve rented my mom’s old studio. I was thinking of holding dance lessons when I’m not helping Yoongi hyung in the studio.”

“I’ll take them!” Jimin yells. Ever since getting into college, Jimin has been trying to bulk himself up. He wants to be able to defend himself and not have to rely on Jungkook and Taehyung to save him. He doesn’t want to have guard dogs anymore; he just wants them to be his friends.

“I’ll take them too!” Taehyung yells from the kitchen, digging around the fridge for the carton of strawberries he keeps hidden.

“How about we all take them? Hobi can get some practice in teaching unskilled students and we can learn how to dance. I’d like to not look like the inflatable long-limbed man outside of car dealerships.” Namjoon chuckles.

“Bold of you to assume I don’t know how to dance,” Jin says.

“Do you?” Namjoon retorts.

“Not the point.”

“Well if we’re mentioning new stuff we’re doing, I’ve decided to get into photography,” Taehyung says. “I’d like to capture the good moments of my life so I can forget the bad.”

Jungkook looks at Taehyung before quietly saying, “still getting the nightmares?”

Taehyung nods. “They’re not as frequent but every now and then I get them. They just stay with me a while. I think surrounding myself with physical copies of happy memories would help in keeping them from plaguing my mind.”

“Why don’t you take one right now?” Jimin suggests and Tae nods enthusiastically before dashing towards his apartment.

When he returns, a large camera is in his hand and he sets it on top of Jin’s psychology textbook. It’s so thick that it puts the camera at least two inches above the coffee table.

After about two minutes of Taehyung yelling: “move left, no my left!”, “you’re too far, you’re only half a body now”, “Jimin you can’t sit in the back no one can see you”, everyone fits the frame. Setting on the self timer, Taehyung launches himself across the laps of Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi who’re all sitting in front since they’re the smallest. They let out small huffs but still hug Taehyung to their bodies. The flash goes off and they all clamber back towards the camera to see the photo.

Thankfully, each boy is in frame and no one was accidentally decapitated. Staring at the photo, with the boys wrapped together in a tight hug, Jin feels warm. This right here is his family. It doesn’t matter that it’s not by blood or that they split apart at one moment, because Jin knows they’ll always fall back together. They’re like magnets, no matter how far they pull away, they’ll always reconnect eventually.

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tenebris-melodiam · 5 years

Text

Stefano Valentini x Reader: Facade - Chapter 10

Support the author here!

Pairing: Stefano Valentini x Reader/Female Protagonist (+18)

Warnings: Strong language, mild sexual themes

Current Time: October 14th, 2016

=2=

The water was cold against your skin—it hadn’t been that way whenever you first submerged yourself within your bathtub that dreary morning, but the time you had spent in there had been lost on you. You weren’t aware that your flesh was now wrinkled and pale due to the dropping water temperature, and you most certainly weren’t aware that you were now fifteen minutes late to work. Right now, all that mattered was the silence and solace the water allowed you to experience, and the respite that the darkness beneath the water’s surface brought you. How long had you been submerged now? It wasn’t like that mattered.

You opened your eyes for only a moment beneath the water, seeing the shimmering surface only inches above you. The real world was out there—a cruel, unkind, and unforgiving world that wanted nothing more than to devour you, body and soul, and spit out what little remained. You weren’t ready to go back out into that world; not yet. You exhaled a tiny bit of air through your nose, feeling your chest ache with the need the breathe as you watched a pillar of bubbles rise to the surface of the water. You closed your eyes once again, letting the darkness consume your vision with no resistance; it was comforting, it was quiet, and it was welcoming. As the seconds passed, the aching within your chest only continued to worsen as your lungs cried out for air, your heart throbbing desperately within your ribcage and echoing within your ears.

It was only when the darkness that filled your vision was suddenly defiled by the image of your best friend, smiling at you with eyes glazed over and blood smeared across his gashed face, that you immediately drew yourself out from underneath the water and took in a large gulp of air; you brought your arms around your body, trying to find some form of comfort in your own embrace as the all-too-familiar tingling sensation began near the bridge of your nose and your vision began to blur with tears. You embraced yourself harder, your nails digging into your skin as you sobbed through clenched teeth—there was no escaping the image that you had just seen. Each and every time you closed your eyes, you either saw the vision that had been engraved into your mind, or heard the sickening sounds that you experienced that horrible, traumatic night several weeks prior.

You finally released yourself from your embrace, bringing the palm of your hand up to your eyes and rubbing at them as you tried to calm yourself down. You stared down at the water beneath you, watching as the remaining tears dripped from the bottom of your chin and onto the surface; you could see how puffy and red your eyes were in your reflection, and you sighed heavily as you reached beneath the water and tugged the plug out, finally allowing the water to drain. You stared at the slowly receding water for a few moments, then brought yourself out of the tub and grabbed a towel from the rack before wrapping it around your upper body. It was only now that you saw the time on the clock beside your sink, alerting you that you were now nearly twenty minutes late to work; you did nothing but bat your eyes slowly at it and make your way into your bedroom to begin getting dressed.

Despite the dress code at the Krimson Post being business casual, you threw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, not even bothering to put on a bra—you weren’t anywhere near in the mood to care today, and honestly, you didn’t even want to go into the office. However, you were forcing yourself through the day, just as you had each and every day for the previous month. You walked back into your bathroom and half-assedly ran a brush through your wet hair, not even bothering to attempt drying it. Today was going to be a long one, and you weren’t looking forward to it one bit.

=2=

You hated the city streets now. The roaring of cars recklessly racing down the road stabbed at your ears like the dullest of knives, making the sound all the more excruciating and torturous to listen to. You tugged your hood up over your head, hoping to muffle the noise at least a little bit, and then shoved your hands into the pocket that was on the front of your hoodie. When you stopped at a crosswalk where several other pedestrians were waiting to cross, you looked up at the large building that was right in front of you; your lovely office building, the renowned Krimson Post, loomed over the city like a giant threatening to consume all in it’s path. It was one of the largest buildings in the entire city, housing an impressive sixty-eight stories from entrance floor to executive office. What all those floors held you would never be able to remember or explain, but all you knew was that the sheer size of the building was highly unnecessary.

Your attention was drawn away from the building as the people around you began to move, and you gave a quiet sigh as you followed them across the street. Once you were safely across, you reluctantly tugged the hood off of your head and made your way into the lobby of the gargantuan building.

“(Name).”

You stopped immediately in your tracks, rolling your eyes at the sound of your name. You had only been in the building for literally five seconds, and someone was already addressing you. You exhaled deeply, then turned to see none other than Matt Hades, your boss and the esteemed owner of the Krimson Post, striding towards you. Just seeing that greying crew cut and white-laced boxed beard made your blood boil, but it was his eyes that made your anger threaten to spill over. Azure eyes that had been glazed over by unhealthy amounts of fame and greed—eyes that saw people not as people, but rather as objects used to make profit. You had disliked him from the very moment you met him, but you put up with it due to the pay that he offered for your services; you couldn’t deny that he paid well, though his attitude was horrendous.

Your (color) eyes followed him until he stood directly in front of you, hands behind his back in a posture that screamed holier-than-thou, then blinked slowly as he looked you over from head to toe. It was evident that he wasn’t happy with your current attire, or rather, he wasn’t happy with you in general.

“Come.”

Without so much as a second passing before turning on his heel, he was already striding down the polished flooring towards the elevator at the end of the lobby. You scowled at the way he spoke to you, much like a master would speak to their dog, but reluctantly followed him into the elevator—it truly was a wonder how such a shallow man like him was allowed to have such immense success.

The ride in the elevator itself was one that you weren’t fond of. The silence was deafening, and you could practically feel the judging stare of the man beside you as you kept your eyes glued to the floor number; it was only when you felt the elevator stop that you peeled your eyes away from the floor number and instead placed them on the office now within your view as the elevator doors opened. Large, lavishly decorated, and just what you’d expect from such a materialistic man; throwing your current thoughts out of your mind, you followed your boss inside his office, watching as he took a greatly over-exaggerated seat upon his chair. He then gestured for you to sit down in one of the two chairs that he had sitting in front of his desk, and you obliged without a single word. It was silent between the two of you for a moment, then Hades sighed deeply, leaned back in his chair, and stared at you while he spoke.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase, (Name). I can’t keep allowing this kind of behavior from you—we have a dress code here, which you’re obviously not caring enough to follow, and your work has been, well, less than stellar.”

You followed his right hand as he laid out several clipped columns upon his desk, which you immediately identified as your own; Bloodied Body, Mourning Hearts, the column you had written about the death of James King shortly after his death was publicly announced. Krimson Killer: Malicious Psychopath, or Maliciously Misunderstood, a column you had created based on various statements from people you had interviewed over the course of several months. Several other smaller columns that you had written came into view, but your eyes stopped upon the one that had started it all: Critiquing Critics: Art Truly Is in the Eye of the Beholder, the column that had called out the negative criticism and hatred that Stefano’s artwork had received all those many months ago, and in turn, led to everything you had experienced with him now—a year’s worth of work, and those were only the ones that were published by the Krimson Post. You, of course, had other columns you had attempted to write, but they hadn’t been deemed good enough by Hades to publish.

“These have been laid out in order of least traffic generated to most traffic generated. Obviously the one that that contained the drama between you and the other journalists was the one that people enjoyed the most… after all, everyone enjoys a good bout of drama every now and again.”

You glanced up at Hades, seeing a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Your drama had generated traffic, which was something that, in turn, led Hades into the possession of more income. He didn’t even seem to care about how maliciously you were attacked by the other critics after the column had been publicly published. Looking upon it now, Hades should have known the backlash you would receive if the article had been published; no… he knew the backlash you would receive once that article went public, and he didn’t give a damn. You watched as the smirk faded from his lips, and his eyebrows furrowed in what you could only assume was his best attempt at looking concerned for you.

“Look, (Name)… I’ll be honest with you, here. Aside from your very first article, everything that we’ve published from you just hasn’t been up to par. The traffic your columns generate is mediocre at best, and I know you’ve got so much more potential hidden away inside you. I mean-“

He stopped, and he gave a small chuckle.

“-you’re literally dating the world’s most controversial artist! Surely you’ve heard him talk about the way he makes his work, or at the very least seen how he does it, or-“

“Don’t you dare bring Stefano into this. I’m not using him as some means to generate… traffic, as you like to call it.”

He immediately stopped in his tracks, knowing that he had misspoken. He stayed silent for a few moments, and then cleared his throat before leaning forward in his chair and speaking once again.

“(Name), you’re one of my most beloved journalists here. Even though your articles don’t generate as much- perhaps I should stop saying that, hmm? Anyway, I took a liking to your first article because you, unlike other journalists, dared to fight back against the flood. But, it seems as though you’ve lost your drive. Your columns are well researched, yes, but they lack the individuality that you displayed within your first column. That’s why we’ve only published three of your columns out of all the ones you’ve submitted.”

You felt your right forefinger twitch, followed shortly by the right corner of your lip, which threatened to bend downwards into a scowl. It was obvious that Hades wasn’t good at lying at all; he was a businessman first and foremost, which meant he could strike amazing deals and provide half-truths without so much as a twinge of guilt for doing so, but whenever it came down to interpersonal relationships, he was extremely lackluster in his ability to lie. You meant nothing to him—you were nothing more than a pawn he used to further his company and increase the size of his pockets.

“Alongside the missing individuality and drive, I’m worried about your own wellbeing, (Name). I know you’ve suffered a horrible loss, what with the death of your best friend, but it’s been almost a month since that happened. Time has to move forward, and you have to separate your work life from your personal life. Hey, I have an idea… maybe you could use the experience of what happened that night to write something about the current underlying crime issues in Krimson City, hmm? After all, you’ve been through a traumatic experience personally because of it now, and it would give you a great opportunity to-“

“You know what? I don’t have to take this from you anymore.”

You rose to your feet from your chair, turning on your heel as you began to head in the direction of the door.

“Excuse you, I’m not done with you yet! (Name), don’t-“

“You may not be done with me, Hades, but I’m done with you. First you try to make my significant other into some kind of personal controversy generator, then you feign concern about my wellbeing. Not only do you feign it, but you try to make me use my best friend’s death as a means to create some heart-wrenching story that will draw in millions of readers. I sat on the sidewalk, holding him in my arms as he bled to death, Hades. I watched the light drain from his eyes, and I watched as they put him into the ground a few days later. I’m not going to use my goddamn best friend, who did nothing but spend every minute of every day trying to make me smile, who died because of some asshole who wasn’t paying attention and didn’t even bother to stop, who died because of me and my negligence, as a profit generator!”

You curled your fingers into the palm of your hand as you clenched your first, tears freely dripping from the bottom of your chin and disappearing into either your hoodie or the carpet flooring of the office. Your teeth were clenched painfully within your jaw, your eyes boring a hole right between Hades’ eyes as you stared him down with almost murderous intent. It was incredible how one man could be so ignorant to the painful emotions of life, and how he could be so hellbent on making profit off of the misery of others. You swallowed hard, your throat stinging from your outburst only moments earlier; it was only then that you saw Hades sigh deeply, and lean back in his chair.

“I know how he died, (Name). It wasn’t because of you, either. He was hit by a driver who vanished into the night… and you had nothing to do with any of that. Honestly, hearing what you just said has reassured me that the choice I’m making is the right one.”

Your eyes were drawn towards his hand, which was placing a small, official-looking letter on his desk. He scooted it towards you slightly, and then released another heavy sigh as he placed his hands upon his midsection and nodded in the direction of the paper.

“I’m issuing you an ultimatum, (Name). I’m not doing this off-record either, hence why I’m giving it to you on an official document. Ever since the accident, it’s been clear that your mental health has been degrading. You’re late every day that you’re supposed to come in to the office, ignoring dress code, and producing work that just isn’t up to par with the skills I know you have. I have taken the liberty of setting up an appointment with the psychologist this company is insured with in your name; with that being said, my ultimatum is this: either you go to the appointment tonight at seven, or I will be forced to remove you from this company.”

He rose to his feet slowly, being sure to push his chair underneath his desk after doing so, and then grabbed the paper within his fingers before walking over to you. He took your hand, placing the document within it before giving your shoulder a gentle pat; as much as you hated it, you were already mentally exhausted and just wanted this encounter to be over with.

“I wasn’t lying about you being a good journalist, (Name). You have the potential to become the best journalist this company employs… and I do want to help you get there, but you just have to heal a little bit first. Please think it over.”

With that, Hades stepped out of his office and ventured towards the elevator, which you eventually heard shut and take your boss further down towards the lower floors of the building. Once he was gone, you gave a single, painfully frustrated cry and threw the document out of your hand before sinking to your knees onto the carpet of the office. First you had lost Vincent, and now you had to worry about potentially losing your job.

The world, which was already devoid of the light that your best friend brought into it, was seemingly becoming nothing but darker.

=2=

“Eat, amore mio… you look as though you haven’t eaten in days.”

You felt Stefano’s hand run over the small of your back, and you could feel his gaze locked onto you as you stared at the plate of cut fruit he had placed on the table in front of you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to eat, or allow yourself to simply wither away; your mind was straddling on the fence, slowly drifting back and forth over each decision. You could hear Stefano’s voice continue speaking beside you, but you couldn’t comprehend what he was saying as you gently tapped the flats of your thumbs together; your mind was focused on your encounter with Hades earlier that day, and something was gnawing away at your mind that you desperately needed to speak about.

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?”

Whatever Stefano had been saying at the time, he immediately halted and stayed silent; though you weren’t looking at him, you knew he was looking at you with concern. You expected nothing less from him, but you knew that you could talk to him about anything, and this was something that you simply couldn’t let eat away at you.

“When I was in Hades’ office earlier today… and when I was sitting in front of his desk… every word that left his lips made this unquenchable anger grow inside of me. It felt like my entire body was on fire, even though I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of any kind of outward emotion. The more he spoke, the more I wanted to just lean over his desk and feel his throat beneath my fingers…”

You moved your hands, flexing your fingers as you spoke to replicate what it would be like to strangle something within them.

“It would have been so easy. Now that I’m talking about it, I want to feel awful for having such a desire, but… I just can’t bring myself to fully feel that way. It’s awful…”

“Awful because your mind is justifying your thoughts?”

“No… awful that someone like him is alive.”

You rubbed at your nose, the uncomfortable stinging building up once again as you felt tears threaten to spill over. You hated yourself for crying so much, but you couldn’t stop it. You brought your forehead to rest upon the palms of your hands, your nails digging into your scalp as you stared at the floor of Stefano’s studio; you sniffed, several tears finally dripping from your eyes and spotting the tile beneath you.

“It’s so goddamn unfair that such an inconsiderate, unfeeling, greedy, selfish, egotistical bastard can be alive and thriving. What makes him so fucking special? Why is someone like him allowed to live, but someone who spent every day of his life trying to make people happy, who brought nothing but light into the world, and who lived to care for others was taken out of it? Why is someone like Hades allowed the gift of life? Why the hell wasn’t someone like him taken instead of Vincent!?”

You sobbed deeply after crying out the last part of your sentence, only to completely break down moments later when you felt Stefano’s arms wrap around you and pull you against his body. You buried your face in his suit, your fingers curling into the fabric and clutching it tightly as you sobbed deeply against him; you could feel your lover’s fingers digging into your body as he attempted to pull you closer to him than you already were, and for whatever reason, this loving attempt at comfort made you sob all the more. What you didn’t know, however, was the reason that Stefano was holding you so tightly.

You had wanted to kill.

Thus far, you had been kept innocent and clean of his misdeeds, and on the one hand, he desired to keep it that way. He originally never wanted you to find out about how he created his artwork, but now his mind was beginning to question whether or not this was the best plan of action—though you hadn’t gone through with your thoughts, you said that you wanted to kill. And, on top of that, your mind was justifying your potential actions and not allowing you to feel fully guilty for what you felt; the thought of you becoming a killer was far more enticing than the artist would ever dare admit aloud, and imagining your euphoria upon achieving your first kill was far more than alluring. If he could somehow track down your best friend’s killer, how would you look upon delivering divine judgement to him? What beautiful, bloodlust-driven expression would you make as you crushed his windpipe, or cut him open like he was nothing more than the pig that he was? Imagining such a scenario made the murderous itch within him beg to be scratched. He could see your figure in his mind clear as day: your body illuminated by the perfect backlighting, eyes cold and unfeeling as blood that was not your own glistened upon your fair skin.

The image alone made the itch dig under his skin, burying itself into his heart where it knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore it for long. However, he would have to force himself to ignore it, at least until you weren’t around. For now, he held you against him and ran his slender fingers through your hair as he listened to you attempt to stifle your sobs. You had ignited the fire of inspiration within him, but he wanted you to be yourself again before creating whatever new art piece came of this inspiration; after all, you were his muse, and it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t in the mood to enjoy his artwork as much as he did. He looked down at you, watching as you brought the back of your hand to your eyes and rubbed them gently; it would seem you had finally managed to calm yourself down with his help, and you gave a quiet sniff before glancing up at him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drag you down with me. I hate how much I’ve been crying lately…”

“Don’t be sorry, amore mio. I’m here for you through anything.”

Stefano leaned over slightly, which made a quiet, discomforted whine pass your lips; when he returned to his normal position, you took notice of the small fruit wedge that he was holding in front of your eyes. You sighed softly—despite not entirely feeling up to eating, you took the wedge between your middle and forefinger and brought it to your lips, taking a small nibble every now and again. It comforted you that Stefano was being such a sweetheart in your time of need, despite the fact that you hadn’t been giving him as much attention ever since the accident. You swallowed the fruit that you had within your maw, then gave a quiet huff of breath before beginning to speak.

“I’m going to go see the therapist. I wasn’t going to originally, but I can’t afford to get fired from my job. I also don’t want our relationship to suffer any more than it already has, and Vincent wouldn’t want me to stay like this the rest of my life. The best way to honor him would be to get help and live the best life that I can, just like he always wanted me to.”

Stefano leaned down, and you felt his lips press against the top of your head in a tender kiss. It made the smallest hint of a smile creep across your face, and you gently tapped his thigh with your hand before sitting upright.

“As much as I miss Vincent… and will continue to miss him, the best way to get back at Hades is to get help and make a full recovery. Once I become the best damn journalist this city has ever seen, he’ll regret ever wanting to get rid of me in the first place.”

You looked down at the watch upon your wrist, seeing that it was nearing six in the evening. You would have to leave now if you wanted to get to the appointment with the therapist on time; despite not wanting to leave your lover’s side, you gave a soft sight and rose to your feet. Stefano stood up alongside you, grabbing your hands within his own and bringing them to his lips to place tender kisses upon them.

“Si, amore mio. After your appointment, I’d enjoy it if you returned here. Perhaps you might stay the night? Of course… that’s only if you feel like doing so.”

Admittedly, you hadn’t been up for doing much of anything intimate with Stefano ever since the accident. You had shut yourself off from him, aside from the occasional phone call (such calls were always initiated by him, mostly to check up on you and make sure you were alright). However, you knew that in order to heal, you had to step up and see this therapist first, and then allow yourself to move on in every way that you knew how. Spending the night with Stefano would be one of those steps towards recovery, even if it seemed silly to most people. You gave his hands a gentle squeeze, and then leaned in and pressed your lips against his own; you lingered there for a moment, enjoying the physical connection between the two of you, and then finally pulled away as a small smile donned your face.

“I’d enjoy that, Stefano.”

In truth, the idea of being held by him and touched by him again was something that was becoming more enjoyable with each moment you spent thinking about it. You had experienced little to no human contact in the past month, and you were feeling the need to be comforted physically—who better to provide such comfort than Stefano? You felt him grab one of your hands a bit tighter, releasing the other as he began to gently pull you forward and lead you towards the entrance of his studio; once there, he pulled you close and gave a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll be waiting right here for you, amore mio.”

=2=

‘Goddamn, it’s cold…’

You pulled your hood over your head as you wandered down the streets of Krimson City for the third time that day, your teeth chattering slightly within your maw; it had been years since the city had been this cold so early on into the winter season, but you were dealing with it as best as you could. You had to admit that you regretted putting on only a hoodie before heading in to the office earlier in the morning, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now; you tugged your trembling hand from within the confines of your hoodie pocket, squinting slightly in an attempt to see the address that had been written down on the paper Hades had given you that morning.

1259 Ruben Street, Suite 101.

You looked up from the paper for a moment, seeing that you were currently on Adamsdale Avenue; you stopped walking, making a mental map of the city within your mind as you attempted to picture just where Ruben Street was in relation to where you currently were. If you were remembering right, it was the next street north, which meant the traffic light you were en route towards was the marker for the street you were looking for.

‘This would have been so much easier if I didn’t leave my phone in my apartment… I’m so stupid.’

You sighed deeply before continuing on your trek, folding up the paper and putting it back into your pocket as you trudged onwards towards the traffic light. You heard a deep rumble from overhead, and tilted your head back just in time to see a flash of light dash across the dark, cloud-riddled sky.

‘Shit… and I forgot to check the damn weather, too? Everything is just going right today, isn’t it?’

You furrowed your brows, clenching your fist around the paper within your pocket as you drew nearer to the traffic light. As soon as you got to the crosswalk, you glanced up and saw that you were indeed at Ruben Street; this relieved you slightly as it meant your wandering was nearly over, and you attempted to locate the building that you were supposed to enter on the other side of the crosswalk. Unfortunately, you were unable to see the building numbers due to being across the street, and you sighed as you waited alongside several other city-goers for the crosswalk to allow you to pass safely. Once the little man beckoned you to cross, you hastily made your way over to the other side of the street and began scanning for numbers.

1257.

So the building you were looking for was the next one over. You gave a small smile, knowing that you were close to finally being able to relax for a moment, and then paced down the sidewalk to the building marked 1259. You glanced down at your watch, seeing that you had about five minutes to spare, and then took a deep breath before opening the door and heading into the building.

Despite being relatively dark on the inside, it was pretty homey. Several antique lamps rested upon the various tables that lined the hallway walls, and an older woman sat behind what appeared to be a receptionist desk a few feet from where you currently stood. You saw a flight of stairs leading upwards on the right side of the receptionist desk, and a little ways past that was an elevator for the handicapped. After relishing in the warmth that that building provided for only a few moments, you made your way forward and gained the attention of the woman sitting behind the desk in the process; she gave you a gentle smile, her eyes dulled with age, but still glistening with genuine care and happiness.

“Good evening, sweetheart. Are you looking for any suite in particular?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for suite 101.”

“Sure thing, sweetie. Head down that hallway right there, and it will be the second door on the right. Let me know if you need anything else at all, okay?”

“I will, ma’am. Thank you very much.”

You managed to give her a small smile, which earned you another one of hers in return. It was nice to meet such a kind woman right after walking in the doors; perhaps this visit wouldn’t be as bad as you originally thought it would be. You padded down the carpeted hallway that the woman had pointed towards, not having to go very far before arriving at the door that she had spoken about; you curled your fingers into your palm and raised your fist to rap gently upon the door, but before you had the chance, it opened to reveal the person that had been residing within.

“Good evening. You must be (First Name) (Last Name), correct?”

The person before you was a young Asian woman, her long, black hair cascading over her shoulders while her earthly-brown eyes wandered your figure. She, unlike like the lady that had been sitting behind the receptionist desk, gave you a smile that felt hollow. It appeared she was attempting to be welcoming, but there was something about her smile that just felt forced, and the way that she looked at you was almost like she was studying you. It was a bit unnerving to say the very least, but you figured it was only because you had just met her and she was trying to get a good feeling for what she was going to be working with. Perhaps her demeanor would change the more the two of you spoke; after all, you would undoubtedly have to return to her for more therapy sessions.

Finally deciding to answer her question, you gave a small nod of your head. She gave a hum of acknowledgment, and then extended her hand forward in a gesture of greeting.

“My name is Yukiko Hoffman. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

=2=

“I know, my darling… I know.”

The darkness of his office was something that he had desperately missed; it had been quite some time since the fickle bird of inspiration had returned to him, and he wasn’t about to let the time he had with it go to waste. He hummed softly as he ran his gloved thumb over the lens of his beloved camera with a feather-light touch, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he saw his own reflection within it.

“It’s been far too long since you and I have created a true masterpiece together… but don’t worry. My beloved (Name) has inspired me to go above and beyond anything I have ever created before, and with enough time, my creation will be fully realized.”

Being ever-so-careful, Stefano placed his camera down upon his desk and walked over to a small easel that housed a large sketchbook upon it; he scowled at whatever previous image he had been doodling upon it, cursing himself for ever believing such a thing would ever surpass the idea that was currently coming into fruition within his mind, and tore the paper away from the book to create a clean page for him to work upon. He grabbed a pencil from the cup that held his drawing utensils on a small stool nearby, then sighed softly to himself before beginning to draw an outline for his latest creation.

“Amore mio… this creation will be my ultimate masterpiece. You’ve given more than this photographer could ever desire to have, and what have I done for you? Niente… but not any longer. My magnum opus will be dedicated to you, my dear (Name)…”

He followed the tip of his pencil with his eye, allowing his heart to guide his strokes across the paper; it was only when he was nearly lost in his own creation that a gentle knock from the entrance to his studio drew him out of his trance, and he had to force himself to stop drawing for the time being. Despite only being partially drawn-out, Stefano had never been more proud of a creation in all the time he had been creating such artistry—but, for now, it would have to wait. He placed his pencil down, softly touching the outline with the tips of his gloved fingers before hastily removing his gloves and placing them down upon his desk. He then withdrew from his office entirely, making sure that the door was locked behind him; he didn’t need you discovering his newest piece of artwork. Not yet.

He walked over to the door, turning the handle and opening it to reveal you; you were partially wet and shivering from how cold it was outside, and you gave him a tiny smile.

“H-hey. Can I come inside? I’m freezing.”

“Of course, mia cara.”

He pressed his back against the door to allow you in, then shut the door behind you once you were inside. He glanced over at the clock in his kitchen, seeing that it was now nine-thirty seven. Had it really been that long since you had left? He had lost track of time once he had begun coming up with his newest creation. He returned his attention to you, seeing that you were simply standing near the doorway to his bedroom and looking at one of the photographs he had hung up on the wall beside the entryway. He could see you trembling due to being cold, and he gave a soft sigh before slowly pacing over behind you and wrapping his arms around your frame. He brought his chin to rest upon your shoulder, and he felt you shudder whenever you felt his breath against the shell of your ear.

“You’re freezing, amore mio. Perhaps taking this off will help…”

He could hear your shuddering breath, and the way your body tensed slightly when the tips of his fingers slipped underneath the ribbing of your hoodie to caress the skin hidden beneath made him all the more eager. Just as you had missed him, he had definitely missed you—and after having such a tantalizing image of you in his mind earlier that day, alongside gaining what he could only describe as a divine form of artistic epiphany because of you, he wanted to express his gratitude in every way that he knew how. He carefully tucked his fingers underneath the bottom of your hoodie, gracefully bringing it over your head and placing it upon the couch before turning you to face him entirely.

Despite having your nude upper body to look at, he avoided it; he wanted to see you, not just your body. He brought his hand upwards, tenderly cupping your cheek within the palm while his other hand brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your eyes.

“Tell me if I’m going too far, mia cara…”

He saw a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, and you gave a nod of your head. He felt your hand come to rest on his chest, and it wasn’t too long after that before he felt the button on his jacket come undone.

“I want this, Stefano. We can talk about my session in the morning… but right now, I want to be held by you. I just… I need you.”

Before he could respond, he felt your lips press against his own in a kiss that was undoubtedly filled with desire. He felt your hand come to rest on the back of his head, and he shuddered upon feeling your fingers delve into his hair and your nails gently scratch at his skin. He placed a hand on the small of your bare back, bringing you against his body as he returned the kiss with growing hunger.

What the night would bring would leave you tired and breathless, but the comfort of being held in your lover’s arms and hearing him whisper sweet nothings into your ear after such an intimate session was more than you could ever ask for.

=2=

R. B.

RE: STEM Candidate #10044

Name: (First Name) (Last Name)

Despite initial concerns about this Candidate’s mental health after their traumatic experience, the Candidate has proven to be relatively resilient. After examining the live feed from the Candidate’s ‘therapy’ session, and consulting with Dr. Hoffman, we have come to the sound conclusion that the Candidate is a suitable one. Though they were prone to emotional outbursts throughout the session (mostly small bouts of sobbing or irritation), such actions can easily be remedied upon first entry into STEM. Other than dealing with the mental issues set in place by the actions of our own foundation against their close friend, this Candidate displayed no significant psychological issues or detrimental illness. Their background check shows both adoptive parents to be deceased, and the only other person to potentially raise concern at their disappearance is also a Candidate to be tested within the coming weeks; should Candidate #10045 pass their profiling as well, the Recruitment Board recommends Candidate #10044 for STEM insertion.

P.S.: Should this Candidate be inserted into STEM, sufficient funds have been set aside to deal with their former employer. Please contact the Administrator directly if you have further questions.

=2=

Author’s Note (1):

- Amore mio: My love

- Niente: Nothing

Author’s Note (2): I would like to thank each and every reader that has supported me this far into the story. I’ve hit a milestone of 10 chapters with this upload, alongside another milestone of 60k+ words. This is by far the longest and most intricate story I’ve ever written, and having all of you guys here to support me really means a hell of a lot. I read each and every comment that you guys add to this story, and it’s so wonderful to have such amazing people supporting me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

#The Evil Within 2 #Stefano Valentini #The Evil Within #Fanfics #videogames #mature #my fics #my writing #x reader #Strong language #Mild lemonish themes

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blustersquall · 5 years

Text

Only Make Believe // Chapter 33: Kirkwall

Sorry for the delay in chapters! Last weekend I was really not well, so I had to put off uploading until this weekend because I needed to edit! Thank you for your patience! Please enjoy this chapter. <3

As always, this chapter is also up on AO3 for those who prefer to read it there.

January 1st

The first morning of the new year was a blissfully lazy one. Despite waking several more times during the night, Cullen was refreshed when he rubbed his eyes, determined not to fall back to sleep. Nevena was still in the bed beside him, her back to him and almost entirely hidden under the covers but for the mess of golden blonde waves spread over her pillow. He checked his phone quickly to see the time. It was late in the morning – almost lunch time. It was a late night for everyone, and Cullen wasn’t used to staying up past midnight.

Perhaps when he was younger. But not anymore.

He lamented the fact he was getting old.

After returning his phone to the bedside table, Cullen rolled onto his side to face Nevena’s back. He pulled the covers down enough that he could see her cheek and her shoulder and found she was still asleep. Though not deeply as she stirred when he slipped his arm over her waist. She wriggled herself towards him, her back pressing into his chest murmuring a few incoherent words to him or to herself. Cullen arced his hips away as much as he was able while still maintaining a small level of comfort.

“Time to get up,” Cullen said, kissing her shoulder. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

Nevena groaned something in response, her face scrunching up before she turned slightly and buried it into her pillow. The gesture only caused Cullen to laugh.

“You really are not a morning person, are you?”

“S’not morning if it’s lunchtime.”

“Almost lunch time.” Cullen retorted, prodding Nevena in the ribcage. She jerked sharply at that, her whole body jumping as if hit by an electric shock. “It’ll be a slow day, I’m sure. We should, at the very least, see how Varric and Cassandra are faring.”

After a momentary silence, a deep breath, and sigh, Nevena rolled over onto her back, clearing her hair away from her face. She was alert but looked tired with a subtle shadow beneath her eyes. Cullen wondered just how much she’d slept during the night, both before she came to him and after. Had his nightmares caused her to wake as well? He was never sure exactly what he did or if he said anything when the nightmares came. In the past, Solona occasionally slept in the living room when the withdrawal was particularly bad, and her sleep was suffering due to Cullen’s post-traumatic stress. He never told her, but it hurt him deeply when she did. It was just affirmation to him that he was a problem.

“Good morning,” Cullen cupped Nevena’s cheek and kissed her as tenderly as possible, happy to feel her reciprocate with her own sleepy kiss. “How did you sleep?”

“Okay,” Nevena sighed again, her eyes only half-open. “The mattress is a little hard for me. My back hurts a bit.”

Cullen frowned, “is it bad?”

“No,” she shrugged, “just uncomfortable. I’m sure it’ll ease out if I move around a bit.” Even as she lay beneath him speaking, he could see the effort she was making to keep her eyes open.

“You’re tired.” Said Cullen, gently brushing his thumb beneath her eye. He knew the answer, but asked anyway, “did I wake you during the night?”

Her hand came and covered his. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He huffed and lay down on his side, nestling as close as possible. It was stupid for him to even ask her. He woke her, and she was too kind to come right out and say it. “We don’t have to get up. Try and go back to sleep if you can.”

“Cullen…” Nevena’s sleepy gaze grew a little harder when she looked at him, but she said nothing else beyond his name. Cullen moved his hand at her cheek, laying that arm over her waist and settled into the covers beside her. No further attempts at protest came, and in seconds Nevena was breathing steadily, her eyes closed, the fingers of her hand lightly stroking a repetitive pattern up and down his forearm.

Perhaps spending the night together had not been the best idea. They’d had a late night anyway, and even after they talked, they probably didn’t get to sleep until after four in the morning. And given that he woke several times… He hadn’t got up out of bed again, but he knew first-hand how jarring and startling it was when he woke from his nightmares.

He was used to it. Nevena was not.

After what might have been ten minutes, Nevena’s fingers had stopped and her breathing deepened. Choosing to let her sleep longer, Cullen set about leaving her embrace with care, trying to avoid waking her again. He pulled the covers up to her chest, kissed her forehead and left to venture downstairs after pulling his sweatpants and a hoodie on.

He was able to hear both Varric and Cassandra talking in the living room as he made his way to the kitchen, his need for caffeine pulling him there. From what he could recall of the night before, they had both been drinking but not excessively. Cullen poured himself a mug of black coffee before entering the living room to join them.

“Good morning!” Varric said, grinning and far too cheerful.

“Mornin’,” Cullen sat on the couch beside Cassandra. Both she and Varric were dressed in what Cullen could only describe as ‘sloppy house wear’. Comfortable and baggy. “What time did you two get to bed last night?” He sipped his coffee.

“Three?” Cassandra looked to Varric for clarification.

“About that,” he nodded and leaned back in his arm chair. “Kestrel – y’know, Hawke - and Fenris stuck around a bit after everyone else had left.”

“Ah.”

“Is Nevena not up?”

“Not yet.” Cullen drank from his mug again, almost certain Cassandra and Varric could see on his face that she spent the night with him. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide it. They were adults and had established they wanted to be in a relationship. There was nothing wrong with them spending the night together… perhaps it was more due to it being Cassandra and Varric’s home. “I thought it might be kind to let her sleep in a bit longer.”

“Wore her out did you, Curly?”

“Varric!” Cassandra quickly snapped at him before Cullen could retort a biting response. He held the hot coffee on his tongue until it burned.

“We stayed up talking, actually.” Cullen said primly. “And, unfortunately, nightmares have been quite frequent. We’ve both been a bit worn out.”

At the mention of nightmares, Varric’s expression sobered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know.”

“How bad have they been?” asked Cassandra, with a soft almost sisterly tone.

“They’re… you know, I manage. Nevena’s not used to them, that’s all.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze to the floor. “I’m sure once we’re back in Denerim and normality has resumed they’ll become infrequent again.”

“Probably,” Varric shrugged. “If you didn’t get them much before…”

“There’s no chance of them ever stopping?” Cassandra queried, lifting her coffee mug and taking a drink afterwards.

“I don’t know.” Cullen said, “there’s a lot about lyrium and coming off it that I don’t know. And… that I’m not privy to knowing, now I’m no longer serving with the TEMPLARs. If the worst I get is nightmares, the occasional muscle weakness, and headaches – I’ll take it.”

Cassandra’s quirked her lips to one side, clearly unhappy with the answer, but lacking anything more to say.

“Well, stepping away from such a happy topic of conversation,” Varric got to his feet, “any thoughts on what you and Freckles want to do today?”

“Relax?” Cullen smiled, happy to talk about something that wasn’t entirely focused on him. “Nevena asked about seeing Kirkwall… She wanted to see my old ‘stomping ground’.”

“Your stomping ground?” repeated Varric, his smile growing into a grin. “The Hanged Man? The Gallows?”

“Maybe not The Gallows…” he sighed. “They’re not the most cheerful place.”

“The Blooming Rose?” The tone of glee in Varric’s voice was a little unnerving.

“I…” Cullen ran a hand back through his hair, “I suppose we could make a stop there.” The tips of his ears started to grow warmer. Cullen had never partaken in the services offered by Kirkwall’s local gentleman’s club, but he’d gone there to deal with difficult customers in the past and that was enough for him. He was often teased by his comrades during his time in Kirkwall for not taking advantage of the services, and while there had been times he was tempted, he never did because the thought of paying for sex, or just simply sex for the sake of sex never sat right with him. Plus, at the time he had Solona, and even when times were difficult, the thought of being unfaithful never crossed his mind.

“You know,” Cassandra put her coffee mug on the table, “I think there’s an exhibition happening at what remains of the Grand Cathedral.”

“Oh?”

“Some kind of art installation. Or… something, there was a leaflet about it, just before Christmas.” She smiled, “I’ll double check when it begins, but if you feel up to it, we four could go along. It’s free, I think and better than staying cooped up indoors all day.”

“That sounds like a pleasant, easy-going afternoon,” agreed Cullen. “The Hanged Man and then the Chantry, then?”

“Have you decided when you’re heading to Ostwick?” Varric picked at a chip on the handle of his mug. “Dorian and Josephine told me they’ll be looking into Nevena’s family, or at least, her mother’s side. How did she find talking to them?”

“Uh, a little difficult?” Cullen shrugged, his mouth quirking to one side. “She didn’t say so, but I got the feeling she didn’t think she was particularly useful. She knows as much as her father told her, which wasn’t much… and I’m not entirely sure if everything he said was true. But both Dorian and Josephine seemed satisfied with what she could provide. So… fingers crossed they can find something.”

“Don’t you worry,” Varric arched his fingers, leaning back in his chair. “Those two are the smartest people I know. If anyone can dig up information, it’s them.”

“You don’t have to leave for Ostwick right away, you know?” Cassandra said gently. “You’re welcome to stay here until you have to leave to meet them. What would you do in Ostwick in the meantime, anyway?”

“I think Nevena wanted to see if her family home was still standing.” Cullen rubbed his hand over his stubble. “Though why she’d want to go back there is… I can’t quite fathom her reasoning, though I’m sure there is one.”

“Sentiment.” Varric shrugged. There was a tone to his voice, Cullen noticed, that seemed to have a gravitas to it. As though he was speaking from experience. “Even if your experiences somewhere are… bad, there’s always a part of you that clings to it. Whether that sentiment is bad or good though, I don’t know.”

Cassandra levelled him with a shrewd look. “Not everyone clings to their memories as much as you do, Varric.”

“I don’t cling, that’s Bartrand. He’s the one who buries himself in the past. I hold on to my personal angst and channel it into my writing.”

“Oh!” she laughed, “is that what you’re channelling when you write that smutty literature. Angst?”

“Inspiration has gotta come from somewhere!”

Cullen leaned back, smiling into his coffee while he listened to the two of them bicker playfully back and forth. He knew there was no venom or meanness behind the things being said, that this was simply how Cassandra and Varric communicated sometimes. It was nice. The simple domesticity of it. His parents used to bicker back and forth.

He could remember them doing so in the kitchen, then one of them kissing the other to bring the banter to a close. As a boy he used to pretend to retch and groan when his parents indulged in acts of affection. Now, as a grown man, he understood the importance of those little things. The small acts that went unnoticed by everyone else, but were part of the bedrock of a safe, secure, and trusting relationship.

He hoped one day to have a relationship like the one his parents had. He thought he found it with Solona though, in hindsight, he knew that wasn’t the case. There were so many things he kept hidden from her. So much trauma he kept internalised, too afraid of it scaring her, and too afraid of it to confront it himself. Maybe, now he was older, and he was beginning to exorcise the demons and the shadows and the ghosts of his past, he’d be able to move past that. Maybe, in time, he and Nevena would be able to have that same closeness and unspoken affection his parents once shared.

When Cassandra got to her feet, marking a clear end to their playful arguing, Cullen followed her to the kitchen, and emptied what was left of his coffee into the sink.

“Go and wake Nevena,” Cassandra said, ruffling a hand through her short hair and causing parts of it to stand at odd angles. “Take your time, there’s no rush to get going. I’ll find out a bit more about this installation thing.”

“Alright.” Cullen stacked his mug in the dishwasher and quickly went upstairs, opening the door to his room softly so not to wake Nevena if she was still asleep.

She was still sleeping soundly on her front, cuddling a pillow with one leg bent and her knee visible poking out from under the covers. She looked peaceful; settled and comfortable, Cullen didn’t have much of a heart to wake her, but if he didn’t then Cassandra or Varric would.

He went and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over her and kissing the side of her temple. He brushed her hair back away from her face. “Nev?” He waited a moment for a reaction. “Nev, time to get up.”

“Yousmelllikecoffee.” Nevena mumbled. She reached up with a heavy arm, patting the covers and blindly searching for him with outstretched fingers. He held her wandering hand, squeezing her fingers and kissing her knuckles. “Come back to bed…”

Cullen chuckled, kissing her temple again. “Would that I could.” He nudged her with his nose. “Cassandra has plans for the day. And, if I remember rightly, you wanted to see my old stomping ground?” He saw one of Nevena’s eyes open and focus on him, her interest piqued. “You have to get up and get dressed.”

She groaned. “Okay…” Slowly, and with some reluctance, she rose to sit up, stretching her arms above her head and yawning. Doing so caused her shirt to rise, exposing her belly, a view that was tantalizing and brought memories of her hot skin bare beneath his hands flooding back to Cullen’s mind. Nevena blinked, smiled a small dopey smile and shuffled towards him. “Hi…” she mumbled, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” he kissed her nose. “Go get showered.” He patted her thigh in a gentle suggestion she get moving. “I’ll have one after you.”

“Then we get going?”

He nodded, “once Varric and Cassandra are ready, we’ll get going.”

Nevena smiled, kissed him, and clambered off the bed.

The Hanged Man was located in one of the less savoury neighbourhoods of Kirkwall and Cullen was pleased, in a strange sort of a way to see that the macabre piece of a carved wooden man being dangled by his feet above the door hadn’t changed in the years since his last visit. It had aged. There were water stains from rain, and the rope that once held it aloft had been exchanged for some kind of thick industrial wire, but beyond that it was the same. Even the interior appeared exactly the same. The hardwood floors were sticky underfoot, the tables all looked as though they had seen better days and Cullen counted only four matching chairs. All the rest was a brick-a-brac of stools and chairs probably bought from car boot or yard sales.

When he was stationed in Kirkwall, he only frequented The Hanged Man when he was dragged along by his comrades. Back then, the beer was awful and strong. More than once an evening at The Hanged Man resulted in a horrific hangover the next morning and Cullen doubled over the toilet, suffering.

Still, despite its décor and the rough look of the place, it was… familiar. Homey. Despite the threatening name and the way everything looked as though it was being held together by duct tape and glue, there was a friendliness to it that came with the patrons glancing towards the door and the barkeep warmly greeting their group as they entered.

Cullen glanced down at Nevena at his side, worried she would be disappointed that whatever she imagined his ‘old stomping ground’ to be, this would not be it. He was surprised to see her grinning, and her eyes wide, taking in everything around her.

She was the same the whole time they walked around Kirkwall. Cullen forgot it was her first visit, so everything was new and fascinating for her. Although Kirkwall was just like any other city to him, Nevena found small nuances and intricacies that he either missed, overlooked in his time there, or had forgotten about.

Like how some of the paving stones were carved with sigils and symbols from ancient Tevinter, which made sense, when Cullen really thought about it. Kirkwall was built by the ancient Tevinter Imperium and had been abandoned when the original inhabitants retreated back to their homeland thousands of years ago. She paid attention to the bronze statues that lined some of the streets and reeled of interesting little facts about the number of stairs in each flight they came across as they walked from place to place – explaining how certain numbers had specific meanings for the ancient Tevinters.

The walk-through Kirkwall’s Hightown, where Varric lived took them through a collection of large houses that had been converted to flats to make room for the growing population. They cut through the old Grand Cathedral courtyard, wound down though the main thoroughfare of shops, where they paused to window shop and – much to Cullen’s chagrin – Varric guided them so they had to at least pass by The Blooming Rose.

It was open, two bouncers standing outside it with ear pieces and frisking anyone who wanted entry. Cullen was at least glad to see the place had upped its security since his last time in Kirkwall. As a TEMPLAR he was called out one too many times to deal with disturbances there. Several times he escorted rowdy clients or violent ones to spend the night in the Gallows. Though Varric teased about going inside to at least have a drink, Cassandra was the one to cut that idea down in its tracks and got them walking towards Lower Kirkwall, and their primary destination.

When they entered the Hanged Man, Varric was immediately recognised and greeted by a gristled older man behind the bar. He beckoned both Varric and Cassandra over, and Nevena went with them, guided by Varric to be introduced. Cullen found a table to sit at and glanced over the small bar food menu. There wasn’t a lot on offer, and Cullen didn’t think he would eat anything from the Hanged Man kitchens anyway, if the front of house was anything to go by. Still, he was pleased to see the place in business and, apparently, doing quite well.

There was music coming from over some old speakers, and Cullen found himself tapping his fingers along to the beat of the music while letting his mind and eyes wander over the interior of the building. Most patrons glanced his way, and then went back to their drinks or their conversation. One of the wait staff smiled at him when they made eye contact – he smiled back out of politeness. He examined some of the décor on the wall. Strange, obscure signs from a by-gone era. More macabre art, similar to the hanging man outside. Some black and white photographs of Kirkwall from years ago, blown up to be bigger. It was all very quaint and comfortable, enough to put him at ease.

The sense of someone watching him only dawned on him after he’d been sitting quietly for about five minutes. A gaze, not angry or threatening, watching him from across the room. He searched for the source, smiling to himself when he realised Nevena was watching him from the bar, where she was standing slightly off to one side while Cassandra and Varric continued their conversation with the bar tender.

Realising she’d been caught staring, she offered a small bashful smile and equally sheepish wave, before turning her attention back to the conversation… For about ten seconds. Then her eyes were on Cullen again, and this time neither of them looked away.

It was a strange sensation, as though the room and the world around them melted while their eyes were locked. Cullen could feel himself smiling and warmth on his cheeks, beginning to spill down his neck. Nevena quirked the corner of her mouth a little. Her gaze dropped as she fiddled with the cuff of her jumper, and then she lifted it again to meet Cullen’s eyes. This time, she bit the corner of her bottom lip in a way that was coy but also reminded Cullen of the night they spent together, and for the second time that day, his mind was flooded with memories of that time. The smell of her skin, the sound of her voice in his ears. Breathy moans, soft murmurs of his name spurring him on. The way she clung to him, as if trying to draw him deeper into her with every grind of his hips.

He shifted in his seat, his legs jiggling under the table while he tried to ignore the heaviness that settled in his stomach. There was heat in her gaze, the same kind of heat he’d seen in her the night before while they were in his room. The same heat he’d seen in her gaze when they were alone in Redcliffe, and during the crossing to Kirkwall.

Was she thinking the same things he was? Was her mind filled with sights and sounds like his? Did she hear his grunts in her ears? Could she feel his weight on top of her? The way his heart raced when he came? Nevena licked her bottom lip. She tilted her head back, lifting one hand to brush her fingers back through her hair, pushing it away from her neck and shoulder. Her throat was exposed, and Cullen remembered the sounds she made when he kissed her there. He remembered the giggles too, when his stubble tickled her.

His fingers twitched. It was as though every gesture reminded him of the night before. Of breaths and bodies intertwined and how easily and naturally they came together. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Clothes remained, which he didn’t mind, and he would need to spend more time tending to Nevena’s needs in the future, rather than focus on himself… but there was time. There would be time. Plenty of it, once they were back in Denerim and they could really try this relationship out. And he wanted to spend time getting to know her body. Exploring every inch of her, covering her skin with kisses. He wanted to spend hours caressing her skin, memorizing every curve and dip. If she allowed him, he wanted to rest his head between her thighs. He wanted to feel soft flesh around his ears. Wanted the taste of her on his tongue, to hear the way her voice lifted as he brought her to the edge with his mouth and his fingers. He wanted to see her satisfied, satiated, loved and adored and--

Someone sitting down heavily opposite him broke Cullen’s train of thought, and The Hanged Man came back into view in a dramatic and jarring fashion – like glass breaking. Cullen’s face was hot, and his jeans were tighter around his erection mercifully hidden by the table. He could almost see the redness in his cheeks, so he swallowed hard and cleared his throat, breaking his gaze away from Nevena – who was now in conversation with Varric and the bartender.

Cassandra sat on the other side of the table, her drink and his on coasters between them. Cullen lifted his beer to drink. She levelled him with a long, judging look, before taking a sip from her glass. “Honestly, the way you two were looking at each other, I’m surprised you didn’t set the tables between you on fire.” Cullen sputtered on his mouthful, quickly thumping his chest to clear it as the beer went down the wrong way making his eyes water. Cassandra held no sympathy, and simply waited for him to settle before she spoke again. “I say this to you as a friend, and meaning no insult, but you need to slow down.”

“I… what?” Cullen asked, blinking hard. “I thought you liked Nevena.”

“I do.” Cassandra said. “I do like her. I think she’s very sweet. But I am concerned for you.”

“You needn’t be, I’m in total control of my faculties.”

“Cullen,” sighed Cassandra. The severity of her expression belied a genuine sincerity in her words. She was looking out for him, as she had become accustomed to doing. Cassandra only had his best interests at heart. He swallowed his pride to hear her out.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’ve never moved this fast with anyone.” Cassandra explained, “I worry that you’re rushing into things. You’re adults. What you do is your business, but I hoped that the two of you coming here would allow you to put some space between you and examine your relationship. Instead, you’re practically joined at the hip.”

“And that’s… bad?”

“No,” she took a sip of her drink and quickly glanced back to where Nevena and Varric were still engrossed in conversation. The bartender was pointing to the various decorations and photographs on the wall, explaining what some of them were. “It seems… out of character, for you, to rush in like some foolhardy, lovesick school boy.”

“I’m not...” Cullen sighed and rubbed his hand over his chin. Leaning his elbow on the table, he took a breath and tried to contain the irritation building in side him. “We’re not rushing things.”

“You’ve known each other less than a month.” Cassandra argued, her voice waspish. “You’ve shared a bed the nights you’ve been here, despite both having your own rooms. You disappeared from the party last night to spend time with her. Cullen, I’m simply suggesting you put the brakes on, at least a little.”

“I know,” Cullen’s tone was still and hard. “But it’s hard to do when you just… know.”

“Know what?”

“That…” he tutted, the tips of his ears warming. “That the person in front of you is just the right one for you.” He saw a look of disbelief in Cassandra’s face. “You’re a romantic. You know that sometimes it just feels right.”

“In books.” Cassandra said. “In films. In television. It doesn’t work that way in real life, Cullen.”

“Maybe it does!” he tried to keep his voice low, but a few patrons glanced at the table when he spoke. He took a long inhale, trying to calm himself. “Maybe it never has for you, but… I don’t know. I can’t explain how I feel about her, but I know that it’s good. I know that I have never felt like this about anyone. Not even Solona.”

Cassandra touched his hand, “and I’m happy for you, I am.”

“But…?”

“But I would hate to see you go so fast into something, only to be hurt. Nevena seemed sincere when I spoke to her. She also seemed… hesitant.”

“Hesitant?” Cullen repeated. “Well,” he took a sip of his beer to give him a moment to think. “She probably didn’t like you interrogating her at six o’clock in the morning.” His words came out sharper than he anticipated, and Cassandra’s gaze grew stony. She removed her hand from his.

“I was not interrogating her, merely airing my concerns, as I am doing now. With you.” She stated with a steady, detached coolness. “You will do whatever you decide, as you always do. I have said what I meant to say, and I will continue to say that I believe you should slow down, before you say something or do something you cannot take back, but ultimately, you will do as you see fit.”

“Thank you for that, at least.” Cullen bit back, knowing how petulant he sounded.

Cassandra pursed her lips. She took a long drink from her glass and the two of them sat in silence, waiting for Varric and Nevena to come to the table and join them. Cullen fumed quietly. He thought Cassandra liked Nevena, but now he wondered if that was the case at all. Or if Cassandra was simply pretending for Nevena’s sake.

Why couldn’t his friend just be happy for him?

He found someone, quite unexpectedly, that he liked and cared about. Yes, maybe things were going too fast. Or faster than he or they anticipated – but they were acting as though he and Nevena were getting married after knowing each other a day when that wasn’t the case. He supposed it wasn’t easy for them to see the whole picture. After all, they hadn’t witnessed everything the two of them had experienced together, all the things they told each other, and the intimacies they shared. He supposed that from the outside and not knowing everything, maybe it did seem like he and Nevena were like a train careening off the rails with no end in sight.

Of course, there was the worry that Cassandra had a point.

What if Nevena wasn’t as invested as he was? And what if perhaps she was simply trying to meet him step-for-step? Maybe she would have preferred if things moved at a more sedate pace but was too afraid to say something. Given her past experiences when she gave her negative opinion, he wouldn’t have put it past her to stay silent to maintain avoid confrontation. And that… only further added to his worry.

What if he was forcing her into this relationship? What if everything he felt wasn’t entirely reciprocated? What if, despite everything, he was just like Rick?

That thought made Cullen’s stomach turn.

He didn’t want to be another Rick in Nevena’s life. He wanted her to be free to make her own choices. To be with him because she wanted to be, not because she felt obligated, or too afraid to say, “thank you, but no thank you”. He thought back to the ship and was horrified to remember that he was the one who prompted her to say what she said, about giving their relationship a chance. Had he put the words in her mouth? What if she’d been trying to say something else and he’d spoken over her?

Maker, had he really been so crass and thoughtless? What if everything from that point had been because she was afraid of angering him? What if she had never wanted things to get as far as they had? She never wanted him to get as attached as he was? What if everything they’d done was because she felt she had to, and not because she wanted to?

Sickening coldness slithered through Cullen’s body. It made his skin crawl and his whole being from the outside-in feel empty and numb. Was he just another Rick? He hoped not, but now the seed was planted and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was just as bad, if not worse.

His spiral into self-loathing ended briefly when Varric and Nevena joined them at the table. Varric sat beside Cassandra, and Nevena beside Cullen. Immediately she reached out and squeezed his hand, a sweet smile on her face. Cullen tried to return it, but it felt like his face was going to crack, so he distracted himself with a drink. He could feel the warmth of her skin trying to penetrate the coldness of his fingertips. He wanted to lace his fingers between hers, to brush his thumb over her knuckles as he had done over and over and over again… but now he wasn’t sure if he could.

If he even should.

Cullen fell silent while the others talked, the sense of dread and self-hatred threatening to swallow him whole.

They left The Hanged Man at around quarter to seven, as the exhibition Cassandra suggested they attend started at seven. While Cassandra and Varric led the way, Nevena followed with Cullen at her side, clasping his hand. They spent a good two hours at The Hanged Man, mostly Varric talking and regaling her with tales of his friends, and their exploits around the city. Cullen was worryingly quiet. At first, Nevena thought it was simply because he was letting Varric talk, but after a while she noticed he began to fidget with his hands, lacing and unlacing his fingers over and over again. She wondered if the tremors had returned and watched carefully when he had his hands on the table. She couldn’t see any shaking, but Cullen had years of practice when he wanted to hide it.

When they left the warmth of the pub, the biting cold forced the air from her lungs; stunning her for a moment until she sucked in an almost painfully frozen breath and pulled her coat tighter around her. They passed what remained of the Grand Cathedral on their way to the Hanged Man, and at the time Nevena had taken little notice. Now, as they approached, she could see the sheer mass of the building. Even though most of it was destroyed and a large amount had been rebuilt, what remained of the original foundation gave some small indication to its original enormity. She ventured a guess that before the structure was destroyed, it would have dwarfed the cathedral in Redcliffe.

“How was the original Grand Cathedral destroyed?” Nevena asked Varric as the four of them climbed the stairs up towards the main entrance. The steps themselves were lined with candles, all part of the exhibition it seemed. There were other people making their way too. Nevena saw security guards at the bottom of the stairs, and saw two more standing at the large open, double doors, checking people’s bags and directing them to walk through what appeared to be metal detectors.

“It was blown up.” Varric sighed. “Someone desperate to be heard and who was tired of being ignored… His, and the plight of other people going ignored.”

“Oh,” Nevena mumbled.

“Cullen was here when it happened, weren’t you?” Cassandra asked, glancing back over her shoulder at Cullen who seemed to start when he was addressed.

“Hm? What was that?”

“You were in Kirkwall when the Chantry was destroyed.”

“Oh,” Cullen swallowed visibly. “Y-yes, I was.” He offered Nevena a brief smile, his hand clenching for a moment around hers. She could recall him mentioning Kirkwall the first time he opened up to her, after his panic attack on the ski lift. How he said he had become trapped in the rubble of a destroyed house for days after trying to help someone else trapped inside.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive topic,” Nevena murmured, reaching across to rub his arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner. Cullen gave a weak smile and continued after Varric and Cassandra when the security guards had checked them over for anything potentially dangerous.

Concern gnawed the back of Nevena’s mind. There was something off. In the time between arriving at The Hanged Man and she and Varric sitting down after the bartender talked to her at length about the history of the place, something had changed in Cullen’s demeanour. That morning he was warm and affectionate, and while he wasn’t being cold towards her per se, there was something… off. He held her hand but didn’t go to take her hand. She kept being the one to hold his. He hadn’t kissed her since before they arrived at The Hanged Man, and his smile seemed strained.

She put the change in him down to one of two things: a headache, which she could understand given the cold and the late night or, he and Cassandra spoke while they were alone, and there was a disagreement between them. Nevena didn’t want to pry. If it was a disagreement between Cullen and Cassandra, then it wasn’t her place to butt her nose in and ask questions, but she was worried. Given how much Cullen’s demeanour changed, it was clear that if it was a disagreement, it clearly weighed heavily on Cullen’s mind. And if it was a headache, then he was forcing himself to carry on with their outing, when he probably just wanted to go home and sleep.

Nevena caught up with him when they got inside the cathedral.

What was destroyed had mostly been rebuilt though in a more simplistic style. So much of the original Tevinter architecture had been lost, but there were certain aspects that remained intact. In some cases, parts that remained destroyed added a certain character to the place. A giant statue of Andraste covered in gold leaf now stood head-and-shoulderless, just two extended arms holding a bowl of eternal flame above the visitors. The aged wooden pews had been exchanged for chairs, and many of the tiles in the flooring had been left cracked and broken.

The vast inside of the cathedral was dimmed and lit with electric wall sconces all around the edge of the main chamber, and up the stairs to the galleries. There were already at least a hundred people who had come to visit the exhibition of local artists and their works. Strangely, there was a small choir of young men and women near the half-destroyed statue, singing softly giving the whole building an eerie ambience. Some benches had been provided for people to sit on while they took time to fully absorb the works of art available to them for viewing. The pieces themselves were eclectic to say the least. Paintings the size of windows, sculptures, glass hangings, some modern pieces displayed hanging from the rafters were drawing a lot of attention. Nevena realised, rather sheepishly, she had never really been in an art gallery, except when she was on school trips.

“There’s no set place to start,” Cassandra informed her and Cullen, quickly skimming a free leaflet that contained blurbs about the pieces on display and the artists. “But there is going to be a talk in about fifteen minutes from the curator. While there’s no starting point, all the pieces chosen have a secret theme in common which she’s going to talk about!” There was little hiding Cassandra’s excitement, and she hurried to one side of the main thoroughfare with Varric.

Nevena walked to the opposite side of the cathedral where Cullen was already staring at a large landscape picture. At least, it looked like a single image from afar, on closer inspection Nevena realised it was hundreds upon thousands of pictures all carefully put together to create one massive image of what she could only assume was Kirkwall from a great elevated distance.

“It’s what Kirkwall looked like before…” Cullen said, “the photos used are all from when...” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “From the attack, and the aftermath.”

“Is it hard for you to be here?” Nevena asked, shifting closer as a plump woman jostled forward to get a better look. Nevena bumped into Cullen’s side. He appeared to move an arm to wrap around her, but stopped mid-gesture, and instead lifted his hand to rub the scar on his lip. Nevena’s concern grew.

“Funnily enough, no.” Cullen smiled grimly. “Despite what happened here, being trapped, Kirkwall… I have no issue being here, walking around. Not like when we were in Kinloch.”

“Hm,” Nevena rocked back and forth on her heels. “Feels like it was weeks ago we were there.”

“This whole experience feels like it’s been going on for months.” Sighed Cullen. A moment later, it was like his brain caught up with the words and he stumbled, “I-I mean—that is, I don’t mean it’s felt like months because it’s been a bad experience. It’s just that—"

“Cullen,” Nevena gently squeezed his arm, “it’s okay. I know what you mean.” She smiled up at him, and for the first time in what felt like hours, he smiled back and the lines of worry that creased his brow all afternoon lifted.

“Sorry, I’ve not been very good company today, have I?”

“Do you have a headache?”

“No,” Cullen pushed a hand back through his hair and breathed out in a rush. “Over-thinking.”

“Isn’t that my job?” teased Nevena.

“I have my moments of it, too.” The plump woman next to Nevena pushed in front of her and Cullen to get a better look at the smaller photographs. Cullen took Nevena’s hand – a sensation of relief washed over her when he did – and he led her a small distance down the cathedral to a tall sculpture of a couple embracing that was tucked away in what must have been a vestibule once. The sculpture itself was carved from some kind of white stone, and illuminated by the flame sconces on the wall, causing intricate shadows to appear on the faces of the figures, giving them expressions that seemed to move with the light.

“May I ask you a question?”

“So formal.” Nevena tried to keep the atmosphere light, but Cullen was clearly agitated, shifting his weight from side-to-side. She sobered, led him to a small two-seater bench, and sat. He joined her, keeping a small distance between them. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” Nevena was starting to notice that Cullen had a habit of simply blurting out questions that were causing him anxiety. It was sort of sweet, in an awkward kind of way. His question did take her by surprise, and it took a moment for Nevena to gather her wits.

“Do you?”

“I…” Cullen huffed, “actually, maybe… yes?” He scrunched his eyes closed. “I just, I want to make sure we’re both on the same page. I don’t… I don’t normally go this fast, with anyone. Ever. I’m… in the past, it’s been weeks of texts and phone calls, and coffee before I’ve even gone on an actual date with someone, let alone kissed them or done half the stuff we have.”

Nevena tried to keep the smile on her lips, but felt it falter as he spoke. A sickening feeling settled in her stomach that he was going to change his mind from everything he said in Redcliffe, and on the boat, he was going to change his mind from everything he said in Kinloch.

“Okay,” Nevena managed to say after finding her voice. “Well, we might be going a bit faster than is… traditional, but as long as we’re both happy with where we are, then that’s okay, right?”

“Well, that leads me to my next question.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Are you?”

“Am I… what?”

“Happy? W-with where we are, I mean? Are we on the same page?”

“I was given to understand we were,” Nevena squinted at him, “unless something has changed in the last couple of hours.”

“No. No.” Cullen closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least, I don’t think so?”

Nevena shifted closer to him. “Darling, talk to me.” She took his hands in hers. “Come on, we can’t figure this out unless we talk. And I’m meant to be the one with the communication issues, here.” Another attempt to make light and Cullen did manage to chuckle.

“Forgive me if this…” He stopped and sighed. “I have this horrible feeling that I… perhaps put words in your mouth. On the boat from Gwaren to Kirkwall.”

Nevena quirked a brow. “In what way?”

“When… after dinner, when we were talking, and you were trying to tell me something, I… I think I said what I thought you were trying to say, without really letting you say what you were trying to say— uh, does that make sense? Perhaps I was over-eager, or… or something, but it occurred to me that what I thought you were trying to say and what you were actually trying to say might have been two completely different things.” He spoke quickly, words tumbling out like a faucet on full blast. “And then I started thinking that everything we’d done since then had been because you felt you had to, and not because you wanted to, because you were worried I’d be angry, because I had presumed, rather than listened. So, I—"

“Hold on, hold on.” Nevena lifted a hand and gently placed her hand over Cullen’s mouth. “Are you worried that since the boat, everything we’ve done has been because I felt trapped into a corner?” She removed her hand.

“Yes,” Cullen said, after a moment. Then he added, hurriedly, “I don’t want to be another Rick in your life. Making you do things you don’t want to because you’re afraid of the consequences of saying no to me. I want you to be comfortable with me, enough that you can say no if something we’re doing, or something I’m doing isn’t…”

Nevena barely kept her laughter contained as she leaned forward and kissed him, cupping his face in her hands. Cullen stayed still apparently shocked by her act of affection until he returned the kiss, smiling against her lips.

“You could not be more different from Rick even if you tried.” Nevena assured him as she pulled away and brushed her nose against his. “Cullen, darling, you’re the utter antithesis to him. Everything we’ve done has been because I’ve wanted to. Because we’ve wanted to. From Redcliffe, to last night, we were both willing participants.” Nevena kissed him again before pulling away completely so they could look at each other better. “You didn’t put words in my mouth on the boat, you helped me say what I wanted to say. Even before that, you have respected my boundaries and stopped doing anything the moment I’ve said something, so…” Nevena cradled Cullen’s face in one hand and ran her thumb beneath his eye, “don’t worry, okay?”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “Okay.”

“And, if we are going fast, then we can always put on the brakes if you want to. You keep talking about how you want me to be comfortable, well – this has to go both ways. I want you to be happy and comfortable, too.”

“I am.” Cullen said quickly, grabbing the attention of a passer-by who happened to glance into the alcove. “I mean, I am – happy, that is – with where we are.”

“Me too.” Nevena leaned in. Cullen met her half way pressing his forehead to hers. “I think I’ll be happier in Denerim though. Kirkwall is great, but there’s a part of me really hankering for home.”

“Same.” Cullen chuckled. He kissed her forehead and then exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry if this came out of nowhere. I suppose I need to work on my communication skills, too.”

Nevena shrugged, “we’ll get there when we get there. At least we’re talking about things.”

“True.”

“Do you mind if I ask what set this off?”

“Cassandra.” Cullen groaned, “she wasn’t being malicious. Just concerned. I can understand that. To an outside perspective I suppose it does seem like we’re going a million miles an hour.”

“Mhmm…” Nevena mumbled. She sat back a little. “Do you think if we slept in our own rooms it might give her peace of mind? I don’t want to cause friction between you and her. Or you and anyone.”

Cullen sighed again. “Maybe? I don’t know… We’ll see how we feel tonight.”

“Okay.”

There was a clapping sound from inside the main foyer of the chantry and a voice that Nevena could vaguely make out was informing the visitors that the curator was running late and would be giving her talk in ten minutes. A sound of excited murmuring arose after the announcement, and feet hurrying to find seats.

Cullen stretched and reached into his back pocket. Nevena saw the screen on his phone was alight with notifications and he frowned at the screen. “Six missed calls…”

“Important?”

“Potentially.” He pursed his lips, “I’ll go and call back outside so I don’t disturb anyone in here.” He got to his feet and kissed the top of Nevena’s head. “Back in a minute. We’ll go and find Varric and Cassandra once I clear this.”

He left with a quick stride, heading towards the entrance and weaving his way through people. Nevena sat quietly on the bench, her back facing the other visitors to the exhibition. A weight lifted off her shoulders and she breathed a little easier now she and Cullen had talked and she knew what was bothering him. She supposed it was normal. After all, she questioned their relationship too, and this was definitely new and, in some cases, utterly uncharted territory for them. She never expected to find someone like Cullen through a suggestion from a friend. Didn’t expect a ploy to pull the wool over her family’s eyes would result in finding someone so life changing – but she had.

Fate, sometimes, had a strange way of working.

Nevena looked up at the faces of the statues in front of her. The flames from the wall sconces created delicate expressions and images in the facets of the sculpture. As though each divot in the stonework was created with exact purpose and reason. As she watched the flames on the stone, she saw the expressions turn from happy and joyful, to laughing, sadness, anger, confusion. A whole plethora of expressions passing every second. Almost a true reflection of reality.

Two hands landed on Nevena’s shoulders and she barely concealed a surprised yelp. “That was fast,” Nevena said, smiling as she reached up to brush her fingers over the back of Cullen’s hand. “Ready to go listen to this talk?” She went to get up, but the hands on her shoulders pushed down keeping her in place. Cullen’s hands slid forward, fingers gently circling around her throat. Nevena swallowed hard, her heart beginning to race. Just Cullen playing a joke. “Cullen, I don’t want to miss the talk.”

“It’s been a while, Nene.”

Nevena froze.

She recognised the voice behind her and it didn’t belong to Cullen.

I hate cliff-hangers, don't you?

Who could the mysterious voice be? FIND OUT NEXT TIME. Sorry, I'm in a weird mood. So, how did you find this chapter? Do you think Cassandra is right to be worried and to question whether Cullen and Nevena's relationship is going too fast? Was it nice to see a bit of role reversal? To see Nevena offering comfort and reassurance to Cullen? To know that he sometimes has these worries and concerns that things aren't quite right? How about that bit of insight into Cullen and how little he really thinks of himself? Comparing himself to Rick... That's pretty damn terribad, right?

Anyway, I'll leave you guys stewing in the cliffhanger. Hopefully there won't be a delay in the next chapter upload! Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think/thought/your theories and opinions in the comments/tag flails/reblogs! And I'll talk to y'all in the next chapter. <3

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palmettoes · 6 years

Note

Prompt from your prompt list: 49, andreil. Bonus points for angst.

(this is not really as angsty as i intended bc it’s big soft hours and i need them to love each other but ! thank u pls enjoy some protective and emotional andrew for ur soul)

send me prompts! (p.s. these will stay open indefinitely so feel free to keep em coming. doesn’t have to be from the list if u want smth else!!)

49. “Take off your shirt.”

Seeing Neil for the first time after being apart alwaysfeels a little like heartburn. Andrew very much thinks he should be used tothis after a year of living in pockets of time between Colorado and SouthCarolina, but Neil steps through the door to his apartment and Andrew’s chestaches with want.

Neil has no reservations about making himself at home inAndrew’s space, filling the silence with a presence so loud it makes Andrewyearn. They have spent long enough watching each other’s backs that Andrewdoesn’t try to hide the way he tracks Neil’s every move. Neil is a good actor,or a good liar, or some combination of the two that makes no difference toAndrew, so he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking.

Neil kicks his shoes, drops his bag, and flops onto thecouch, spreadeagled and with his leg overlapping Andrew’s at the ankle, thesame way he always does. But Andrew is looking and it’s been five years.He knows what to look for.

Neil’s movements are familiar in their casual indifference,but Andrew can see the way he tilts slightly to the left, how he calculatesevery breath around the position of his chest. Andrew is looking, as he alwaysis, but for the first time in years, Neil is hiding.

“I didn’t expect you to still be up,” Neil says into thecrook of the arm draped over his face, exhaustion evident in every line of hisposture. Andrew drops his hand to rest on Neil’s thigh and presses his thumbinto the dimple at the side of his kneecap. Yeah right, it says andNeil’s smile peeks out from behind his forearm. Andrew always stays up to greetNeil’s arrival. It’s what they do.

“The Lions weren’t impressed when I took off at the firstsign of a break. Something about it not being team spirit.” Neil lets his armslip away, tilting his head to watch Andrew watch him.

“But what do you care?” Andrew says when it becomes apparentNeil has lost his train of thought.

“But what do I care,” Neil agrees. “They’re lucky to have meat all.”

Andrew snorts. “Don’t let Kevin hear you getting allbigheaded.”

“Kevin wouldn’t want me selling myself short,” Neil says,affecting surprise, “Haven’t you heard? I’m going to be Court.”

Andrew digs his thumb into Neil’s knee again but it isn’t areprimand, not really. He has long since stopped denying Neil a future and,more recently, stopped denying his place in it. It’s a work in progress butthey both know he would follow Neil anywhere, to the ends of the Earth or tothe Olympic Court.

Neil struggles against a yawn for several seconds beforelosing and letting his eyes drift closed in the wake of it. Andrew’s thumbreleases its pressure and takes to rubbing light circles into Neil’s skininstead, delighting in the way Neil’s muscles relax beneath his touch.

“There’s a perfectly good bed just two rooms away,” Andrewoffers and Neil hums in agreement but makes no move to get up. If anything, heslackens further into the dip of the couch cushion. Andrew bites down on theinside of his cheek and looks away, willing his frenetic heartbeat into astandstill. He knows better than to let himself be caught up in Neil’s web oflies, even if it’s been a long time since Neil spun one just for him. He triesnot to think about the implications of that.

“Take off your shirt,” he says conversationally, givingNeil’s leg one final squeeze before forcibly moving his hand away. It’s like amousetrap, how quickly Neil goes stiff again at the first pressure against hisfaçade. He sits up straight and watches Andrew, who watches him, and they playtug of war in the push and pull of their gazes.

“What?” Neil asks, but it comes out full of everything else.He sounds too open, too secretive; too brash, too easy. He must know Andrewdoesn’t believe it for a second.

“I’m not blind, Josten, even without my glasses. Take. Off.Your shirt.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Neil says, and Andrew can’t tellif it’s habit or a poorly-timed attempt at a joke. He stares at Neil forseveral loaded seconds.

“It wasn’t really a request,” he says, which they both knowis bullshit. If Neil said no, he would find another way to get the answers hewants that doesn’t involve asking more than Neil can give. But Neil isn’tsaying no, he just isn’t acting on the yes resting under his tongue.

Neil fists his hands in the hem of his shirt, pointedlyevades Andrew’s glare, and tugs it up and over his head. Andrew’s chest bottomsout. The cartography of Neil’s torso is familiar, the way dark skin gives outto a mesh of mottled scars and puckered wounds. Andrew could map every inch ofit with his eyes closed.

The despondent blue of fresh bruising isn’t whollyunfamiliar, but nor is it a welcome addition. Andrew wants to touch it, but hishands stay steady in his lap. He doesn’t trust himself not to press down, down,down, not to bend and break and burn the only thing he can reach. Neil islooking at him again but Andrew can’t afford to look away from the discolouredpatches under his ribcage, just in case. Just in case Neil crumbles before hisvery eyes.

“Who,” Andrew says, a choked question abandoned midwaythrough delivery.

Neil shrugs and looks away, then looks back all too quicklylike he can’t decide which is safer.

“It was just a bit of fun,” Neil says, though hisnonchalance falls several steps short on believable.

“Fun,” Andrew echoes, and the word tastes ashen in hismouth.

“Hazing, I guess.”

“The Lions did this to you?”

“It was just a bit of fun,” Neil repeats and in that moment,Andrew hates the word. He is a spring coiled tight around the one thing heholds close and Neil is making a show of releasing the catch.

“What did they do?” He can’t tell if knowing will make theviolence easier or harder to contain under his skin, but he knows he will snapif he doesn’t find out.

“Nothing, really. They had me tied up, but it wasn’t theirfault. They didn’t know I would panic.”

Andrew can taste his heartbeat, a pulsing anger in the backof his throat. He swallows against it but his chest constricts and he wondersif his hands have ever known anything but the shape of violence, but the weightof a knife.

“You are transferring teams,” he says because it’s the onlything he can think with any sense of finality.

“Andrew, I have a contract.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay. Well, you know who does care? The Moriyamas.”Andrew’s glare snaps back to Neil’s at that, and Neil returns it with equalweight. “I think the bruises I’d get from them might be a little worse thanthis if they found out I turned down a contract because of a silly bit of fun.”

“It isn’t silly when your safety is concerned.”

Neil laughs hollowly. “And you’d be the expert on keeping mesafe, I suppose.”

“Well it’s not like you do a very good job of it,” Andrewsnaps.

“I managed just fine for eighteen years. Your concern ismisplaced. I didn’t need you then and I don’t need you now.”

Andrew caves and falls apart. He slams his walls in placereflexively, holding himself together between brickwork and mortar. He wasfoolish to think he could have this, to think he could have anything at all.But he knows the pattern of his breakdowns better than he knows how to openhimself up and let Neil climb inside. Fighting is familiar. Breaking is anunfortunate side effect.

“Whatever,” he says, the word freezing over before it has somuch as left his lips, and he leaves the room before Neil can retaliate.

Staring at the double bed in his bedroom isn’t much better.It is full of Neil, from the creases in the linen to the stray hoodie abandonedover the left pillow. It feels hot to the touch and cold in all the cracks,like winter is creeping between their bed sheets, and Andrew has never done toowell with snow. He cannot take it. He grabs his pillow and the spare blanketrumpled at the end of the bed and storms out with ice filling his veins.

Neil is still sitting on the couch, watching the doorway,and his presence is so obnoxious it bursts at the seams. Andrew gives himseveral seconds to catch on and, when no recognition is forthcoming, stepsforward to dump the bedding onto his abandoned spot on the couch.

“Move,” he says without looking at Neil. It’s hard when heis the loudest thing in the room, taking up so much space Andrew has to breathehim in just to release the tension in the air.

“What are you doing?”

Andrew scoffs and makes a point of glaring into the back ofthe couch despite the weight of Neil’s gaze, despite the way his eyes betrayhim with subconscious darts to his left.

“It’s one in the morning, Neil. Most people like to use thistime to sleep.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Andrew. I’ll sleep on thesofa.” Neil’s voice is laced with exhaustion, like he has sewn all his energyinto keeping his gaze sharp and left nothing to knit himself together. Andrewdoesn’t have to look at him to feel his stitches come loose; they snap liketwigs under Andrew’s fingers.

“Funny, I don’t remember giving you an option,” he says,patience slipping from the weak end of his grasp. He kicks lightly at Neil’sfoot—not close enough to touch, but the gesture sets alarm bells ringing. IfNeil knows anything at all about reading Andrew in fragile moments, he willtake it as the warning it is.

Infuriatingly, he does. He leaves just as Andrew wanted, andAndrew hates him for it. Neil has a habit of reading between the lines evenwhen there aren’t lines to read between, and he gives Andrew what he wantswithout hesitation. It sets Andrew’s blood boiling and his teeth grinding. It’sbeen five years and some days Andrew still doesn’t know how to take what he’sgiven without bracing himself for the fallout.

Of course, Neil has always been good at flipping the cardswhen Andrew finds the pattern of aching all too familiar.

What Andrew doesn’t expect is to wake up to gentle breath athis brow, ghosting over frown lines and dipping towards his hairline. The roomis still dark enough that he can’t have been out for more than a couple ofhours. Neil is curled on the floor, head resting against the arm of the couch ascant few inches from Andrew’s, and knees tucked to his chest. Andrew noticesthe dip in his cheek when he bites the inside as they make eye contact.

“Sorry,” he whispers and Andrew feels it in the warmthfanning his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Andrew takes in the stiffness of his posture, the tightlines either side of his mouth, the harsh cut of his gaze.

“Have you slept?” he asks, more for show than anything, ashe already knows the answer.

“Couldn’t. I don’t like fighting.”

Andrew can’t help but roll his eyes at that because, really.Neil smiles and amends, “I don’t like it when it’s us.”

Andrew rolls onto his back and eyes the ceilingthoughtfully. There is a crack running from the edge of the cornice to a metreand a half short of the light fixing, and he is surprised to find nothing butwarmth pulsing back at him when he traces it.

“We aren’t fighting,” he says and it is as much news to himas it is to Neil.

“Okay,” Neil agrees easily, “but I don’t like this either.”

And that seems fair enough. Andrew lets it settle betweenthem, because he doesn’t know how to fix it just yet. It is strange to besomeone who fixes, who mends and builds and holds on tight, when he was raisedto break. To break his enemies, and his friends, and himself most of all. Hewonders if healing always feels like a bruise on every fingertip.

“Your team, your call,” he says eventually. He still isn’tlooking at Neil but he hears the answering sigh, feels it tickle just under hisear.

“Thank you. For worrying, and for letting it go,” Neil says.He softens around the edges and folds in the middle, going malleable beneathAndrew’s words. “I promise I’m handling it.”

Andrew turns back to Neil and reaches out a careful hand, apeace offering to seal the collision of their apologies. Neil keens into thetouch almost immediately and Andrew digs his fingers into soft curls, cuppingthe side of Neil’s face and smoothing his thumb over the mottled skin at Neil’scheekbone.

“I trust you,” he says, and somehow it is enough.

They end up in bed together like second nature and Andrewthinks this is how he knows best to fix things. His fingers curl into the gapsbetween Neil’s and they are warm, warm, warm in all the cracks. Andrewcan feel himself begin to thaw.

“I do,” Neil says drowsily, his breath ruffling the hairfrom Andrew’s forehead.

“What?”

“I do. I do need you.”

It’s like a sucker punch throwing Andrew off course justwhen he got his hands back on the wheel. All the breath leaves his body thenbowls back into him in one swift hit. He chokes on it.

“You don’t. Don’t lie to me.”

Neil is silent for a long moment and Andrew half expects himto slip unconscious before his brain comes up with a response. Half expects,half hopes. He doesn’t know which is dumber.

“Okay, I don’t. But I want you,” Neil says and Andrewbreathes. The air is a different kind of tight, his breath a different kind ofrushed, and his body stuck in a different kind of freefall. This one feels likeflying. Andrew doesn’t know how to translate the weight in his chest intowords, so he shifts forward instead. He kisses Neil in tandem with the pulse oftheir hearts and it means

and I you.

#apparently everything i write ends with andreil lying in bed together cool cool cool cool #this took me too long im sorry hfjfjsj it's been days but i finally churned out 2k for u anon #maz.dox #andreil #fic #anon #answered

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