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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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(i won’t say) i’m in love

― Bakugou’s feelings for you are true, but he can’t seem to utter those three words no matter how much he wishes to. ―

pt 2

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, alcohol mention, bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings

word count: 6,625

a/n: this was supposed to come out yesterday but I sort of got lazy and didn’t want to edit. anyways, I hope you enjoy, stories like this one are always fun to write and if you’re the anon who requested that bakugou thing like... a week ago, this was inspired by you.

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The first time that Bakugou really noticed you was during the final year at Yuuei.

Three years of vigorous and intensive academic and heroic work at the esteemed high school had led him to this very moment. While Bakugou was not the intensive hothead he once was when he was sixteen, he was definitely still hotheaded at the prime age of eighteen. With the end of the school year approaching, heavily enforced by the fact that a crowd of third-year middle schoolers had just left campus with hopeful and tired expressions on their face, he was grumbling while making his way back to his classroom.

For the practical part of their final, they were paired off to handle some insane over the top final as always. If Bakugou knew any better, he would be paired off with someone lame like Mineta or some shit. How he missed the days the teachers thought him and that damn nerd couldn’t get along enough to pass tests together… they had been paired up so often that first year - on top of finally establishing proper respect and an unadmitted friendship - it had led them to become an unbeatable force.

While Bakugou climbed the stairs after his loudly chattering classmates, he was sunk in his thoughts about who he would be with. Bakugou was versatile, and while he was often a pain to work with, he worked well with just about anyone. ‘Who hasn’t he worked with yet?’ he thought, his fingers fisted in his pockets while they gathered onto the floor where their classroom was located.

“MINA AGAIN?!” was the first noise to break through the aimless chatter to hold truth and knowledge.

Bakugou looked at Kaminari and Mina, who were both holding each other and crying.

Every single final, they had been paired up together, each time facing off the principal to be utterly demolished. Bakugou snickered at the thought of them failing the practical final for the nth time again.

“Looks like I’m with Todoroki!” Kirishima pointed out, his hand waving at the half and half bastard who was also seeking him out.

They had three weeks until final exams took place, and the fact that they were announcing the teams this early definitely sat the slightest bit uneasy with Bakugou. And with his attention back onto the role list, Bakugou found himself praying that Deku’s name was next to his. If there’s anyone left who wouldn’t hold him back, it would be him.

“Bakugou!” a voice yelled, and Bakugou looked away from the list to see you walking over with a wave of your hand. “We’re paired up!”

Just like that, Bakugou realized that during his three years here, he had never once been paired up with you, and his lips turned into a frown. Interesting.

“You’re not busy right now?” he didn’t even wait for you to confirm his thoughts, “Let’s go, the TDL should be free right now.” Bakugou practically commanded, uncaring that you were definitely not in clothes to be doing anything physically demanding.

“I needa change! I’ll meet you there in ten minutes!” was your unaffected response and Bakugou’s eyes narrowed when Kirishima jabbed him in the ribs, his eyes telling him to play nice.

“Tch. Fine, just don’t take forever.”

By the time you had returned to the TDL, Bakugou was still warming up, his hoodie pulled up to help his cold ears while he stretched.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up or teamed up before!” you called out while stretching your arms above your head. “You think they kept us apart for so long for that very reason?”

“Like hell I would know,” Bakugou grumbled, refusing to look at you while you finished up your warm-up routine, by the looks of it you had run from the dorm here; that was a good enough warm-up. “I don’t know what kind of crap they’re going to try and pull on us at this exam, but I want you to let you know that you better not fuck this up,” he stood up, his hands rotating in circles, relieving the built tension in his wrists while he stared at you for the first time. His calm gaze meeting your strong one. “I plan on walking out of here with a perfect score.”

A smile spread on your face while you nodded, “I plan on it, too.”

Pleased with your response, Bakugou’s lips quirked into a smirk, his stance lowering immediately, and he watched while you readied yourself.

“Ready?”

“Come at me.”

Bakugou sat on the floor, his eyes wide with his shock and personal embarrassment.

The practical final exam had been a fear-induced, villain crawling, pro hero gone bad filled nightmare. A test designed with the help of Support Course students and a teacher who generated physical and real items based on whatever she thought had caused a most horrendous scene for Bakugou and you. It was then that Bakugou realized why both of you had been paired up - your fears were one and the same.

Failure, rejection, not being enough.

While both of you had been so good in the beginning, powering through every obstacle at alarming power and speed, there had been a hitch in the road right before the finish line. When a ‘villain’ took on the form of All Might and blamed him for this downfall that society knew. He had thought he was long past breaking over that, he believed that it was something he had healed over two years ago. This faux All Might carried himself just like the retired hero, changing between his big form and the small one, his words and accusations dropping like boulders on him with every broken whisper that passed his lips. Unlike you, Bakugou wasn’t able to fight this terror, wasn’t able to beat the thing that still tripped him up.

The loud ringing in his ear wouldn’t quit while he fell down, his breathing short and scattered. He couldn’t hear your screams while you were battling your own opponents while All Might drew closer to him.

His fault, this was all his fault.

But a bright light exploded across the room, and Bakugou eyes felt heavy while you threw him onto your back and took off. His last exam ever, and just like his first one, it finished with him being carried across the finish line, but where the first one still felt like a victory, this felt like a complete failure.

“Bakugou!” you exclaimed, your hands finding his pale, clammy cheeks in your hands while the victory tune carried lightly in the background. “Bakugou, can you hear me?!”

Of course, he could hear you, he wanted to snap as his body instinctively wished to push off his insecurity with anger. But his tongue was too heavy in his mouth, his eyes merely focusing onto your terrified face. You had taken a blast in the face earlier, and the bruising swollen lip you had was an indicator of the failure you came across.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay!” you reassured, your smile spreading wider, brighter on your face, your calloused fingers rubbing softly against his face. “You’re okay! It was fake, remember!”

“It wasn’t fake, though,” Bakugou heaved, his fingers trembling with his grief and suffocating anger while he shoved your hands from his face. “It wasn’t fake. I’m the reason fucking All Might is gone, why the world fell into chaos! You were there that day, weren’t you? The day I was taken from the fucking forest.”

Your eyes widened from the statement, but Bakugou couldn’t blame you for that. No one but Deku, Aizawa, and All Might knew about these feelings. Still, the emotions that sat heavily on his throat seemed to pierce themself further into his throat while you very obviously thought about the circumstances of that fateful night three years ago.

“How was it your fault you were taken?” you asked, your head tilted, arms folded across your chest.

Bakugou’s eyes widened, not at all expecting you to care or even try to calm him down. There was no point for you to either; it wasn’t as if you two were close after all.

“I was a fucking dick back then,” Bakugou grumbled, his head turning to the side his gaze refusing to look at you. No one had ever questioned his thoughts on this statement, everyone had always left it at that.

“You’re still a fucking dick,” you half teased half spoke truthfully, and your body sank to the floor, sitting before him with a tilted curious head. “A lot of people are dicks, but that doesn’t mean dicks are targeted by villains. I mean look at Endeavor, he was sort of a flaming dick back in the day, but he’s a hero.”

“But it’s different, I was barbaric to the point where they tied me up during the sports festival,” Bakugou reasoned, his gaze turning back to you, and was slightly shocked (not that he would show it) to see annoyance in your eyes.

“Yeah, and that was total bullshit of them to do!” you exclaimed, pushing a hand onto his grenade gauntlet. “There was no reason for them to do that for you, you didn’t think you won, and they should have just let you be. Giving you a medal like that was completely idiotic of them. Should you have behaved like that? No, you shouldn’t; it was childish and dumb of you, but they’re also the adults… they should have known better before strapping you up like a rabid dog in front of the world.”

“Wha-?”

“I get that we’re not… close friends Bakugou, but if you think that the League capturing you in an attempt to make you cross sides was your fault, which would lead to Kamino… I mean, it did lead to All Might losing his ability to use his quirk and all, but this has nothing to do with you,” you affirmed, your eyes deadly serious but with a type of kindness that Bakugou wasn’t used to. “You were trying to make a name for yourself in this competitive field, and you did! I mean… don’t let this inflate your ego anymore than it already is-”

“Hah?!”

“-But you’re someone to fear. You’re strong and capable, and from everyone who was shown in that sports festival, you were definitely the one to watch. But it was the adults who fucked up that day, they’re the ones who ultimately set the scene in painting you like a deranged loose canon - which you are at times, but you’re not evil. The League thought you were that way, and I’m sure there is no doubt in All Mights eyes about what he did for you. You were someone who needed to be saved, and All Might is the world’s number one hero for a reason: self-sacrifice. It could have been you, me, or even the grouchy pork bun lady down the street - he would have given it all to save. Don’t even get me started on the fact that Japan became too comfortable with All Might and held him to the status of a god and not a human that he is… so… yeah, I’m not good with this kind of stuff, but I want you to know that this isn’t your fault. You’re in the story as to why he lost his ability to use his quirk, but All Might’s will carries on in all of us, especially in you, so unless you give up, he’ll never truly be defeated.”

It was at this moment that Bakugou finally saw you.

The way that you had been exceedingly kind and ever so gentle with him. Your words rang heavily in his ears, and a heavyweight felt freed from his shoulders the more he digested your words. He wasn’t sure when your hand began to hold his, but while he looked down at his gloved hand, he let out a shaky breath at the sight of your hand in his.

“You’re pretty amazing, Bakugou, please don’t forget that,” you smiled, nothing but sincere truth on your tongue, and finally standing up, you looked down at him. “Well, it’s time to see how we fared, yeah?”

But there was something different in the way that his hands sweated. He knew that his hands were always perspiring. There was a normalcy to the nitroglycerine sweat that his hands emitted without a single thought, but the tightness to his stomach and the way that the sweat poured nervously from his palms made him realize that no, this was different. But what exactly? His stomach flipped at the still and happy appearance on your face, and a shadow of realization flooded through him… oh no… he knew why, but he knew he shouldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t.

With a sigh, he pushed off the floor, standing beside you, a smirk daring to pull at his lips at the way that your eyes traveled up in your surprise to his height and closeness.

“Let’s go.”

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“Watch where you’re fucking running, dunce face!”

“I was watching!”

Bakugou’s head snapped over to your giggling face while you lay on your own towel a few paces away from him. Today was Mina’s birthday, and instead of going to a restaurant for a birthday celebration like any average person, she had decided she needed to tan. How someone who was pink could tan was beyond Bakugou, but while he had no intention of hanging out with his old classmates on his day off, Kirishima had asked him to go for him. That wasn’t enough, so when Kirishima had included that you were apart of the group that was going, Bakugou considered it for about ten minutes before finally agreeing - but he would never say it was because of you.

So here he was practically babysitting a bunch of nineteen-year-olds while he lounged under the sun’s hot rays. He needed to get rid of the funky tan lines on his body.

“What are you laughing about?” Bakugou grunted, his eyes narrowing at your figure, which was relaxed against the soft towel you were using as a blanket of sorts. “I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sure you could,” was your smooth response, your head adjusting on your arms to look at him easier. “I just think you should rub your sunscreen in better, Sero did a horrible job at applying it on your back. Unless, of course, you want a penis tanned on you.”

“Why the hell would I want a fucking penis on my back?!” Bakugou growled, his hand grabbing his SPF 100 sunscreen and slapping a handful onto his back.

He heard you push off the sand ground and felt you stop behind him, and Bakugou froze when your warm fingers pressed against your back. “You’re a bit helpless at this sort of stuff. I figured you’d be the type to carry around a stick of sorts so you could apply it to yourself with no issue.”

“I don’t come to sunbathe ever,” Bakugou countered, his ears lightly burning at the feeling of your hands rubbing the sunscreen against his paler back. “I’m typically covered from head to toe.”

“Oh, I am more than aware of that,” you sagely nodded, pulling away when you were done to fall back onto your towel with a grin when he finally turned to look at you. “Still, you’re a big enough nerd to do it.”

Bakugou’s jaw dropped at the accusation, his eyes narrowing and his defenses on high alert, “The hell?! I’m not some damn nerd!”

“You graduated third in the class, unlike the cool kids who graduate ninth in the class,” you teased, your class ranking lower than his but still nothing to be ashamed about with who was in their class.

“That doesn’t make me a nerd, just makes me smarter than you damn idiots!”

“You’re the only person who flosses every day, always eats healthy foods, probably rivals Midoriya in hero trivia, listens to everything authorities say, never broke a rule or got detention, and sleeps at eight p.m.”

“How is any of that nerd shit? Just sounds like I’ll live longer and be better! Besides, how you know all that shit, you sound like some creepy stalker.”

A glint of amusement sparked in your eyes before you slipped on sunglasses, leaning down onto your towel with a proud grin on your face. “I have a strange fascination with nerds, sorry to disappoint you.”

Blinking in disbelief, Bakugou shook his head, settling back onto his own towel with a snort, “You’re a bigger asshole then I thought you were.”

“I hide it very well behind this pretty smile,” you flash a disgustingly pretty smile his way, and Bakugou rolls his eyes again.

“So… uh, how have things been for you at your agency?”

Bakugou would then find himself having a rather informative conversation with you. The both of you trading stories of how it was to work as a legit hero now, to no longer have to think of UA’s reputation or the fear that taking action in stressful situations would cause their learning licenses to be removed. He was also quick to discover that he really enjoyed talking with you, his often limited conversation energy never feeling drained as he continued talking.

Stories were shared, snarky comments exchanged, which left both him and you in laughter until the party of two became more.

He could barely keep a hold on his fake annoyment when both of you were being hauled into the cold ocean water, your loud shrieks as Mina tackled you into a crashing wave, making him grin as he quickly tore off Kaminari and Sero from his arms. That is until you reappeared from under the water to take him entirely off guard and tackle both of you into the water, your screams loud in his ear.

When he emerged from the salty water looking akin to a wet dog, everyone froze up in their poorly concealed concern and fear: this was war.

It had been a fun day at the beach, even if Bakugou had a hard time admitting to it, but as the sun set, the hot summer day fading into a warm summer night, and they all sat around a bonfire Bakugou felt as if the sun was still beating down on his tan skin. There was no reason for the explosive warmth invading his skin except that you were huddled at his side, your attention on the others. At the same time, you playfully fought with them, your eyes occasionally falling on him in hopes of a verbal back up.

He agreed with you every time, growing more and more pleased with the fact that your eyes glimmered with great joy and how the others booed and disagreed until finally, they had to go.

“I miss hanging out with you,” you admitted when you all piled into the car, exhaustion sitting heavy on all of you after a good but long day.

Bakugou’s heart skips a beat, and he licks his lips, nodding slowly, not wanting to let you see how he was coloring in his embarrassing agreement.

“Yeah, whatever,” he looked at your still smiling form, letting him know you didn’t buy his statement even for a second. “...I do, too.” And the smile that consumed your face nearly killed every willpower he still had left.

It was then that Bakugou had to admit that he never thought he would have to consider.

He liked you.

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“Bakugou is that you?!”

Bakugou had been going home. Dressed up in a formal suit, he thought he would be unrecognizable and left alone with his head hanging low and earbuds in, but he guessed no matter what, the laws of having earbuds in went ignored.

Today had been hard. Today had been the day of the funeral to one of his colleagues who had perished in a black market raid he and the agency he worked at had embarked on. It had been a perfect raid, something that hailed his name in the spotlight for quite some time, but it was for naught because a friend of his had died. Those who had been close to his fallen friend were forced to take the rest of the day off and get okayed by the agency’s psychiatrist before resuming duty. It wasn’t something Bakugou wanted to follow; after all, crime didn’t take a day off, but he had no choice (he had been threatened with more days off, and stupid Deku had pulled him away before a real scene could emerge).

But he felt weird in this get up, the suit just felt strange on his body, too nice, too formal for the lifestyle he held. Why it was inappropriate to show up to a funeral in your hero attire was beyond him. As it was midday, Bakugou had hoped that he wouldn’t have to see anyone on the train back to his province, but to his dismay, even with the classical music blasting in his ears, he heard someone yelling.

He turned his head slightly and paused when he saw you running towards him with a bunch of paper in your arms, your face sweaty from what he assumed was exhaustion.

“You’re looking handsome!” you chirped, sighing heavily when you stumbled to his side, your cheeks pinched into a genuine smile. “Why you all dressed up for?”

“A funeral,” was Bakugou’s dry response, and your smile quickly fell off your face, a flustered and mortified look replaced the smile, and if it had been any other situation, Bakugou would have barked in laughter.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry!” you awkwardly state, your condolences heavy on your face and quickly emitting from your tongue while you bowed in your embarrassment. “I didn’t remember that Slingshots’ funeral was today.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened at the name, his head nodding with a stiff shoulder, “Not a big deal, he’s been gone for a few days now.”

Your eyebrows knit together, your eyes looking at him concernedly before you shook your head, “Doesn’t really matter, it’s still the death of a friend of yours.”

Bakugou shrugged again, his hands moving out to grab half the stack of papers in your hands and holding them for you. He always remembered his dumb nerd friends telling him that it was a kind act to do for people you liked, Kirishima always raved about how it worked for him at least.

“Well, um… Kirishima told me that you moved into the building across from mine! How crazy is that?!” Bakugou knew immediately that you were changing the subject for him, something he truly and deeply appreciated because he was not ready to talk about his feelings about Slingshot - well, at least not in public. Damn paparazzi always seemed to catch his most embarrassing moments.

“Kirishima’s telling you that shit about me?”

“Oh yeah, Kirishima loves to gossip all about your life,” you state matter of factly, your head tilting with a wink. “I know all your dirty little secrets Bakugou Katsuki! We have a class group chat where Kirishima and Midoriya spill all their knowledge on you.”

Bakugou wasn’t precisely sure how false that statement was; all things considered, he knew those damn idiots would do something like that should the old class actually want information on him. Sighing, he nodded towards the train that pulled up to the station, and the two of you climbed on, taking the first two available seats together.

“What’s my biggest secret, then?” Bakugou decided to play along, his head resting on the train window, his eyes falling onto your softly smiling form with shielded amusement.

A shit-eating grin grew magnificently against your face, and Bakugou almost regretted asking because you leaned in close, your lips whispering to his ear despite the empty train cart, and uttered something that sent horrified dread through his veins.

“You’re one of three owners of the super exclusive and rare All Might Bronze Age trading card.”

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW THAT?!”

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE!!!”

Embarrassment blazed on Bakugous face while you continued to laugh, your hands holding your papers flat against your body while you shrieked for air. He rolled his eyes despite it all and just stared at your snorting form since you failed to recompose yourself at what was your lying attempt to disillusion him and worked.

It had been seven months since Mina’s birthday, and since that fateful day, his feelings for you had only grown more extensive and more real. He could never admit it to anyone, but he texted you nearly every day - the days where there was no communication would often come from your end of the conversation or because one of you had an extremely exhaustive day at work.

He watched how the soft winter sun shone through the clouds, piercing through the window to brighten the color of your eyes, making them look even warmer and more delicate in his opinion. How he was never interested in you during high school was beyond him. You were - on a personality level - identical to when you were in high school, he had confirmed that suspicion of his with Mina, who had been appalled on your behalf that he hadn’t noticed you before. It was times like now that he regretted it, he wondered if he would have felt the same way as he did right now back then.

He hadn’t exactly changed much at all either, so he figured he would have liked you back then too.

You were witty, sweet, kind, but no pushover. You had helped to ease his worries and anxieties in a single night, where professionals failed to do so in years. It made no sense to him why it was this way, but as you asked to listen along to the music he played, he slipped off one earbud and handed it to you with sweaty fingers.

You graciously accepted it with a broad and exciting grin while placing it into your ear, your amused groan making his heart flutter with warmth while you complained about his old folk music selection.

“I still don’t peg you as a Beethoven guy!” you exclaimed, your head swaying in time with Symphony No. 9. “I thought you were a Led Zepplin sorta man.”

“That shits bad for your brain, you have to keep your entire body healthy or you might as well die off like some shitty extra.”

“You really think you’re some main character in this world, don’t you?” you ask, your smile teasing and your eyes so warm and smooth Bakugou felt his heart stop with just your stare. He licked his lips, his mouth feeling dry, and his hands that usually never stopped sweating felt dry when he placed them on his lap.

“I’m the main fucking character,” he corrected with a smug smirk. “Don’t you dare fucking forget it.”

He would never say it, but his favorite sound and sight in the world became this moment right now, the hardworking city fading in the background and even his music fading into nothing while your hands pressed to your mouth, and a charming giggle escaped your mouth.

“I won’t.”

He won’t admit it, but when you hugged him later that day as a means of goodbye, it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep himself from tilting you backward and kissing the lights out of you.

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Bakugou was in trouble.

It wasn’t anything that warranted immediate concern or any type of life-ending trouble (although his heart was hammering so fast he thought it could be life-ending), but he was in trouble.

His hands were clenched together, and his head was down while he listened to Jirou and Mina screaming some sort of punk-pop duet that was in English together. It had been over a year since the train incident, a year for Bakugou to shift through his feelings for you and what they meant and if they were meant to be pursued. It was weird for him to have waited this long to begin with. He was a man of acting quickly and thinking later, a fatal flaw of his if he would, but you were so different to him - a situation where he couldn’t behave like some hot head or else he would regret it.

Today was Kirishima’s twentieth birthday, and he had wanted a simple stay in party with everyone, a shit ton of alcohol, and a karaoke machine. It was to no surprise that it was a party that the entire class 1-A ended up showing up, each and every one of them ready to have fun with the drinks and karaoke machine. But as he watched you up there doing the stupidest poses (alongside seven others) known to mankind while singing some diva song, something hit him.

His once amused smile melted off instantly when you smiled widely, your head tilting backward into a peal of laughter when Aoyama knocked you straight into Hagakure and Mina.

He was in love with you.

He was in fucking love with you.

That was a problem! That was not okay!

He had gotten up from the crowded bedroom (something you had insisted they perform in to really push that karaoke room feeling). He walked into the living room, a harsh comment about how he needed some fresh fucking air being thrown behind him while he slammed the door shut. No one questioned him, and the party continued.

A part of him was relieved that neither Kirishima nor Deku followed after him, he didn’t really wish to be a damper to the party even though he sure he was one right now. But what he didn’t expect was for your body to slip out of the bedroom door, beads of sweat rolling down your face while you met his gaze.

You smiled broadly, walking over with a wave before flopping onto the couch.

“It was too hot in there, I was sweating like a goddamn pig,” you exasperate, your hands fanning your face for added coolness.

How Bakugou wished he was that half and half bastard so he could help you cool down.

“I think you’re sweating more than a fucking pig,” Bakugou pipped in, giving his unneeded opinion.

You chuckled, your lightly sweating forearm smacking his side while you chuckled, “Yeah, true. I’m sweating like you right now.”

“You’re an asshole,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes shifting to look at you.

Despite his harsh words, he was looking down at you with no malice in his gaze. Breathing heavily out of your nose, you pushed off the couch and sat on it properly, looking at your best friend with a grin.

“And why are you out here exactly? Kiri wants to sing a song with you, Midoriya, and Todoroki like really badly.”

“Well shitty hair can come ask me to sing a song with him and those idiots if he wants, I’m not going back in that disgusting room until I have to.” Bakugou waves off, his thighs shifting against the soft couch and his arm falling on the sofa behind your head.

“Don’t be a party pooper!” you groaned, your hands shoving his side softly, but your smile remained on your face. “What’s eating you up? Come on, you can tell me anything, ya know!”

Bakugou freezes a bit, those words relaying in his mind like a broken record.

What would happen if he told you if he was in love with you?

Would you hate him if he did?

He was sure you wouldn’t say it back - that was for sure.

“I won’t say,” he breathes out shakily, the words ‘I’m in love with you’ pounding on every cell of his body.

He loved you. He loved you more than he thought he could ever love anyone.

He wanted to tell you, and the look of utter disappointment in your face only made his stomach twist with guilt and failure that he didn’t tell you.

“I promise I won’t tease you… I won’t do anything to upset you! You know you can trust me, right?” you plead, your hand taking his sweaty one, and Bakugou flushed at the warm contact.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

There’s a look of guilt that twists on your face, and you sigh, your head dropping and Bakugou freezes when you begin to shake your head. “Sorry, that’s… that’s rude of me. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t make you, but if you want to, I promise that I won’t judge.”

Your concerned eyes rose back up to meet his, and Bakugou felt his spine go stiff.

A shaky breath of air expelled past his chapped lips, and Bakugou’s fingers trembled, “I have something to confess…”

Your eyes widened in shock and silent glee that he was going to let you in on his secret, but he wondered if you would look the same after he confessed.

“I’m-”

“Y/n!” a shout interrupted, and Bakugou froze while both of your heads snapped over to see Kirishima pushing out of the door with a bright grin on his face.

“Ei!” you smiled broadly in return, your voice almost breathless at his arrival, your eyes filled with emotions that Bakugou could only dream were directed towards him. Immediately his stomach twisted sickeningly at the sight of his red-headed best friend take three long strides to get to the couch before planting the biggest kiss he had ever seen onto your lips.

Bakugou’s stomach filled with bitter acid at the sight of you and Kirishima passionately kissing despite having him no more than two centimeters away from you. Giggles and the purest sounds of two people in deep, deep love emitted from the both of you, and it took everything in Bakugou not to split his skull in half in raging jealousy.

“I was missing you so much! I looked away, and you were gone!” Kirishima pouted, his tone a low whine, but his mouth continued to press flustering kisses against your mouth until you were gently pushing him away. Embarrassment obvious in your posture because shamelessly making out in front of any audience always left you uncomfortable.

“I was… checking up on… on Bakugou,” you pathetically moaned against Kirishima’s mouth, your hands helpless against his chest while you attempted to push away your tipsy and loving boyfriend. Kirishima let out an understanding ‘oh’ before pushing away from your lips and collapsing onto the couch next to you.

Bakugou was silent and frozen as he looked at his feet, his nostrils flaring in his anger and embarrassment because what was he ever thinking?! Confessing to you when you had a boyfriend?!

“How’s Bakubro doing?” Kirishima cheered, his hand slapping against Bakugou’s taut shoulder with a wide grin. “Is he being a good friend?”

“You know he always is,” you laugh, your lips pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “He was about to tell me something, though!”

Bakugou froze when he felt your gaze and Kirishima’s fall on him, and acid shot to his mouth.

You had been dating Kirishima since the start of the third year at UA. It was a relationship he was always and has always been aware of because Kirishima never was secretive about his puppy love crush on you! Still, he knew this and fell for you. You were his best friend’s lover, and he fell in love with you. He could never say he was in love with you, not if he knew what was best for you and Kirishima.

But even if he wasn’t the sixteen-year-old boy with anger issues from hell, there was a part of him that would always be that, and in a time where he needed to be calm and lie through his teeth, seething anger exploded in his chest.

“I don’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Both you and Kirishima froze, “W-What?”

Bakugou was a good hero because his quirk was powerful. Explosions were powerful, and they were deadly if misused. He wasn’t someone who could use his quirk as a means to save - sure he saved people every day, but he would never aim a blast towards a victim. That would be idiotic. Bakugou knew he wasn’t his quirk. He was explosive and bitter and mean at times, but he believed he was more than that. He was better than that. And for the past three years, he had been working on that part of himself, only for it to fall and collapse in an explosive fury right now.

He was dangerous.

“This entire time, I only gave you a shot because I knew you were seeing Kirishima. You’re fucking annoying though, an airheaded, a coward, and so fucking nosey, I wonder just how Kirishima is still with you! He can do so much fucking better than you, and it’s embarrassing that you can’t even see it!”

“You don’t mean that,” came your soft and utterly broken voice, your face pleading for him to say it was a lie, pleading that this was some joke.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes but refused to form, and Bakugou wished he could say he was done after that, but the thing about destruction is that there was always more than just one wave.

“I tried to be your friend, I did, but it was the worst mistake I made. You’re a shit friend, a shit hero, and a shit significant other. You’re not someone I admire or think of as an equal, and I think it’s best if you just left me the fuck alone.”

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh humorlessly, your eyes stone hard and staring daggers into Bakugou’s skull, but to his own horror, a steely laugh escapes his lips he shrugs.

“I’ve been called worse.”

You stood up, storming away from the loud room and slamming the door so loudly behind you it rattled the walls.

“What the hell was that, Bakugou?!” Kirishima gasped, his eyes wide in a fury and hurt, the once tipsy glaze to his eyes gone and only full of sober anger and disbelief. “That was the unmanliest shit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth?! The fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Fuck off, go take care of the fucking crybaby,” Bakugou heaved, the tears burning even more as he folded his arms, his gaze focused on his feet once again.

“Did you know that y/n used to fucking like you?! All three years in high school y/n had the biggest fucking crush on you, and even when we got together… I knew those feelings still existed…” curling acid shot up his throat at the critical information. You had liked him? “For three years y/n tried to be your friend, and it didn’t work until the very end and you just… why did you do that?! You’re a fucking dick, Bakugou.”

Bakugou wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not when Kirishima pushed off the couch, his footsteps shockingly sober as he moved to chase after you. But the moment that Kirishima was out of sight and the karaoke room began to play the Disney classic, I won’t say I’m in love, something twisted in his soul and tears pushed through his eyes.

He loved you so fucking much, but as he always seemed to, he had destroyed every good thing in his life because of his attitude.

You were Kirishima’s, and it only really hit him now… how could you ever forgive him?

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou angst #bnha #bnha x reader

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alilamba · 3 years

Text

wip...monday

Ugh, so, before this last week, I think I hadn't written anything in...three or four months. My state started opening up again, things were looking good, all I wanted was to be with my friends, outside with my kids, all day, every day, with all my free time. COVID numbers are on the rise nationally again though, so I find myself pulling back in, keeping my kids at home, and...back at my laptop, honestly.

It feels good to write again. Have a very rough first draft of something I've been working on for...years XD

“Are you sure you don’t want to see if I fit into your suitcase again?”

Veronica hates that she’s resorted to the most banal of bad jokes, but…this is apparently where they’re at. Taking a last minute stroll away from the hustle and bustly of the Kanes’ imminent migration from suburban villa to vacation villa, Duncan does the polite thing of not responding, his mouth tightening as he squeezes her clasped hand.

But she can’t seem to help herself.

“Duncan?” she adds.

He stops walking, which is something. Something more than he’s said for the last few hours, after they got up together, suffered through a cold, awkward breakfast while Duncan’s parents wandered in and out of their kitchen, seemingly always surprised to see Veronica still sitting at their kitchen counter nibbling toast with their son.

She and Duncan have known this day was coming for a while, okay? Veronica shouldn’t be feeling such a lump in her throat. She shouldn’t be working so hard to untangle a jumble of nerves sitting low in her gut.

It’s only six weeks. Maybe eight, if the weather is good and the Mannings can join them, but…

“Well?” she prompts, feeling truly pathetic.

Duncan turns to face her, takes her other hand in his own. Why doesn’t he look…okay, well, she doesn’t know how he looks. He looks as if there is something on his mind, like he’s working through a really difficult math problem, or something. But final exams were last week – he shouldn’t have – well – no – okay, Veronica is just trying so hard not to imagine the worst, she’s really grasping at whatever alternate reality is presenting itself. Maybe it really is math. Maybe he’s about to talk to her about math.

Veronica wets her lips. “Seriously, Duncan, I can get pretty sma—“

“I think we should break up.”

In retrospect (well, later in retrospect. Not now. Now she has no spect at all to retro) she will realize this is not at all a surprise. That a hundred clues presented themselves to her over the course of the last 48-odd hours, and that this is merely a culmination of all of those things.

Now, however, the ground does a really awful job of opening beneath her feet, and she gets the horrifying feeling of missing a stair.

“What?” she manages, and her voice is small and fragile.

Duncan is frowning, staring at something in the vicinity of her navel.

“I said, I think we should break up.”

It’s really no better to hear it a second time. She feels like she drops an extra six inches into the dirt.

“But – why?”

He squeezes her hands, and Veronica remembers to take a big, giant, shaky breath.

An awful, horrendous, horrifying thought occurs to her.

“Wait, is this about la—“

“It’s not about…” he cuts her off, and then glances at her quickly, “that.”

She exhales, feeling the belated sting of tears. Her skin is going hot and cold. Oh god. Oh god this is happening.

“Duncan I don’t understa—“

“It’s just,” he says, and he drops her hands to look away. “It’s just that I’m going to be gone all summer, Veronica, and, well, after that it’s senior year, and then college, and, well, honestly, I just think that it’s a lot to ask of us, okay? Just a lot to ask, when we’re about to go start our lives.”

“But, Duncan,” she hears herself say, and she already knows she will hate herself for this because it feels far too close to groveling, “Duncan, I can make the time, I can probably afford a fli—“

“Look, I’ve thought about it a lot,” he insists, turning back towards her. He’s a bit taller than her (fuck, everyone is), and he’s standing between her and the sun, and she has to squint to make out his features. “And – this is the right decision. I’m sure if you think about it, after I’m gone, you’ll realize the same.”

The burn of unshed tears is really pressing upon her now. Oh god – she’s pathetic, she thinks, except it’s with this panicky, oh my god, oh no, oh no, oh no mantra looping through her insides –

He takes her hands again, but Veronica barely feels his touch in her clammy hands, because she’s submitting all her energy to not losing it (don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry) in front of him.

“Seriously,” he says, and he leans forward, pressing cold, dry lips to her forehead. The tears she doesn’t want to cry spill over on one side, dripping down her cheek. “This is the right decision. Good bye, Veronica.”

Good bye, Veronica.

The reality of the moment comes crashing down, and Veronica’s hands drop to her sides like dead weights as Duncan steps away, steps around her, and begins his walk back to the house. Veronica can’t move. She can’t move, and she needs to, because her car is back at the Kanes’ house, and she needs to move it out of the way so that their cars can get out of their driveway and they can catch their private jet to Tampa. To Tampa, for crying out loud –

Veronica scrubs at her eyes, furiously willing the tears to stop. Her wet mouth drops open as she looks into the sky, hoping the sun will dry out her tear ducts. Not here, she begs herself. Not now.

Oh my god it’s really over.

She hugs herself in the sun, feeling suddenly cold. Clenching her jaw together, she inahles through her teeth, wincing as she listens for Duncan, turning halfway to ensure he’s gone. Her face crumples again as she follows his path back to her car. No, she reasons, desperately, foolishly, this can’t be it. This can’t really be it. Duncan will change his mind when he’s on the plane. He’s going to call her tonight, because this is just the separation anxiety talking. They’re Duncan and Veronica. They’ve been dating for most of the last year…more or less…well, sort of off and on, really, but definitely they were more on than off, and this was just going to be another one of those off periods, right? Right?

Veronica comes to a stop right outside the Kanes’ driveway gates. Oh god. Her keys. Her bag – they’re inside. Except…

This is surely a new low.

One of the Kanes’ housekeepers is making her way down the driveway, looking polite while she carries Veronica’s shoulder bag. Veronica can manage all of two steps to meet her.

“I’m so sorry,” the housekeeper whispers, offering a tight smile before hurrying back inside.

Veronica is going to cry again. Seriously, she can feel it, and it’s only with a surge of icy hot rage that she grasps her bag to her body and lurches for her piece of shit car.

It’s already unlocked because hello who would steal this car here, and she is sure she leaves a skid mark on the pavement she reverses so quickly.

Tears blur her vision before she’s down the massive hill his house is on.

She knows what this is about, actually.

Oh god. She’s known since she was sitting next to him eating toast, while he pushed scrambled eggs around with his fork.

It was her stupid idea.

Her stupid idea.

He hadn’t even wanted to – oh god he hadn’t even wanted to – memories are spilling through her mind, one after another, and she wants to scream.

Lighting a bunch of stupid candles in his room while he finished packing in his walk-in closet.

Draping herself over his duvet, rearranging her limbs, double checking her cleavage in the stupid bra she’d spent so much money on. It didn’t fit her well at all, but it was 50% off when she bought it, and, well, it was lingerie wasn’t it??

Seeing the look of shock on his face when he walked back into his room.

The awkward conversation that followed (are you sure? We don’t have to – no we really don’t have to) she’d had to convince him, and then it had been…it had been…

Veronica really had nothing to compare it to besides, well, movies and porn.

And she knew sex wasn’t supposed to have so much accidental hair pulling.

That things weren’t supposed to be so…dry.

And painful.

And…

Tears sweep over her face, fresh hot peals of it as she opens her mouth at a stoplight and sobs.

#veronica mars #alilamba writes #vm fanfic #fanfiction #veronica mars fanfiction #LoVe

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fallenrepublick · 3 years

Note

Hi ! Back again with some ridiculous questions... First , what kind of students would Thrawn, Thrass, Maul, Savage, Vader, Eli, Tarkin, Krennic and Grand Inqui be ?

And then, what kind of teachers would they be ?

And btw, thank you so much for taking the time to answer my dumb questions and for brightening my days. You're such a talented writer, I absolutely love your works ❤❤❤

Ahhh back to the good 'ol school days...

As a student, Thrawn was Mister Perfect. He showed up, sat silently in class, took notes with the most illegible handwriting you've ever seen in your life, and maintained perfect scores. However, what many never saw coming was his tendency to be argumentative with teachers. He finds their strategies boring and obsolete, and is not afraid to tell them as much. He's been threatened with disciplinary action more than once, but only ever replied, "The truth is not equivalent to disrespect."

As a teacher, he's thorough. The goal is not good scores, but rather students who know not only what is happening, but why, whether it be military or art history. People in his class are never afraid to ask questions, as he openly encourages it, and is willing to explain the same concept a million different ways if it means it's helping them.

Student life for Thrass was about as skewed as you'd expect. He excelled at debate, writing, and government, and those teachers loved him. But he's stubborn, and he will not do something that he doesn't want to do. This means that his math classes saw him maybe once a week, and he only barely passed. Perfect he was not, but that didn't stop people from falling at his feet left and right. Which... he never enjoyed either.

As a teacher, he seems like a strict hardass from the outside looking in. People would tell stories about him and how much he expects and how he grades. But really, it isn't nearly that bad. He discusses a lot about how he wants good, honest efforts, but he also isn't uptight about it either. Every so often, he'll look at his lesson plan, say, "I don't feel like doing this, do you?" Which means that they spend the rest of the time playing games.

Maul was the competitive student, the one that had to be the best at everything. He would have silent bouts of anger each time he wasn't at the top of the class for grades. Although... rumour had it that it wasn't exactly by choice. Still, he excelled at languages and anything relating to physical activity. An odd pair, but it worked well for him.

But as a teacher, he's quite casual about it all. At the beginning of the year, the students always dread it, as he makes everything seem like the worst experience they'll ever have. He's got a specific title you have to refer him to or he'll End You, there's no excuse for anything below a 95%, no freebies, etc. etc... He forgets about all of that literally the next day. People began realising it when they mentioned they didn't have time to finish assignments or homework. He'd just shrug and tell them to bring it the following week. Multiple people began calling him Maul, and he would answer as if it were a normal occurrence. The class average on an exam was a 70 once, and he only said, "Well, you passed, at least."

Savage was the student who looked like he could kill you, and could, but also most likely wouldn't. He was the one that followed Maul around everywhere, and was also himself followed by an even smaller sibling. He wasn't competitive, only here for the sake of getting through it at all, and never had much interest in the subjects outside of... geology. Random, yes, but he found it fun.

When he teaches, he's the gentler one, the type that listens to the students' troubles, whether class related or not, and is always there to help when he can. He stays late to give help, comes early for even more extra help, and knows the value of a good sticker on your paper when you scored well.

You know what Vader was like as a student. He was horrendous. Bad. The rules are his rules, and if he doesn't like them, they don't exist. No teacher wanted to deal with him, and when they did have to, they didn't dare try to call him out for the times he was late or ignored simple instructions that he didn't like.

His teaching style is... interesting. It isn't overly suffocating, but it isn't fun, and it definitely isn't cushy. He needs everything in on time Or Else, and yet he takes for heckin' ever to grade. A hypocrite, just as he always has been, but are you really going to try to argue with him? Yeah, I thought not.

Eli's experience as a student was fairly standard. He was a bit in the higher range when it came to grades, he participated enough that he was known but not favoured, he always seemed to have a promising future. He's the master of Hindsight 20/20, though, so much of the issues that he has with scheduling could be fixed if he payed more attention. And yet he always found himself running across the halls to his next class.

As a teacher, he's... the boring one. Well, by the student's standards, anyways. It certainly can be worse, but his students know next to nothing about him, and his tendency to keep to himself means that the students don't feel all that comfortable around him either. But he's good, great even, at teaching his content, his averages always high, his performance admirable amongst his colleagues.

Tarkin's student experience was filled with rich-kid nonsense, extra extra after school study sessions, cram school, high level courses, an unreasonable amount of clubs. Everyone from teachers to other students worried that he worked himself too much. He did, of course, but no one needed to know that.

Now this. This is the ice teacher. This is the teacher everyone warns you about, the one no one wants to be stuck with. He's the teacher that Maul pretends he is. The one with no leeway, the one that runs everything like a damn prison. I shudder at the mere thought.

Ah Krennic, the classic case of believing talent can get you anywhere. His days as a student were filled with one-sided competition with Tarkin, trying to get better grades, one-up him, prove himself superior. Nevermind that their classes were completely different, and that Krennic was actually at the low end of the class rank. He was always so convinced he could do it. When he talks about his old school days to people who weren't there, he will often claim that he did do it.

His teaching is about as good as his engineering... there are a few holes. His descriptions lack sometimes, he tends to leave out info. And after exams, when students cry out that he never talked about something, he will insist that he did, and they were not paying attention. He answers question by repeating the same things he just said.

The Grand Inquisitor was the quiet student, the one that sat in the back, the one that never volunteered to answer, did all the projects by himself, and to many, never existed at all. Students used to say that he was a ghost, and he was actually just haunting the school until he could move on. He never bothered to correct them. Instead, he continued to listen, allowing himself to be both a skilled student and a gold mine for the latest scandals. Truly an inspiration of our time.

As a teacher, he's the type that prefers to show, not tell. Instead of lectures there are videos, examples, real life discussions about where the subject would appear, and how it would be used. He wants his students to hunt for the answer rather than be given it immediately, which he is certain will give them a benefit later on in life, as it's a useful skill. Surprisingly, the students like him, despite how quiet and odd he is.

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missinghan · 4 years

Text

to my youth ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : summer au; high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 11,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language, slow burn

❖ summary : it is official that life hates you because not only was your first few days of summer ruined by a stupid field trip, but things also got somewhat freaky… whatever kind of ‘freaky’ you’re thinking about.

❖ note : i know i said i’m ‘experimenting’ with new stuff but guess who’s back with another mediocre, not-that-well-written mess of a domestic au; please (kindly) yell at me to dabble into a new genre after bearing through this fic- happy reading!

one.

The echoes of your summer days remain as flowers immune to the winter chill, they say.

You’re not entirely sure who even fathomed their time and effort to come up with that statement but from your point of view, those flowers would most likely have either died out from the summer heat or withered horrendously because of the arbitrary showers of rain. Or you’re the only one who doesn’t have the luxury to see life through a rose-colored lens.

Because the first thing that comes to mind for you is the bucket of ice-cream and a YouTube OG that you’ve ceased to finish since finals started two weeks ago. The bell rings, pens down, everyone pours out of the classroom after handing in their exam papers. No one really bothers to check up on each other’s answers anymore; the last subject for today was AP Psych and you don’t know about them but you honestly can’t care any less thereafter cramming the entirety of five chapters.

Sprinting down the staircase, you easily spot Felix amongst the midst of drowsy high school students for the bright color of his hair. He truly believes that if he slaps enough hair essence and coconut oil on his head four times a week, his hair won’t feel like straws when he changes it every other three weeks. But it’s only a matter of time before balding catches up to him, he’ll learn eventually.

“Please don’t tell me that you left your keys in class,” you sigh upon the sight of him fumbling with his folders and textbooks while trying to open his locker in vain. Just thinking about walking all the way back to the third floor makes you want to use your backpack as a pillow and take a nice nap in the middle of the hallway.

“Gee, Y/N,” Felix makes a face to not show the sense of relief washing over him when he locks eyes with you. “Who do you take me as? A clumsy person?”

“No, just a dumbass.” You coldly snatch a slipping book from his arms before turning to twist the disc in the combination of your birthday until the lock clicks, shaking the shackle off to swing his locker open. It’s a silent tradition that you both set each other’s birthday as your locker’s combination since elementary school; it started out as a stupid joke at first but neither of you really bothered to change it.

“Why the hell would you put your keys in the locker?” you widen your eyes in disbelief as he grabs the bright yellow Spongebob plushie to collect his keys with a shit-eating grin

“My alarm didn’t go off today, so I was running a little late,” he defends himself while dumping everything out of his backpack, hugging an empty water bottle to his side.

You throw a wave at a very tired Hyunjin walking side by side with Seungmin on his right and Jisung skipping happily towards your direction. Seungmin looks exceptionally moody today, you pray he didn’t mess up an easy question to take it out on all of you later in the car. “Bet you were staying up late to play Overwatch with Chan.”

Felix manages to grin stiffly at your comment, turning on his heels and trudges onto the school’s parking lot. “Fine, walk home.”

“Hey, you forgot to lock this!” you pull his steps into a halt by making a grab for his hand, utterly oblivious at how his cheeks flare up with a bright shade of red at your touch. Or out of embarrassment. Whatever, same thing.

Felix might be a better driver than you, but he’d be fired ten seconds into the job of a babysitter.

With that being said, when Jeongin decides it’s a good idea to cheer a passive-aggressive, post-exams Seungmin up with a carton of strawberry milk and then proceeds to get lost in his own school, the very same school he’s been attending for who knows how long, you’re the one who manually pulls his ass back into Mrs. Lee’s Jeep within ten minutes.

And Seungmin has already fallen asleep by the time Jeongin’s back, so now he’s the passive-aggressive one while sipping on the milk bitterly. Either way, this is why you headcount although there are only six of you after Changbin starts getting busy with his college applications.

“What took you so long?” Jisung looks up from his phone the moment you climb into the passenger’s seat, clicking in your seatbelt (drive safe, kids).

You immediately feel the need to snap a photo of Jeongin accidentally breaking the cafeteria’s door with the staff running towards him in a panic. They’re more scared for his life than the door itself and that’s… sweet to say the least but with the way that the embarrassed boy is glaring at you through the rear-view mirror, you decide to keep your lips sealed.

“It’s getting dark so all hallways start to look the same, you genius.”

Jisung momentarily sticks his tongue out at you. “God, you’re so rude to me. You’d never talk to Felix like that.”

“Because,” you drawl. “Lix is a pure-hearted angel descended from the realms of Heaven. Whereas, even Lucifer would see you as an eyesore in hell.”

“See! You’re doing it again!” Jisung points a finger at you in accusation, jumping up and down in his seat but no one really cares. It’s not like you’re speaking any false facts. “Stop bullying me!”

Seungmin shifts his body a little, nose scrunched up at the noises that wake him right up. “Jisung,” he warns his friend without opening his eyes. “Sit the fuck down, you have five seconds.”

Felix smirks when Jisung immediately cowers, slumping and leaning himself against Hyunjin in utter defeat. He learned not to mess with Seungmin after throwing a wallet at him on impulse. “Jealous much, Han?”

“Nah, she’s all yours bro,” Jisung waves it off tiredly; bickering and making fun of Felix’s gigantic crush on you is too much for his brain to process today. He can really use a long, solid twelve-hour summer hibernation after getting home.

The statement prompts Felix to look over at you when there’s a red light—the same exact moment as you stop staring at the bakery from across the road to lock eyes with him. There’s a little spark igniting at the pit of his stomach, stirring up butterflies inside his rib cage. But he snaps out of it after seeing you raise a brow at him, implying a silent ‘what?’ before turning away again. Felix has always been the type to stare so you don’t bother to think about it too much.

The problem is: he only stares at you that way.

A shade of coral creeps its way up to his cheeks, his gaze averting back on the roads when the light turns green. As Felix tries to calm the erratic tempo of his heartbeat, he also thinks about how much time he’d have left to confess before high school is over and everyone takes their own different paths. Then again, the future is far too blurry for him to make out anything and the thought of changes petrifies him a bit too much.

Felix wishes to hold your hand until the very end but he’s a little scared...because what if you never wanted to be with him in the first place?

two.

Your brother has one talent, and that’s his ability to irritate the living daylight out of you even when he’s practically on the other side of the planet.

Minho (un)fortunately finished his finals with flying colors, and inevitably, you’re the first victim to receive a series of texts that consisted of nothing but self-indulgent, excessive bragging. Basically, he’s allowed to do whatever slash go wherever for a good three weeks before his summer internship begins, dragging his dumb ass back to hell—where he rightfully belongs.

He’s probably chomping on a terribly unhealthy amount of pizza, pretzels, and any type of New York street food that you can name from the top of your head. It’s not like he’s paying for them anyway since Chan doesn’t allow people to touch their wallets if they happen to eat out with him.

Your phone vibrates obnoxiously on your desk, the judder slightly muffled because it’s lying on top of your wide-open psych textbook. You haven’t bothered with cleaning up yet; finals only ended yesterday and you decide that you won’t touch anything until the disarray starts to scrape against your nerves.

Side note: you’ve specifically told everyone not to call you three consecutive days after finals because yes, you’re that much of a loner, and yes, your stamina level for tolerating human interaction is awfully low.

Second side note: no one ever listens.

“Good morning, this is Lee Minho’s personal bullshit pail,” you mumble after your thumb swipes against the screen to pick up, your limbs curled up on the floor. “How can I possibly help you today?” Your morning voice isn’t necessarily threatening but rather scary; according to what Minho claimed, it sounds identical to that creepy girl from The Grudge so he groans aloud, his voice suddenly going out of focus on the other line from pulling his phone away.

“Jesus Christ are you still in your hermit phase after finals?” he questions callously, sounding not at all pleased with the way you greeted him. “Where’s mom and dad? Usually, they would have slammed your ass by now for staying inside like a vampire.”

“Don’t be insufferable, it’s only like…” you trail off while bending forward to take a good look at the little Sumiko Gurashi alarm on your bookshelf that Felix gave you during middle school. “Nine thirty-something and they’re at the park to exercise, duh- why do you care?”

Your brother almost sings on the phone, “Because you’re my little baby sister-” And this prompts you to pull the device away for the sake of your poor ear. It doesn’t help when you’re already surrounded by a group full of obnoxiously loud individuals on a daily basis. Not trying to call anyone out but Han Jisung is at the top of the list, his name in bold, capital letters being circled and underlined multiple times with a red marker.

“Who do I gotta kill to sleep in on a dreadful Sunday morning as any normal, cranky, antisocial high school student would?” you deadpan and rub the bridge of your nose dreadfully.

“I don’t know, go murder Jisung or something.” Honestly, that’s tempting… but no.

You can physically see the smug smile on his face right now, simpering in delight at your imminent misery. He knows goddamn well about your relationship with sleeping schedules and that’s the perfect excuse for him to ruin those little specks of time when your brain cells are getting an actual break.

These are also the times when you wish phones don’t fucking exist.

“By the way, are you gonna go on the field trip tomorrow?”

This question wakes you up almost completely because your eyes are now wide as a fish’s out of water, your hand automatically putting him on speaker before digging through the folders inside your backpack. What field trip? No one said anything about a field trip. And who thought it’s a good idea to force some worn-out, post-exams, sleep-deprived students into a field trip right after finals?

Minho hums coyly when the only response he’s getting is the rustling sound from your backpack, “Hmm, see what I meant there, little sis? Oh, the downside of living under a rock at its finest.” He doesn’t have to be here for you to fully picture the way that his lips curl up, dark brows wiggling whenever he’s right about something. Your brother wins most of the time against other people but overtaking you is an entirely different story.

“Oh screw off and go buy yourself a sense of humor.”

“Don’t be so mopey, isn’t Felix gonna be there?”

“What does Felix have to do with this?” you grit after managing to pull out a piece of paper from the very back, buried under countless of your essays. And it reads ‘field trip’ in caps at the top with tomorrow’s date right beneath. The trip lasts for three days, you’re going camping with the grizzly bears for three days—a total nightmare, basically.

“Pfft, you’re actually dense for someone with a sparkly report card,” he sneers. “That kid has been crushing on you since elementary school. Are the signals that fucked up?”

“You mean when I accidentally spilled orange juice over his head? Sure, bet that’s why he’s so head over heels for me,” you snicker, unfazed by these kinds of statements. Minho only knows Felix because he was the president of your school's dance club and you fully believe that your brother is simply trying to mess with your malfunctioning, cranky mindset.

“I fucking beg to differ, he always stares at you like you’re the love of his life, even when you stupidly poked yourself with a needle,” Minho announces as if he’s a love expert, tsk, amateur. “He might just confess during the trip, who knows? Campfire flickering. Sharing the same s’mores. Surrounded by nature. That sounds romantically ideal to me for a confession.”

He’s visioning everything like a terrible cliché film where two high schoolers stubbornly deny their feelings for each other until they start noticing how cute the other person is while magically being forced to be alone together. The worst kind of high school movie—which is also almost every high school movie. And you best believe that you’d a hundred percent kick your brother’s ass off that director’s chair because people live and breathe for this kind of overused entertainment. Tragic.

“Alright, fuck this, I’m out-“

“Wait!” Minho exclaims out of nowhere, almost blowing up your eardrums. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

You swear you’re rolling your eyes so hard, they’re about to fall out of their respective sockets. “Well, obviously,” you put the piece of paper down with a sigh, contemplating ways to minimize the amount of socializing in the upcoming three days. “Haven’t you bothered me enough? No?”

“You can’t leave me like this,” he whines in an annoyingly high-pitched voice that sends chills down your spine.

“You need me, we’re connected.”

He sounds like a whack version of Minnie Mouse for a second there, the kind of plushie that looks cute but with disturbingly creepy voice audio; no parents would let their children go near that aisle.

You yawn as if there’s no tomorrow, stretching your limbs tiredly. “What I need is for you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone so I can go on my merry way to pick up snacks for this stupid field trip,” you utter lifelessly.

“You hurt my feelings,” Minho pretends to clutch onto his chest and lets out a dramatic gasp, his voice doused in pure sarcasm. “What a heartbreaker, Y/N.” Said the one who always keeps his apathetic front up like a fortress’ wall and tosses every single love letter on Valentine’s Day into the recycling bin, handing the chocolate out to his classmates like he’s giving leftover vegetables to his least favorite relatives.

“Oh, I can tell,” you reply with fake enthusiasm and mock empathy. “You know how I can tell?”

“Do not finish th-”

“Cause we’re connected.” With that you hang up, slamming your phone harshly onto the surface of your textbook.

three.

You might love your room a little too much, it’s getting somewhat unhealthy.

It was furnished with a rather meager budget after your family moved out of your hometown when you stepped into elementary school. Things stay the same, well, most of it as time passes by you unknowingly. Your sad bookcase used to exist for one sole purpose—carrying countless books and plushies has now been upgraded with too many polaroids of your dumb group of friends, a neatly framed photo of Class of 2020 and two trophies that don’t even belong to you since Minho ran out of space as he kept participating in random dance competitions.

The morning beams find their way through your white curtains and stain your walls with patches of yellow, eventually bugging your vision until you successfully convince yourself to either 1) wake up and get ready for school or 2) lazily stride across your room to shut the blinds completely so you can head back to bed. It’s summer… so option one is temporarily non-existent for a solid three months.

Hey, you’re just simply making up for those all-nighters with a new cup of coffee every two hours.

Speaking of your bed, it’s soft but takes up so much space to the point that Hyunjin keeps complaining about not having enough room for his legs when he’s sprawled across the floor with Jisung, vigorously focusing on a presentation’s outline. Seungmin calls you lame for not throwing away your childhood plushies and letting them hog at least one-third of your bed, but Felix doesn’t mind since he always needs something to hug. All the more reasons why you can only trust Felix.

You might miss having those idiots being loud and invading your personal space...maybe.

Your phone rings for the second time that morning when you’re walking downstairs, shoving your keys into your pocket and grabbing a protein bar on the counter. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Minho,” you bark into the device, chewing on your breakfast aggressively, not bothering to look at the caller’s ID.

The closest convenience store is only twenty minutes away from your house but there’s a sticky note on the fridge from your mom, reminding you that she needs eggs to bake cupcakes for her company’s twentieth anniversary while your dad is running low on his Red Bulls. Basically, you’re in distress. It’s not like your dad should be inhaling those sugary drinks on a daily basis and your mom can just buy premade goods from the bakery. But there are more options for snacks at the supermarket…

“Y/N, the fuck?” The response of a voice as deep as the Pacific ocean almost makes you choke on air. “Did I wake you up or something?” Felix sounds flabbergasted on the other line, slightly taken aback. You almost feel bad because he’s the only sweetheart in your chaotic squad (besides Chan, obvi) except when he stays up late gaming with Hyunjin, pleading for your notes the next morning with puppy eyes.

“No, Minho did,” you grumble before tossing the wrapping into a bin.

“You don’t say,” Felix replies flatly, but his voice soon grows merry again after pushing the topic of your brother aside. “Oh, and I’m coming over to return your earphones, wanna grab breakfast?”

He practically lives ten minutes away from you, sees you almost every day even if it’s the weekend since he can’t stay in the same house with his sisters for too long and puts you on FaceTime every night to prevent himself from slacking off on assignments. The only time he didn’t get to see you for a week straight was when he visited Australia and accidentally dropped his phone into the ocean. It was a rough week without you nagging him for doing something stupid. Fundamentally, he’s merely making up more excuses to spend time with you after finals.

Chuckling, “Only if you’re treating me, I’m about to go broke from buying snacks for our field trip tomorrow.” you say breezily.

And you’re only telling him that because he might just pay for your snacks as well since Felix Lee eats freshly grilled steak and mashed potato for breakfast. Baffling, absolutely. Plus, he works at a boba shop every summer either way and he would never hesitate to spend the entirety of his paycheck on any of his close friends. Irrelevant but the point is: you kinda don’t wanna go out alone today.

Or you’re just in the mood to go with Felix. That’s a useless statement since you both see each other at least ten out of twenty-four hours per day.

“By the way, you know what I just realized?” Felix smacks his palm on his forehead. “This is our last field trip, like ever.”

Walking over to the rack of shoes down the hallway, you let out a large exhale. “That’s unfortunate on your behalf. I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem with that,” you tell him with zero consideration, your brain cells too busy picking out a pair of shoes to process the five basic steps to empathize with another human being.

“No,” he emphasizes helplessly. “I meant, it’s like our last high school field trip. We’re graduating next year, no time to sleep with the grizzly bears again.”

You can only manage to utter, “Oh.” Shit, college is right around the corners.

“Jesus fucking Christ what the hell am I supposed to do after high school? Stay here? Go abroad? Wait, aren’t applications for going abroad supposed to be turned in a year beforehand? Why are you only telling me this now!?”

Felix laughs wholeheartedly through the phone, amused at your sudden outburst. “Y/N, calm down. You’re going to college, not prison,” he brushes it off casually but in a way, college is technically prison. Slaving over a degree while working part-time jobs, chasing time relentlessly like you’re driving in the middle of a foggy night with one headlight out. And you’re forced to open up with more strangers. It’s terrifying, actually terrifying. And you’re not the type to be easily terrified.

Now come to think about it, you don’t get why you were so pressed about it five seconds ago. It’s a good opportunity not to leech off your parents as much, like dabbling, taking one baby step at a time into adulthood. After that, you’ll graduate again, probably settle somewhere with an adequate job and find someone, starting to think about having ki-

Hold up, you’re going too far. You’re barely a senior.

“I guess we’ll just have to make the most out of this summer,” Felix’s voice snaps you back to the surface of Earth faster than a tick of a clock. “We’re outside, by the way. Open up.”

That fast? Furrowing your brows, you hang up to slip into a pair of sneakers before sprinting to the front door. Wait, your hand freezes as it grazes the doorknob. We?

Not again.

“Why the fuck..” you cracks a lifelessly crooked smile after pushing the door wide open. “..are you here?” It’s only ten in the morning, and you don’t think you should be screaming at the top of your lungs to be jumped on by the whole neighborhood.

Felix takes a step back, a little scared for his life. “Uhh, to return your earphones?”

“No, no,” you run a hand through your hair tiredly. Just when you thought this day was gonna be peaceful. “I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about them. Since when was this an agreement? How dare-“

“Why yes, I missed you too!” Jisung exclaims like the little shit he is, throwing an arm over your neck to ruffle your hair. No one ruffles your hair without getting their ass slammed- except for Minho. “Why the long face? Let me guess, until this exact second, you thought there’s a fucking squirrel, a lama, a dog, and a kitten standing at your front porch? No, it’s us, your Forever BFFs.” He’s one of the reasons why you refuse to understand the humans’ language sometimes.

With a harsh shove from you, Jisung staggers backward only for Hyunjin to prevent him from rolling like a ball in the middle of your neighborhood. “One more word and I’m telling the whole class who your crush is,” you threaten, earning an involuntary snort from Seungmin.

“I hate to admit this, but she might actually say yes if he makes the first move.”

Hyunjin supplies unconstructively, “That’s why he didn’t ask.”

“You know what, Hwang,” Felix says with a smirk tugging at his lips, bumping his fist against Hyunjin’s without turning his head.

“Oh screw all of you.” Jisung’s getting all the attention he wanted this early in the morning yet he still feels like a loser. Perhaps he should try shutting up once in a while.

four.

“Thanks for giving me a ride, uncle, you really didn’t have to,” Felix says generously from your dad’s back seats, scratching the nape of his neck as though this is the first time he’s ever shared a ride with you.

He’s too humble sometimes you just want to smack him across the face with a pillow to stop being so formal with your dad. Heck, Felix downright called him ‘dad’ by accident once during a Christmas dinner back in middle school and your dad even encouraged him to keep addressing him like that.

Not to mention, Felix is chomping on a turkey sandwich that your mom made this morning specifically for him after finding out that his parents are currently out of town and there's nothing but ramen in the cabinet. God forbids her to starve the same kid who helped your dad fix his bumper. So really, he should be expecting these things by now.

“Oh it’s not a big deal, you’re too nice,” your dad laughs as he pulls over to your school’s front gate, careful not to run into that one really tall, ugly tree. You’re lowkey paranoid that people might die if it collapses during a storm or something. “Perhaps you can return the favor by getting a drink with me sometimes.”

Felix blinks numerous times, slightly gobsmacked. “...but I’m not old enough to drink yet.”

“Correct answer.” And you snicker when your dad turns around to toss a wink at your friend’s direction. “Doesn’t mean that I’m forbidding you kids have fun,” he clarifies upon the baffled expression on Felix’s face. “But not too much fun, got it?”

“Okay, okay dad, I’ll see you in three days,” you shake your head before climbing out of the car. “Don’t starve the cats while I’m gone. Oh! And Soonie still needs his lactobacillus-“

Your dad brushes it off with a sheepish smile, “I’ll leave it to your mom, muffin, I can’t even remember which dry food is for which cat. I also don’t think they’ll be starving anytime soon, those little demons are getting quite fat actually since your brother spoils them all the time.” You can only give him a mere eye-roll because as much as he claims to hate having pets, there have been countless times when you caught your dad red-handed trying to tuck the cats into bed in the middle of the night.

Felix soon catches up with your steps after bidding him farewell, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his palm. “Wait up, muffin,” he says breathlessly with a few skips, starting to think about not skipping dance practice again this summer before his body gets out of shape.

“Shut up,” you grumble, followed by a harsh elbow jabbed into his side. Felix grunts in pain, slowing down a little but still tries to walk side by side with you nonetheless. “You don’t deserve that complimentary breakfast, I’m telling mom to cut your portion off next time.”

“Ah! Come on, muffin! You’re being mean.”

Your biggest fear has inevitably come true—after all those years of erratic mood swings and other weird things puberty puts you through, Felix still makes fun of you for the nickname that your parents came up with on your first day of school. It doesn’t help with the fact that he meets them quite often too. Like four out of seven days a week since your parents love coming over to each other’s house for dinner.

“Flip that scowl upside down now, will you?” Felix cups your cheeks and squishes them together, attempting to make your smile by tugging at the corners of your lips. “Aren’t you excited about the trip?”

You scoff at him, “Are you even hearing yourself? My entire existence reeks off ‘excitement’ 24/7.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not responsible for whatever happens next to your face.”

But when you reach up to peel his hands away, you’re bound to make a grave mistake by looking straight into his eyes. The morning light hits his face at the right angle and it makes him look like a puppy—which you wouldn't mind starting at all day. Although it’s not like you haven’t got a good look at him before, something’s different today. From the way his irises twinkle gently like thousands of celestial bodies to how his freckles scattered across his cheekbones like the remaining bits from a supernova, his full lips with a prominent Cupid’s bow and his cute crooked teeth.

You know all of these things; perhaps you’ve never put too much thought into them before. Not when you’re constantly facepalming at him for doing stupid TikTok dances and trying to eat a banana with its peel on. But now when you actually acknowledge them, your heart momentarily skips a beat. Or two.

Doesn’t matter, you hate this feeling either way.

“Get a room, this is disgusting to watch.”

Seungmin steps in between you two with his backpack slung over his shoulders, hands resting on his hip like he’s babysitting you and your biological parents don’t pay him enough for this tedious job. But Felix is too busy making sure that his eyes aren’t malfunctioning when he sees a pink tint on your cheeks to focus on whatever nonsense Seungmin is spewing at him.

“Get on the bus, losers! Y’all are embarrassing me!” Hyunjin yells as he plants a foot onto the bus, trying his best not to be subtle about the fact that all of your classmates have already been seated.

You can practically see Jisung making weird faces from the window and next to him is a very cranky-looking Jeongin with his earbuds plugged in, deciding not to tolerate any chit-chatting this morning. It’s a shame how the school’s always on a low budget when it comes to transportation; consequently, some random freshmen got squeezed in with your class.

So you elect to ignore your friend’s questionable behaviors (sometimes you wonder what he’s on to be this zealous at six in the morning) and grabs Felix's hand to climb onto the vehicle before coach Kim kicks your ass for slowing the schedule down.

As you shuffle down the narrow aisle, you quickly realize there are only two seats left at the very back—basically, you feel a little guilty for not getting a good spot for Felix but he doesn’t seem to mind because he taps you on the shoulder lightly, signaling for you to move.

“Ugh, I wanna go home,” you sigh, slumping into your seat after tucking your backpack neatly on the small compartment above.

“You’re boring,” Felix comments flatly but he’s partially glad that he got to sit with you instead of some blabberer. “Need this?” Fishing his earphones out of his backpack, he wiggles the banana milk case in front of your face.

You only nod lazily at the offer, causing him to huff in disbelief before slipping in a side of his AirPods into your ear. You both have pretty similar taste in music so you don’t mind when he puts one of his playlists on random and Fly Me to the Moon bleeds into your eardrums. The soft melody makes you yawn a little, eyelids getting droopy.

“Tired.” Is the only warning Felix gets before you decide to drop your head onto his shoulders, slipping your arm around his torso comfortably like it’s a pillow. You personally don’t do cuddles but since he’s into those things and smells nice—very fruity, somewhat musky too, you might as well take advantage of that with the hope of sleeping throughout the entire ride.

“What is wrong with you today?” he asks with glowing cheeks.

“Shh shh, I’m recharging my battery.”

Felix is a little flustered, to say the least. But instead of complaining about your sudden clinginess, he rests his head on top of yours like second nature, allowing his childhood song to drown out some of the background chatters.

You should really be clingy more often… though he’s not gonna risk his pearly white teeth by telling you that.

five.

Your school actually knows how to manage money in a smart way. Shocker, you know.

You are thrown off upon hearing that no one needs to worry about the grizzly bears, or wolves (hey, one can never be too careful) because everyone gets to share a log cabin with a maximum of three other people.

In fact, the camp counselors have confirmed that even though they’re throwing a bunch of inexperienced, dumb high schoolers smacked in the middle of the wilderness, there’s really nothing to do other than boring team-building exercises...and fishing. In other words, the only creature that can somewhat do harm to you is mosquitoes.

It’s been pouring nonstop when your classmates tried to set up the campfire with coach Kim screaming into their eardrums last night, no wonder those little shit are thriving to make your life more miserable—they’re in their element, reproducing at a terrifying pace.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!”

Hyunjin clutches a hand to his chest in both relief and terror after realizing the curled up figure sitting by the window is just you. He steps inside the cabin completely and flings his wet bangs away from his face, shoving the umbrella in his hand into a stand by the shoe rack. “You look like shit, are you okay?” he furrows his brows, slightly concerned about your eyebags and the way your lips crack from dehydration.

A soulless smile finds its way to your face. “I’m pretty sure ‘shit’ and ‘okay’ aren’t supposed to be in the same sentence but thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”

Here’s another downside to being a homebody: you can’t fucking sleep on any other beds that aren’t yours. And surprisingly that two-hour nap on the bus wasn’t enough to fuel you for the rest of the trip. But lucky you, it’s most likely going to keep raining cats and dogs and trash pandas for the rest of the day. Outdoor activities are no longer mandatory and you can almost hear your non-existent muscles crying in sheer joy.

“Drink,” Hyunjin sighs at your pathetic state and decides to toss a water bottle in your direction.

However, all you do is retrieve your limbs deeper into Felix’s fluffy blanket since he refused to use the grey one that’s draped over every bed beforehand. You’re far beyond grateful for that because those fading, questionable-looking stains just scare the crap out of you. And also because the fluffy blanket smells like him; you rest your case.

“You were knocked out for the entire bus ride, so why the hell can’t you fall asleep on a decent bed?” Shaking his head, Hyunjin plops himself onto Jisung’s bed like a potato, accidentally knocking over the neatly folded pile of clothes. He really doesn’t give two flying fucks about the fact that his friend spent an excessive ten minutes to organize his stuff so coach Kim won’t be barging into their cabin with a megaphone at five in the morning again.

“She can only fall asleep on Felix, that’s why.” You roll your eyes in the bitchiest way possible, not bothering to chuck the abandoned water bottle at the unwanted guest of this terrific conversation.

Hyunjin almost lets out a shriek when Seungmin jolts up from his bed, hair messy, a leg sticking out from his comforter. “You know, until this exact moment, I thought that you were dead or something.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Seungmin elaborates as he bends over to reach for his glasses with squinted eyes. “There’s a 99,9% that Felix will make the first move but at the same time, it doesn’t mean the other 0,01% won’t happen so you,” he jabs his index finger towards you. “Better be doing something other than walking around camp like a zombie.”

Hyunjin tilts his head in confusion. “Since when was this even a thing?” You’re this close to have a permanent hand imprint on your forehead for facepalming every two seconds with your idiotic friends around.

“Uhh, since forever?” Seungmin feels the need to voice out. “Listen, since the day Y/N spilled orange juice on Felix’s favorite shirt, the amount of times they’re forced to be together has risen tremendously. And when their parents found out their families live like ten minutes away from each other, they practically see each other every single day. Even outside of school. They tolerate each other, meaning the dynamic is long-lasting. Their bonding encouraged friendship.”

“But we’re her friends too?”

A deep breath. “No, their friendship was incited to grow into something bigger, more profound because Felix has a special ‘click’ with Y/N that he doesn’t with us. God, Hyunjin, it’s been what, almost a decade! How could you not see it?” Seungmin says with expressive hands, almost yanking every strand of hair off of his head. It’s too early for this, his brain is about to implode. Hwang Hyunjin being dense just feels like a metaphoric chokehold to him.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin simply ignores his frustrated friend to look over at you slipping into your sneakers. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

“That’s because she’s about to either shut the door in my face then find Felix or kick my ass and then find Felix,” Seungmin informs with a yawn, and this prompts you to muster a fake smile.

Oh, I’m fucking livid.

“You know me too well.”

He questions with heavy irony, “I’m sorry did you just agree with me?”

“Oh no, no, I take that back,” you brush him off. “Is Felix still outside fishing?”

“I think so?” Hyunjin replies while running a hand through his hair in mere distress; Felix’s competitiveness goes a little mayhem sometimes when it comes to Jisung being better than him at something since they’re so close. That’s one of the sole reasons why Felix always manages to maintain his flying GPA because Han Jisung procrastinates like no other but still tops his class every single semester.

“I didn’t find him at the lake, though, wonder where he went.”

You widen your eyes, somewhat alarmed since it’s almost lunchtime, and Felix Lee never, and you mean never, ever let himself skip a meal. He always gets a nice nap after stuffing his face with enough good food too, so that’s a bonus. But that’s not the point, the point is: you’re starting to get a little worried because he’s been fishing all morning, wandering alone in the wilderness without a camp counselor.

You’d better not find him sleeping with the fishes.

six.

Maybe you were right, maybe Felix is a dumbass.

Because listening to his ego and coming back to the lake after breakfast was a horrendous idea.

It’s such a pity how those weird-looking vehicles have stopped driving around camp the moment it started pouring outside. Heck, he didn’t even bring an umbrella after asking the coach to check today's forecast.

So tragically, he’s now stuck underneath the canopy of a cafe ensuing coursing his way through the water blizzard and seeking refuge but can’t walk back to his cabin where his cabin-mates are probably having the time of their life drinking hot chocolate and nibbling on hand-picked fruits.

Felix exhales in torment while gazing outside, everything’s completely white-out thanks to droplets of raining streaking the horizon. Perhaps dashing back might be his one solitary option, but shivers soon run up his spine again, reminding him that he’s probably looking like a wet rat—his black Converse sodden, water seeping through the thin fabric of his uniform, numbing his skin.

Ruffling his wet fringe, Felix’s hand fishes inside his pocket to look for his phone only to realize that it’s not there. “Shit...great..just great, today is my lucky day.” Even if the camp counselors didn’t confiscate all the electronic devices, there wouldn’t be any service in the middle of the woods either. Splendid.

“Ugh, Y/N,” he groans under his breath. “Why did you let me do this?”

“Shit.”

“AHH!”

Felix shrieks upon the tiny voice squeaking out from behind him. And he sighs in pure relief to see a little girl standing mere inches away, looking no more than a seven-year-old dressed in a yellow raincoat. “Hey kid,” he chuckles and crouches down to her eye level. “Where are your parents? You’re not supposed to be out here alone when it’s pouring like crazy.”

And to his dismay, “Shit,” the little girl giggles, finding a new profound interest in the curse word that he accidentally spewed out seconds ago.

“Shh shh,” Felix frantically places an index finger on his lips while darting his eyes around in terror—he might be sued if her parents found out how their daughter picked up a bad word from some random high schooler. Suddenly he feels bad for his future kids. “No, no, we can’t say that. It’s forbidden. What’s your name?”

“Mina,” she answers cutely and fiddles with the ends of her braids. “Who’s Y/N? Is she your girlfriend?”

Felix chokes on his own saliva. “...no, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, my dad always calls my mom’s name when he messes things up.”

“What does that have to do with- oh, shit,” he facepalms himself. This kid is going to give him a cardiac arrest any second now. “It doesn’t matter if she’s my girlfriend or not, what matters is I need to get you back to your parents. Do you know where they are right now?”

Mina simply shakes her head with a pout. “Okay, let’s go find them then,” he can’t help but cracks a smile, ruffling her hair endearingly. Most kids would be bawling their eyes out by now knowing that they’ve strayed from their parents; she’s a tough one.

Felix gently grabs Mina’s hand, biting down on his lower lip as he prays that a cold doesn’t catch up to him tomorrow and ready to dash out of the canopy that’s been keeping him dry for the last hour or two. But then a figure comes into view from afar, holding an umbrella while squinting their eyes through the thick streaks of rain.

“Y/N..?” he mutters to himself in disbelief when you quickly skip underneath the canopy, collapsing the red umbrella in your hands. Felix recognizes that umbrella anywhere—isn’t that Hyunjin’s? Have you been looking for him? And for how long too?

“Didn’t even think about bringing an umbrella, smartass,” you say with a raised eyebrow. “Oh dear, who do we have here?” Before Felix can defend himself in vain with lame excuses, you’ve already taken your attention off him to stare at the unfamiliar presence. Your intense gaze scares Mina a little, causing the little girl to squeeze Felix’s hand, hiding behind his leg.

Your friend laughs, patting her little head in reassurance. “Mina, this is Y/N, my classmate. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

“Are you really going to bother with this little one?” you scrunch your nose a bit. “We’re having pork rib soup, by the way, better hurry if you don’t want Han to hog your portion all to himself.”

Felix rolls his eyes at how utterly apathetic you are towards children. If you can get a perfect A in calc then why is it so hard to simply comprehend that every twelve-year-old needs to be returned to their hypothetical parents safely? “What part of ‘a common sense of morality’ can’t you understand?”

“I don’t want to, actually, sounds like a lot of work,” you hum sarcastically.

“Your girlfriend is scary,” Mina ensconces herself further behind your friend, officially detecting you as a threat rather than someone who will potentially bring her back to the cabin where her parents are probably flipping the whole place upside down in a panic—which is exactly what you’re planning to do.

In your defense, you don’t detest kids in general. Only the bratty ones. And Mina is borderline bratty.

“You know, I can spare her some time, Lost and Found is like..ten minutes away from here.”

“Y/N-” Felix wants to scream at you, rubbing the side of his temple in distress. Imagining you babysitting your neighbor’s newborn last summer with nine bucks per hour, ten hours per day, and five out of seven days per week is one of the few things that constantly keeps him from having a good night's sleep. It baffles him how you haven’t accidentally drowned the infant while giving her a bath.

Mina gives the side of his jeans a tug, round eyes staring up at him expectantly. “Or we can get juice pops!” she exclaims happily and looks over to you, mustering her best puppy eyes. “Please? I don’t want to be alone..”

“Twenty seconds ago, you called me scary and now you’re guilt-tripping me?” you crouch down to get a good look at the kid. Bright, innocent brown eyes, cute button nose, and a chipped front tooth—perhaps she’s a little too cute to not get her juice pops.

Then, “And juice pops too? You evil mad mind genius,” you say after standing up to unfold Hyunjin’s umbrella, swinging it over the top of your head. “That’s extortion, kid, you’re too young for that.”

Felix breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing you failing at trying to keep a straight face and steps in beside you under the umbrella. His next problem just pops up right then and there—Mina can’t squeeze in considering the umbrella that Hyunjin gave you is solely used for one person.

“Mina, hop on here,” he decides to get on his knees, permitting the little girl to clumsily climb on his back and eventually plopping herself onto his shoulders.

“Oh, oh, oh, can you two hold hands?” Mina suggests with a shit-eating grin on her face. This causes Felix’s cheeks to burn with a bright shade of red while you’re too busy throwing daggers at her with your eyes to notice. “My family does this all the time, my dad would carry me on his shoulders and my mom would hold his hand as we walk home after going to the park.”

You and Felix yell simultaneously, “We’re not your parents!!” But that doesn’t seem to scare the little girl. You’re both just encouraging her.

“Yip yip, horsey, don’t be disobedient now,” she giggles to herself and pulls at a solid patch of Felix’s hair, making you cringe because his hair and scalp have already had enough from his questionable obsession with bright hair colors.

“Ow! Mina! Stop it! Ow!”

“Okay quit torturing my friend,” you tell her and decide to slip your hand in with Felix’s, intertwining your fingers to secure the grip before showing it to Mina so that she’ll stop before any blood is drawn. “There, we’re holding hands just like your mommy and daddy, you happy?”

Felix doesn’t say anything even when Mina nods happily, releasing her monstrous grip off his poor scalp. He only lets you tug him away from the canopy of the cafe as he gazes downward, eyes glued to how your hand fits into his perfectly. The sound of rain tapping against the umbrella suddenly bugs him, suffocating him in a way. In other words, it’s really unnatural to think this way about his best friend but he doesn't want you to let go at all.

Everything seems to move faster when you’re holding onto his hand so certainly. Felix thinks you’re fully aware but try to fight off the voices that are taunting you to just drop it. And truth is, you can care less because your head is now far too fuzzy to focus on anything but the road ahead.

You pray he doesn’t feel the pounding rhythm from your veins. If your red ears haven’t given it away already.

seven.

Jisung has weird friends, that’s a fact. And no, you’re not talking about the gang that saved his ass every time he got into trouble aka you plus JeongMinLixJin. You’re talking about those kids from Class 2C that are mutual friends with Changbin.

Because the moment Jisung barges into the cabin and starts babbling nonsense that you can’t comprehend (not that you can comprehend any of his shit on the daily), you know that he just came back from a get together with those sketchy dudes who managed to sneak some booze inside a shampoo bottle.

“Uhm okay, who gave Felix alcohol?” he squints his eyes hard.

You are more than aware that Jisung is mildly smashed by the way that his cheeks are tinted with a light shade of coral, hiccupping every ten seconds and slightly more clumsy with his feet. He almost tripped over the rug at the front door if it weren’t for Hyunjin who caught him in time so that he wouldn’t break one of his precious teeth. Those painful years of constantly slurping on watery porridge after every dentist appointment to tighten his braces shouldn’t be going down the drain.

Speaking of bland rice water, that’s all Felix has been fed with after returning to camp because he has no choice. The sickness finally caught up to him as a result of staying outside for too long while still dressed in his rain-soaked uniform. Even under the cotton comforter, he’s radiating heat on the outside but stoically shivering on the inside, his energy level is as diminished as his appetite.

The nurse said there’s really nothing that can be done but give him some pills and let him ride it out so now Felix’s all curled up in a corner of his bed, cheeks burning flush of fever, coughing and sneezing occasionally. He refuses to be moved to a completely separate cabin because sleeping alone in a confined place knowing that the grizzly bears might be roaming outside your door is quite frightening for a junior in high school.

“God, what makes you think I’m the batshit drunk one here?” Felix croaks, his voice more hoarse and gruff than usual because every word pains him, his vocal cords pulse in agony at each syllable. And that sentence was probably the longest thing you’ve heard from him since dinner.

Jisung lets Hyunjin toss him onto his bed, face down, and props himself up on his forearms. “Uhh, have you checked yourself the mirror?” he hiccups, words a bit slurred, palms outstretched in a grabby motion. “Seungmin, water- ow! What the fuck was that!?”

He rubs the side of his head while babbling incoherently like a fucking five-year-old because Seungmin decided to chuck a water bottle at him. Those years of playing baseball during retreats indeed paid off.

“I went for the head,” Seungmin looks up from his book calmly, acting innocent.

Jisung whines and turns to his side, watching as the water bottle rolls back towards him after coming in contact with the wall. “God, I miss Minho. You guys suck,” he takes it before sitting right up but flops himself back down when a pang of pain claws at his temple. Who even allowed him to drink?

“Didn’t he make your high school experience miserable?” Hyunjin laughs, sitting down on the corner of his bed, legs curled into his chest.

“Hello? That was me,” Seungmin clarifies, he sounds a little offended. “He called me a nerd for studying late at the library for our finals! Our fucking finals! Do you know how insecure my freshman self was? I was so hurt!”

You cross your arms and mumble, “He’s the same guy who treated you ice-cream after finding out you got a B in physics.”

Hyunjin hums, butting into the topic, “And he made me do fifty push-ups because I unintentionally skipped a day at practice. Our Dance Club really didn’t need a president who effortlessly snatches the Asshole of the Year Award like he’s stealing candies from a kid.”

“Please, you’re practically buddies now,” you scoff. “You always play Mario Kart and rewatch the Avatar series with him, even during midterms!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Jisung suddenly gets on his feet, jumping up and down like a maniac. You’re highly concerned for the bed by the creaking sound that it’s making—sounds just like something straight out of a horror film. “He almost threw a knife at me!”

You’re running out of excuses to defend your stupid brother at this rate. What’s the point in trying anyway? “Han, it was a plastic knife, chill.”

Jisung crawls off his bed to approach you, pinching his thumb and index finger together before shoving them to your face. “I was this close to dying! You try having someone threaten to throw a knife at you during lunch break,” he complains like it’s the end of the world. Truth is, you’ve seen (and experienced) worse things.

“Minho’s still my brother.”

Staring at you, Jisung looks unimpressed. “He wanted to kill me because I commented on his puffy cheeks that day.”

“He’s adopted.”

The conversation is pulled to a halt right there when Felix does a full-body groan, his head spinning and sweats starting to collect at his hairline. With his mind buzzed like he’s floating, the bickering only adds to the pressure that’s squeezing each of his functioning brain cells. In other words, it feels as though Han Jisung is a fucking hamster going on a marathon across his body, nibbling on his limbs and ears as he’s going through a hangover, his immune system going on a rampage.

Felix doesn’t even drink.

“That’s my call for a bedtime story.” You glare at Jisung when he clears his throat while you’re attempting to tuck Felix into bed, pressing your palm against his forehead to check his temperature. It’s not climbing anymore, he should be okay after sweating everything out.

Hyunjin pulls his friend back onto his bed, locking his limbs in tight before he waddles around and potentially breaks one of those decorative pieces on the bookshelf. “Not to burst your ego, but I don’t think you’re sober enough to give us a good story,” he says unapologetically.

“Puh-lease,” Jisung lets out the weirdest chuckle at that, wagging his forearm like those Japanese ceramic cat figures that are supposed to bring people good fortune; and Han Jisung is notorious for bringing people anything but good fortune. “They didn’t even have vodka, only Strongbow. That shit is too weak for me.”

You snort involuntarily, “Actually, I think you meant you’re too weak for those bottles of cider.”

“Wow, Y/N, what a snake.”

eight.

The bonfire crackles, flaring up to life when coach Kim tosses a lit matchstick into the pyramid pile of branches and woods. The flame projects long shadows of the trees all round along, swirling and curling in obscure shapes with the high schoolers that each hugs their own cup of hot cocoa, chomping on their marshmallows of choice.

Glowing embers beneath are colored by the inferno that seems to be moving with the rhythm and melody of the song that they’re all singing along, drumming their feet and bobbing their heads simultaneously.

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to join them?” Felix says apologetically after sneezing into a piece of tissue, his nose all red and swollen. “I can just… I don’t know, read a book or something.”

When he refers to those oddly colorful and rather bulky-looking books on the shelves, Seungmin immediately stops putting a cookie inside his mouth midway. “Those are called ‘aesthetically useless interior decoration’, Lix. Good luck trying to open those plastic blocks,” he expresses with his hands after stuffing the cookie into his mouth, chewing rather aggressively.

Felix feels quite bad because, for all he knows, Hyunjin and Seungmin have been planning on going kayaking today and trying out volleyball tomorrow. You’re all going home in two days yet they’ve done nothing but pigging out in pure distress. “Still, it’s a summer camp, you all should be out there having fun, not stuck inside to look after me while tolerating...that,” he quietly looks over at Jisung who just exited the bathroom after splashing his face with some water.

At least he doesn’t look crazy and homeless now.

“How are they doing that again?” you join Hyunjin as he rests his head lazily on his forearms, staring outside from the cabin’s window like Rapunzel in an alternative universe where Flynn Rider managed to escape the tower with the crown, leaving her behind longing for civil human interactions in vain.

“They sing..” he drawls. “And turn their heads to look at each other in the eye.”

You wave it off absentmindedly, falling on your back so now your head is hung upside down from the bed, your arms dangling midair. “Well, that sounds exhausting,” you mumble, ignoring the way that Seungmin is internally judging you.

Hyunjin sighs, “Never one for sentiment, are you?”

“Easier to let it burn,” you answer flatly, sitting upright when blood starts rushing to your head.

“Don’t feel bad,” Seungmin immediately forces a smile at Felix. “We’re not really into sitting with a bunch of idiots just to enjoy a mildly decent hot cocoa either way.”

Suddenly the lights go out, and Felix immediately curls himself further into the blanket, a little thrown off. Jisung’s face comes into view out of nowhere when he makes a grab for the oil lamp that no one seems to take notice of, lighting it up with a single match. “C’mon, kids, no bonfire is complete without a good ghost story,” he crosses his legs on the floor happily, still somewhat tipsy so his body is bouncing in excitement with occasional hiccups.

Hyunjin and Seungmin exchange questionable looks before scrambling to the floor, settling themselves a few solid inches in front of the oil lamp with a sigh while you only shrug at Felix, propping your head onto your hands. Laziness is starting to hold you hostage on Hyunjin’s bed at this rate.

Seungmin spares Jisung a slight glare, “Better not bullshit us with the same one that you heard at school-”

“No,” Jisung’s lips morph into something similar to a smirk, he looks concerningly confident for someone who’s utterly terrified after watching IT. And now he’s attempting to give his bros who are equally jumpy about everything and anything, you’re excited to see how this goes. “I heard this one from a camp counselor, true story.” You definitely don’t like the sound of that.

At first, the ghost was no more than a chill in the air, a shimmer of mist to the common eyes. Through the heavy rain and fog that seeps through people’s skin, chilling the core of their bones, it slowly came into focus. It wasn’t until the camper found refuge under a canopy of an abandoned café that it congealed into a form—a small child with brilliant round eyes, dressed in white clothing.

For a moment, all was silent and still. It was as though the camper got hypnotized, feet planted to the ground. Then, he could hear a small lullaby in a cheerful voice.

“Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St.Clements…” They know how that one ended.

Suddenly someone blows out the candle, but Jisung’s voice still rings in your eardrums. “When the camper took a step back, the ghost spoke again, this time with the voice almost of a smoker and grin…” You can feel Hyunjin hop back to bed with you in a tick of a clock, holding onto you for dear life with the infrequent whimpers of fear.

Jisung proceeds to continue, “The grin soon became a snarl, baring teeth like a wolf when it finished the lullaby…”

A muffled silence descends. And, “Have you come to play…?”

“AHHH!!” Felix lets out a petrified shriek, but what confuses you is the sound of Jisung grunting rather in pain. Seungmin sighs in disapproval, flickering the lights on while leaning back against the wall.

And now before your eyes is a slightly traumatized, feverish Felix with clattering teeth, quivering inside his blanket. Whereas, Jisung is sprawled across the floor, hugging his poor stomach, hacking up lungs. Deserve.

“This is why you don’t give people who can high-kick jump scares, dumbass,” Seungmin comments and crouches down in front of Jisung like his knight in shiny armors, letting a bottle of ointment dangle between his fingers. “Put this on, bet it’s already bruising.”

Hyunjin releases his arms around you and walks towards the freckled boy who looks like he’s about to slip into a coma. “Lix, are you okay?” he knits his brows together, starting to feel somewhat concerned.

Felix only waves it off with a raspy laugh, standing on wobbly legs with his blanket still wrapped around his figure. “I’m fine, I’ll just go wash my face.” Truth is, he’s anything but fine. And it doesn’t help when he accidentally has a glance of his own reflection in the body-length mirror from across the cabin—his hair is sticking to his forehead, his face is slightly more puffy than usual, and his eyebags look like he hasn’t slept in decades—he looks worse than a trash can, basically.

“Hyunjin,” you raise a brow at your friend’s current state.

“What?”

“Catch him.”

“Huh-” Hyunjin snaps his head back when a loud thud is heard, eyes growing twice as big in sheer panic upon the sight of Felix laying on his stomach, mere inches away from his feet. “Felix!!” Your friends rush to his side while you’re too busy checking the thermometer by his nightstand. The temperature doesn’t seem to be too alarming, he should be fine after sleeping and sweating it out. But really, Felix looks more like he’s having the nap of a lifetime rather than passing out from the worst fever of the century. That doesn’t stop everyone from freaking out, unfortunately.

Also, everyone can agree that this is the first and last storytime to ever happen.

nine.

Felix sits on the beach, eyes moving from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves. He lets out a sigh, an exhale of relief when a breeze passes by him, tousling his hair as he buries his feet deeper into the primrose-colored grains. The briny aroma that exists in every fiber of air makes him feel at ease, as though unknotting all his angsty-teenager worries with grace. He feels a bit better, partially because his fever has already gone down when he shook you out of your half-asleep state at four in the morning.

“Why?” you ask without turning your head after sensing his tense posture.

Felix looks confused, a little startled when you break the silence. “Why what?”

“Why the long face?” you unknowingly exhale too, stubbornly gazing forward. “Thinking about something?” For some reason, you’re too...scared to even spare him a small glance. This isn’t you, did his fever rub off on you or something?

To your dismay, his sudden inquiry catches you off guard. “High school is going to be over in a year, have you thought about what to do?”

You open your mouth to protest with something along the line of he’s overthinking again and there’s still an entire year ahead to make new memories but when you’re about to utter the first word, your mouth automatically snaps itself close. It’s like you have an entire masterpiece planned out in your mind but when someone tosses you a blank canvas, you’re standing there in defeat like the biggest idiot. Felix is serious this time, you know it’s not because he’s lightheaded after riding out the fever.

“Honestly?” you breathe out. “No, I haven’t. God, I don’t even want to think about it, the future scares me a little.”

Upon the mossed rock and vibrant horizon, comes the sun rays that are promised by the starlit sky. It makes you both a little breathless, not exchanging a single word nor moving a muscle for a while.

Until, “Fine, it scares me a whole lot,” you confess, gaze cast downward as you hug your legs closer to your chest. “It sucks because everyone seems to have their lives together, Jisung is finally taking his interest in music seriously, Hyunjin is planning on being an actual theater kid, and Seungmin is...I don’t know, but he’s definitely onto something. Point is, everyone is already one too many steps ahead of me, I’m just..here, stuck. And I don’t feel like I have-”

“A lot of time left.” Felix finishes your sentence, prompting you to look at him this time. His delicate features shine under the cracking lights of dawn, starry eyes twinkling and lips outstretched into the smile that you absolutely adore. He has such a contagious type of smile that it makes you feel a little less dead inside whenever you see it. But your heartbeat also grows a little more ecstatic.

A hearty chuckle. “You’re not alone, you know,” he says while not breaking away from the eye contact, this makes your throat grow dry. “I still have so much to do, so much to...say yet too little time. So yeah, don’t think about it too much, I’m never gonna leave you behind no matter what.”

You have to hold back a playful scoff at that; and to think he was the one who brought up this sappy topic. “If anything, you’re the overthinker in this relationship,” you tell him with a nudge on his rib. “But if you’ve already had my back, then you should know that I’ll always have yours too.”

Because what would you do without an overthinker like Felix? Drowning your sorrow by stress-eating in the middle of the night? Bottoming out on questionable drinks to end up like Han Jisung? Winging every single important choice that can potentially flip your life upside down in either a good or bad way? Not in a million years. He knows that you need him as much as he needs you, harsh truth but you still hate it either way.

You both don’t look forward to the future, like at all.

You’re too apathetic and overall just a big ‘meh’ about it. You’re the type of person that goes with the flow, letting life toss you around like a ragdoll until you finally snap at some point to fight back because you know where the line between giving up and knowing that you’ve had enough is. Meanwhile, Felix is rather anxious about things. If a piece of paper with a pencil can draw out the map of his entire destiny ahead then he’ll have it finished in one night. But he’s grown out of his middle school self to know that things don’t always go as planned.

Guess if things turn out to be shit, you’ll still have him.

“Does that mean if we’re still single in our thirties, you’ll marry me like how our parents always joke about?” Felix cracks a shit-eating grin this time, one that makes your heart swell but for the most part, you wanna whack him unconscious with a pillow.

You sneer in return, “Sure, but you’ll have to fall for me first.”

There’s a pang in Felix’s chest, it’s so loud and evident that he’s afraid you might hear it. You really didn’t have to slap him in the face with that seemingly harmless statement. “Hmm, who would even fall for a stubborn hermit crab like you?” he jokes to hide the nervousness that’s crawling upon his spine. His ears are probably bright red right now. “Although...that wouldn’t be a problem with me.” Because he’s already fallen for you, a little too hard actually.

“What does that even mean?” you only hum after questioning his statement, nothing makes sense right now since you’re getting a little sleepy because a certain someone wanted to watch the sunrise which simply lasted for about two minutes after two(ish) hours of waiting.

“I don’t know,” Felix laughs before standing up, dusting the sand off of his jeans. “You go figure it out, smartass.” With that, he runs off with his Converses dangling between his fingers, leaving you dumbfounded in the middle of the beach like a total dimwit. Slowly, within those five seconds of making eye contact with your best friend again, his words zero in on you like a wakeup call.

Urgently grabbing your sneakers, you chase after him. “Hey- wait! GET BACK HERE!” By looks of it, you’ve probably figured it out now. It’s not like he’s trying to be subtle either.

Felix feels like he just gained strength from spewing out that indirect confession, and it gives him a tiny ray of hope that he still has his entire youth before his eyes to tell you how he really feels. Or his whole life if you don’t start resenting him for crossing the line that no one dares talk about when they have a thing for their best friend.

Either way, as long as Felix sees your presence side by side with him at every ups and downs, he’s home.

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hematomes · 2 years

Note

AJSJD cries i have to complete the things bUT HEY before i came back to reply i got thru that other pdf so now. mostly little things, and then write abt 500 characters in chinese for an essay (draft) and plan out an essay (already partially planned) and watch a version of mulan in chinese (eng subtitles tho). almost done ajsjjs

dw tho will take break eventually,, watch movie, maybe read some manga bc im dying to find out what happened in bnha, maybe watch jjk so i can finish s1 <3

YELLS WHAT IS THE ESSAY ABT AJD ALSO MOOD emotional support for essays is needed

also venti is on the horizon im v excited ajsjs. if only i had enough anemo gems cries

i am not on board with the overworking but i trust you so <3 congrats!!!

YES FINISH JJK god i caught up w the manga today and i rly need to re-read the last arc bc i just speedran through it the first time and now im lost

i have to comment a quote by jean-paul sartre cries it's horrendous and the professor is really vague about what she wants (like. we had an exam two weeks ago and the 2nd question was a yes or no + development to argue your stance but what she didn't tell us was that we actually needed to nuance the answer. so i got a 2/10 bc i only argued the positive and it kinda ruined my friday) so yeah, that's fun

YEAHHH GOOD LUCK GETTING THE ROCKS,,, im so excited for ayato, im mostly done w the farming and have him guaranteed i just need his banner to fucking COME)

#[☂️] hara / 💜

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has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong · 3 years

Text

Celebration

In which an unexpected servant congratulates my mastersona for both passing their Mage Exams and helping Gudako complete yet another singularity!

(The true backstory is that I recently finished all of my essays, my thesis and exam- so thought I should treat myself by writing a fic to commemorate it!!! YIPPEE!!)

Staring blankly at the spotless ivory walls looming above their head, Seihai frowned. Listlessly plonking yet another slice of pizza into their mouth, they flopped onto their bed.

‘What the heck do I do with my life now?’ At current, Chaldea had lapsed into a week-long festival, due to everybody successfully completing yet another singularity.

As a result of this, Gudako managed to rouse the entirety of Chaldea into a tremendous partying mood; in which servants were blasting sparklers at one another; Liz was hogging the speakers to blast out her latest hit tunes; and the Chaldea kitchen was overwhelmed with both chefs as well as hungry customers.

Although Seihai did actively partake in some of the activities, and was overjoyed to see Chaldea enveloped in such joy, a gnawing sense of unease still tore at their stomach. Even though today was the dawn of Chadea’s first ever Nightclub Party- a day that Seihai had been dying to experience- said anxiety made it all but impossible to enjoy it.

‘I’m not in the mood to party anymore,’ Seihai languidly flicked through the television channels, eventually landing upon yet another battle anime. ‘I dunno...It feels like the victory’s hollow or something...’

In Seihai’s eyes, the one who did the bulk of the work during singularities were Gudako, Mash, the staff and their servants. When it came to Seihai’s own place in this war; they had no idea in hell where they belonged. Besides from offering support, assistance, and lessening the load on Gudako’s shoulders- by providing mana to servants that Gudako hadn’t the energy to supply- they were naught but a small bit-piece in the war.

Clutching their fists -as a character on the television behind them began to yell, they contemplated the box of pizza sitting before them.

As a treat for also passing the Mage Association’s rather convoluted, and extremely unnecessary Online Mage’s Exam with flying colors, Seihai had more or less begged Boudicca to make some pizza- so that they could celebrate on their lonesome. Lifting the glimmering slice towards the sky, Seihai smiled wryly.

“Congratulations, me. We’ve fought hard. Let’s not let the negativity beat us today.” Before they could chow down on the beautiful, tantalizing slice- an array of golden sparkles invaded their vision, as they choked on their slice.

‘H-HOLY SHIT!!!’ Slapping their back, they managed to slide the slice back out again, only to be distracted by a horrendous clunking noise; as Seihai’s room shook like a tornado.

Only one person would enter their room like this.

Spinning their head to the side, they take sight of the king’s pernicious smirk; his red eyes sparkling with impish glee.

“G-Gilgamesh....You sure as hell caught me off guard this time.” Sighing audibly, Seihai rubbed their crimson red locks of hair. “Why don’t you like to knock before entering?”

“You would ask one as mighty as I- the King of Heroes- to knock on your measly door before entering?” He looked genuinely shocked by the suggestion. “Have you lost your mind, by perchance?”

“I feel like we’ve gone through an argument like this already.” Helping themselves to their feet, Seihai attempts to look him in the eyes. “I tell you ‘Yes, you should knock’, and then you go ‘you foolish cur! The king shall never knock before entering! It’s my right!’ or something like that.”

“Well, there you have it. Although wisdom initially evaded that tiny brain of yours, you’ve finally conjured up the answer to your own enquiry.”

“Hey, my brain isn’t tiny. I just can’t keep up with you sometimes.”

“If you’ve managed to fool yourself into believing that, then who am I to disagree?” Whipping out a decadent golden throne from a rippling gold portal, he places himself by Seihai’s side. “Now, I’m here to depart a word of wisdom. Listen carefully.”

‘W-Wait, he’s here to talk?! Why?!’ Utterly bemused by this turn of events, Seihai felt compelled to burst into laughter. ‘Oh shit, hold it in! Hold it in!’ Last time they laughed at the king; Gilgamesh threatened them with a thousand deaths. “Er...You want some drinks? Food?”

“Hoh...I’m glad to see that you retain enough honor to serve your king. However, the food of mongrels isn’t to-” As soon as Seihai pulled out an assortment of global snacks, Gilgamesh’s words caught in his very throat.

“Fine. Pass that one. On the right.” A look of embarrassment briefly flickered across his features, as he coughed lightly. “Don’t hesitate, mongrel! Pass it, post haste!!!”

Seihai smirked proudly at that. ‘Hehe, that’s payback for you being so damn rude! Can’t look down on my global snack collection, huh?’

Keeping such thoughts locked firmly within their mind, they pass Gilgamesh a vanilla twinkie. ‘How amusing...Gilgamesh, the arbiter of all pleasures; owner of all the items of the world, is a fan of snacks like twinkies...’ Seihai would most certainly make a note of this later on.

As they both settled down, munching down on an assortment of foods- Gilgamesh cleared his throat, his expression as hard as stone. “Mongrel.”

“Hm?”

“What ails you, to be avoiding a festival as grand as the Chaldea party? I’ll have you know that even I have no choice but to approve of its splendor.”

Seihai’s mind boggled at this. Was he inquiring as to their health? Lowering their head, Seihai mumbled a tiny “Well, you know...I’m just not in the mood. That’s all.”

“That’s all? I hadn’t taken you to be such a bore.”

“Well, that’s not really my problem; you know. Sometimes, I can be boring as hell, and today’s just one of those days.”

“Mongrel, Chaldea’s been renovated into a sparkling nightclub. A nightclub.” Gilgamesh placed heavy emphasis on the word ‘nightclub’. “And yet you still manage to profess that you’re ‘not in the mood’?! Whatever happened to that mongrel that wouldn’t stop dancing in the canteen the other day?” Gilgamesh looked truly offended, as if Seihai had broken a sworn covenant or something.

‘Wait, what the hell?! He caught me dancing in the canteen? FUCK!’ Seihai grimaced at this. “W-wait, Gilgamesh. How the hell did you catch me dancing?!”

Ignoring Seihai’s question, Gilgamesh continued to complain. “Don’t you understand? A night as dazzling as this may never happen again. I declare that you enjoy it to the utmost, before everything disappears.” He had an excellent point there. Life was all but fleeting, a translucent kaleidoscope of effervescent events. Who knows when all of Chaldea may breathe their very last breath?

“Okay, I’ll admit you have a pretty good point there.” He definitely did! However, Seihai was yet to be moved by his advice. “However, I don’t feel like I’m worthy enough to join...I messed up so many times during the last singularity....and it took me quite a few tries before passing the mage exam.”

“So, you’re a fool then.”

Before Seihai could leap up in outrage at this statement, Gilgamesh silenced them with a flex of his golden-plated hand. “However. Albeit being a fool, you’re a determined one; who fights for their own cause. And as the King of Heroes, I must acknowledge that such actions are actually worthy of merit. Therefore, I shall not allow you to wallow in such pathetic self-misery! Celebrate your achievements with all of your might, mongrel- and REJOICE!”

Eyes widening with awe, Seihai’s heart sung with joy at his words. Spirit roused, they gawped at him in shock. “W-what...?!”

Did he just praise them? Gilgamesh offering praise? The world must certainly be ending soon. Looking around them, to check whether they were dreaming- Seihai was completely befuddled. ‘Of all the people to come and cheer me up when I’m feeling sad...How the heck did he end up being the one to do so?!’

“Fuhahaha! You look as if you’ve transformed into a fish! How utterly amusing!” Gilgamesh’s shoulders trembled with laughter. “You heard me clearly, mongrel. Even fools such as you have inherent worth. Now go out there, and rejoice!”

“Er...well, thanks Gilgamesh. That was kind of you to say that.” To see one’s own failures as a bastion for developing success...Seihai was taken aback by Gilgamesh’s perspective on things. However, it was much appreciated. “I do like hearing your titbits of wisdom.”

“Don’t grow too accustomed to them. I shan’t hand them out willy-nilly, you know. Now, rise to your feet; so that we can descend upon the dancefloor!”

“Haha, that does actually sound like fun. Thanks again, Gilgamesh.”

“Don’t get too conceited, mongrel. I’m only offering you alms for this particular occasion.”

As Seihai chuckled at this (as Gilgamesh obliterated their bedroom door with a flying kick), the two rivals (Friends? Enemies? Who knows, really), made their way to the festival.

The End

WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. THIS WAS MUCH MORE FRIENDLY A FIC THAN EXPECTED. ALSO, I AM CERTAIN THAT MY MASTERSONA AND GILGAMESH WOULD BE LIKE ARCH ENEMIES BUT THEY ACTUALLY GOT ALONG????????

#gilgamesh #fate series #mastersona #my writing #gilgablog #ok ye i wrote something selfish okay ye i did but i am bad at celebrating so idk i thought itd be funny to put gil there

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Something Old

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Part Nine

Summary: Now that winter break was upon you, you finally had time to look into what your mother told you about as well as confront the other parent in the situation, the one you dread to think about and the one Draco had to live with.

A/N: Hello my darling loves! We’re finally getting somewhere with plot! And lore! And Latin! ((Seriously, something is lost when you know Latin and can translate the spells on the top of your head... it’s less... magical. But funny because the spells mean exactly what they’re doing and I don’t know if that a cheap lazy move or brilliant.)) Let me know what you guys think! Also I’m toying with the idea of uploading this to AO3... would you guys want that? Love you guys, stay safe.

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe

Snape eyed me as I smiled through my exam, on cloud none the entire way. I had gotten through my History of Magic exam no problem and now Snape wanted us to recreate our Bellum Amoris antidotes. Weeks of worrying and I was finished with the second fastest time.

Draco beat me by a few minutes—he was allowed to the ingredients first—and we walked out of the exam hand in hand, not caring much about anyone who decided to gawk at us.

I was in too good of a mood. The term was done for the winter, I had finished all of my exams, and I wouldn’t be alone for the holidays when I remained at Hogwarts this year as I had the years before.

“I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” Draco nudged my shoulder. “Except beating my time of course.” A grin stretched across his face. “Which you couldn’t of course,”

I rolled my eyes and let out a laugh.

“I think I’ll be okay missing one point because I wasn’t as fast as you,” I drawled.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re dreading the fact,” He teased back as we made our way to the Great Hall. “Have you heard anything from your mother?” His voice lowered.

“Not yet, thought I suppose she’s waiting to hear from me,” I mumbled.

“You didn’t answer her!?” Draco grew agitated.

“I did,” I reaffirmed, giving him a look. “But I said that I would talk about it later when we had time to... figure things out? I didn’t know what to say...”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” He reassured as we entered the Great Hall that was really magical with the Christmas decorations and warmth from the people within.

“Y/n! Draco!”

We both tensed until we saw Hermione waving at us along with the four Weasleys and Harry. No one was glaring at us—Draco—so I took that as a good sign as we sat down for dinner.

It was easy to sink into the familiarity and safety of the school, but with the Yule Ball coming, worry nagged at my mind. It was a big deal and an even bigger deal to pure-bloods. Another occasion to show off and “be better” than everyone else. My mother wouldn’t care, and I knew that... but Draco’s parents—father—had to have something to say about it and it worried me.

“Have you heard from your father?” I asked in a soft voice during dinner when the others were concerned with the upcoming task for the tournament.

His expression darkened as he glared at his plate.

So, yes then.

“Dray,” I whispered softly, rubbing his arm softly. “What happened?”

“Not here,” He said curtly, his eyes dancing around the merry scene around us.

I nodded and we both put on masks of calm and ease through dinner. His hand held mine throughout and we both lost our appetites. Maybe I should have written my mother a bit more than the vague note I gave. She would know what to do.

____________________________

Draco had gotten the letter last night, before he sent you the invitation to dinner. It what prompted him to send it in the first place. He knew that you could take away the depressing cloud that hovered whenever his father spoke to him.

And you did, almost easily. When he was with you, it was easy to focus on your smile, the way your hair fell into and out of place constantly, the way you almost danced down the hallways because you always gave off the demeanor of not having a care or fear in the world. It rubbed off on him. He’d rather be frustrated with the simple secrets that you kept than frustrated with the conflict about family and legacies.

And you were exactly what he needed last night. Your warmth, and comfort, the games you played and gentle touched you gave and small sounds that were his now to hold. But there were

still dark moments of the night that he couldn’t escape when his father’s words weighed him down.

Draco would never understand how you managed to pick up on the fact that his father had sent him something. Maybe he hadn’t given it away and you were just worrying again.

After dinner the two of you split up for some time, to drop off books and changed from school uniforms and in your case hopefully to find something warmer to wear.

Draco almost didn’t want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower because it was so frigid outside. He racked his brain for anywhere else to go in the school that offered solidarity and warmth. He could sneak you into the Slytherin dorms... but it might pose a danger to you as his house wasn’t as welcoming as yours had been to his relationship with you. The library seemed to be the best place at the moment to finally start looking into what was going on.

He met you outside you Common Room, as always and the two of you walk together. he had taken your books from you the moment you stepped out and though you gave him a curt you, you said nothing.

“I was thinking maybe we go to the library,” He offered. “It’s too cold for you in the Tower.” You hummed in agreement, silent in your thoughts again.

“It’ll probably be empty because of the end of term,” You mused, nodding as if you had settled on the idea.

“You’re quiet again,” He noted, the notion bothering him more than he thought.

“Thinking,”

“Now there’s an idea.” He teased as the two of you sat in a back table in the vacant library.

__________________________

It wasn’t the same as being alone with him in the Astronomy Tower, but it was much warmer being surrounded by lit fires and a million books.

“Where do you want to start?” The question slipped through as I pulled out parchment and quill to take notes.

I knew the last thing he wanted to talk about was his father, but that’s what worried me the most. It was all for naught if his father could get between us and make whatever this had become into a tragedy. As if he knew this, he slid a folded parchment over to me, not meeting my eyes.

Taking it, I took a breath in and opened it:

Draco,

I have heard many rumors about you, and I pray that none of them are true. You have been raised better than to fraternize a Lupine let alone allow her to kiss you. It is atrocious behavior and it will stop immediately.

They are a disgrace to pure bloods everywhere and are almost worse than the Weasleys. I have raised you with higher standards than this. I am appalled to even hear that these things might be going on.

I do not want you to go near her. I want to hear nothing of you being with her or the people she considers friends. Do not believe her lies or the things that she tells you. It is what the Lupines do. They lie and bend the truth into something that is horrendous. It is what they have always done, and you know this.

She is nothing more than a she-demon come to ruin everything that I have built for you and to steal everything that I have worked all my life to give you.

You are a Malfoy. Do not forget that.

I am beyond disappointed to hear this. Correct what has been done immediately.

Your Father,

Lucius Malfoy

I frowned at the letter as I read it a few more times, trying to figure out what I wanted to address first. At the moment, I just wanted to send this to my mother and see what she would do knowing the fire in her was stronger than mine. But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I placed the letter down and looked up to wary blue eyes. “Well,” I whispered. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do?” He snapped; a soft look from me and he took a deep breath, calming.

“If... I know that I’ve dragged you into this. And that you didn’t have much of a choice. So, if you want to... I...” My gaze fell to my lap as I tried to find the right words to tell him... to let him go.

“Why would you think—”

“Because I don’t want you to get talked down to like this by someone who’s supposed to love you!” I threw the letter on the table. “I’m... I’m not worth ruining... You shouldn’t be treated like an errant child because you’re talking to me,”

“I’m always treated like an errant child Y/n,” He scoffed. “Now at least I have a good reason.”

“What?” I looked up, the frown returning to my face.

“Nothing I ever did for my father has been good enough. I think landing in Slytherin was the last time he was actually proud of something that I did.” Draco picked up the letter and rolled his eyes, tearing it in half.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“What I should have done when I got this letter,” He muttered, tossing it into the nearest fireplace.

I marveled at him, a small smile playing at my lips. I had hoped he would choose me, but now that he had, something heavy was lifted from my shoulders. Though I still wasn’t quite taken with how his father talked to him, but I knew it wasn’t my place to go against Lucius no matter how much of a...

Never mind.

“Now, to the books?” He sat back down, picking up the book I had taken from him not too long ago and he leafed through the pages.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly for a moment and whispering a small thanks before we settled in to read. Taking another book—The Nature of a Soul— from the stack, we got to work. My eyes scanned the table of contents and then the pages.

...Every person has a soul created of the either stars, or earth. Those who have earthen souls are born without magic, but those with Souls of The Stars will grow to be wizards. It is not genetics that decides but the universe itself...

I scribbled down notes as I read, leafing through pages.

...Souls born of the same matter bond to another. It is rare for a Soul of The Stars to bond, but when it does happen it is the work of the universe and no man or magic can break it. This was known as the Consentire Animi Pace. Seers of our kind have often prophesied about Great Darkness that would take hold before these Animi came to unite what was unraveled by generations past. Millenia has passed since this foretelling and it is doubted to exist...

I nudged Draco and showed him the page, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he gnawed on his lip when he read something due to concentration. It made me smile.

“Great Darkness?” He muttered softly.

“You know as well as I do who it could be,” My voice was soft and hesitant.

I knew that Draco’s father had fought alongside Voldemort in the first war and I wondered what happened if it came down to it, what would Draco choose? With what I knew from Harry’s

adventures and life story, the threat of Voldemort loomed now more than ever. Was that the Great Darkness that the text referred to?

“This talks about a prophecy,” He murmured, pulling the book that he was reading. “That might be what this is, I can only make out some of it...”

He showed me the carpet page filled with intricate designs and detailed lettering. Some of the page was burned away, leaving half in its wake. I ran my hand softly over the artwork before reading the script:

Nox defluet et malum surget.

Dos Animī consentiens

Eō die, nox non vincet

Cum illī ...

I stared at the text, grabbing my parchment and slowly translating.

“What do you know?” I asked softly. “What could you translate?”

“Nox is night, malum, evil...” His brow furrowed again.

“Night... falls—will fall and evil will rise. Two souls... joining?” I wrote down what I could. “On that day, night will not conquer, because these souls...”

“You can read this?” He was baffled.

I shrugged. “Just some Latin. Mother taught it to me. That’s why spells are so easy for me... it’s just Latin all I have to do is translate.”

“Bloody hell that’s genius,” He muttered.

“But some of the prophecy is missing... I think most of it probably.” I mused, leafing through the book to see if I could find anything else.

“Do you really think that this is about is though?” He asked softly, timid. “Even if it’s not... it’s still something to know. And it might be important.”

“The only person who would see this as important is Trelawney.” Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe she’s the one we really need to talk to if prophecies are caught up in all of this.” I thought aloud. “Did you find anything else?” I looked up from my notes.

“Nothing of use. You?”

“Souls apparently are made from either stars or earth and magic or muggle has nothing to do with genetics,” I shrugged, reading over my notes. “So that’s new I guess.”

“What do you mean it has nothing to do with blood?” He snapped.

“I read it; I didn’t say that it was law. And what does it matter anyway? Magic is magic, no matter who uses it or doesn’t.” I defended, narrowing my eyes.

He grumbled and folded his arms sulking.

“Draco,” I chided, but gave up the notion.

I knew it would take time to undo what his father had engrained in him. Maybe this was step one.

Soon after finding nothing more about the prophecy or soul matter, Pince said that she was closing the library for the night and that we should head to bed before curfew. Returning the books to their proper places, Draco and I walked quietly along the halls.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Draco sighed, taking my hand. “Forgive me?”

I nodded and offered a small smile.

“We grew up in different worlds, it was bound to clash eventually.”

“Doesn’t make it right for me to take it out on you,”

I raised an eyebrow at him, a smug smile finding its way to my face.

“Yeah, yeah shut up.” He muttered.

“One step at a time,”

We walked along in thought, no words needing to be spoken. Pausing outside the Gryffindor portrait, Draco leaned down and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to my lips.

“Goodnight Y/n,”

“Goodnight Draco,”

There were words stuck on the tips of our tongue that neither of us dare to utter but felt all the same:

I love you.

Part 11?

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writing-on-a-moonflower · 3 years

Text

Glasses and gray hair

Pairing: Dani x Jamie

Rating: T (fluff)

Words count: 1160

Promtps: “Jamie complains about how much she hates the glasses but she like when Dani fix ‘em for her.” “Dani tells her she looks sexy with glasses.” “Jamie loses them all the time and Dani finds them all the time.” “Jamie takes them off when Dani’s not around but puts them back on whenever she approaches.” “Jamie loves the sight of Dani in said glasses.”

------

“C’mon Jay, ìs nothing dangerous, maybe you’ll not even need them.” Dani tries to reassure her.

“Well if that’s the case then why can’t we just go home? ... Maybe back to bed?” Jamie says stepping closer. “Nice try, this time won’t work. What do you say if I get in the office with you, mh, would this make you feel less scared?”

Jamie retreated abruptly “I’m not scared.” then seems to think better of it “You’ll stay there? The whole time?” ask seriously.

Dani smiles “Yeah Jamie, the whole time.” sees the curly brunette slowly nod taking in the new information, “Okay fine.” attempts a smile that let Dani still notice her anxiety.

“Okay, that’s perfect ‘cause is our turn to go in.”

It’s not the first time Dani goes with Jamie to doctor's appointments, they talked about her anxiety for these kinds of things, but they don’t become any easier.

Instead, Jamie tends to minimize things. Dani had to see her going to bed without first reading a book for three nights before asking, and a little more for Jamie to admit that she doesn’t see well.

Dani understands to not put pressure on this, knowing from where Jamie’s coming from, so she talks to her and persuades her to go check ‘just for good measure’.

During the exam Dani stays close up to the wall in front of where Jamie was seated. When she looked in her direction she would do thumbs up to cheer her up, which most definitely caused Jamie to raise her eyes in a dramatic way.

Turned out Jamie needed glasses and was absolutely not happy about it.

It tooks to wear them a day for her to begin to hate them and ended up keeping them on her head after a brief discussion about losing the glasses a few days in:

“I can’t do math already but without the glasses is worse, can't you just do it?” she had impatiently asked which caused Dani to use her own tone “Well can’t you wear them at least for that?”.

Jamie let out a frustrated sigh and replied “You’re better at it either way. Just, do it.” this got Dani to give her a hard look “Just do it? Get your glasses and just do it yourself.” and turned her back concentrating on the composition of flowers she was finishing. Jamie then found herself with a voice higher than she expected “I can’t fucking find them! Fine? I fucking lost them again!”

Well, ended that Dani found them immediately which maybe frustrated Jamie more that it should have, or maybe that was just a restless day at the shop -as they that night agreed when they finally spoke- either way she started keeping them that way right from the morning after.

This caused Dani to place them back on her nose while Jamie grumbled.

The grumbling, though, didn’t last long. At least whenever Dani went to fix them on her nose.

Dani notices too, Jamie takes slow breaths when she does that, not like she overstepped, more like she finds the gesture calming, grounding.

Anyway, this doesn't stop Jamie from complaining almost the whole day: when cooking the glasses fog up, when gardening she forgets the glasses and going to move her hair, they get dirty… and these are just a few of the reasons she hates them.

The complaining seems to go on for weeks, till Dani comes home one day and discovers Jamie on the couch reading with her glasses on.

Opts not to disturb her until after putting the food bought at its place, if not by looking at her every now and then: in her black low turtleneck shirt and jeans -somehow she finds comfortable to wear them at home-, her curly hair up in a bun that are starting to turn gray and her new glasses, slim and black.

It’s like a magnet pulling her towards the couch, resting her head on Jamie’s lap and taking her hand to play with.

It doesn’t take long for Jamie to close the book, smiles at Dani staring at her and puts the glasses back on the head.

“Put them back on Jay.” can’t help herself from saying, earning a snort from her “Why? they’re horrendous.” rubs her eyes “You chose them.” and already Jamie seems to know her response since she talked above her “That’s why I know they are!” snorts again dropping her head against the head-rest of the couch.

“Well that’s too bad.” Dani drops Jamie’s hand.

Jamie looks at her again through eyelashes “And why’s that?“ curiosity showing in her voice.

“They look very good on you.” answers as sitting up on Jamie’s lap “They suit you.” adds with an amused grin -earning a not convinced giggle- and goes to put the glasses at their place pushing them up.

And Jamie doesn’t stop her, instead she wraps her arms around her waist, tugging Dani closer. ‘Cause she will never admit it out loud but she likes when Dani does that, it’s caring, looks like a natural reflex to her, it’s nice.

The blonde watches the glasses for a moment then focuses on the eyes behind them and grins.

“I think you look sexy in them.” Jamie straightens her back “You really think so?” a faint smirk forming on her lips.

“It has to be the whole look, glasses plus those few gray hair of yours? You didn’t leave me much of a choice.” and the smirk is definitely back “Yeah you’ve fallen hard uh.” teases moving closer to leave a slow kiss that doesn’t take much to deepen.

Jamie, as everyone who has met her knows, can be very stubborn when she wants to be. Apparently though, all that was necessary to convince her to keep using her glasses was one afternoon filled by kisses and small talks with Dani, curled up her front.

What Dani doesn’t know -and will not know until months from now- is that Jamie wears said glasses just when she’s around, she just really has a bad relationship with them.

They feel too heavy on her nose, they slide down all the time, they fog up when she forgets to take them off cooking or when they’re on the bathroom counter while she’s having a hot shower. She knows she has to wear them but it’s too much for her, she just becomes frustrated wearing them.

But as soon as she sees Dani enter a room or the apartment or reappear from the backroom of the shop the glasses find they’re way on her nose… maybe slightly down so Dani will push them up her nose in her, by now, familiar way.

Plus during late night talking in bed with a sheepish smiling Dani means her asking if she can try them on and the whole scene it’s just a vision. Especially if the light of the moon finds its way through the drapes.

------

Note: it hasn't been long since I've started writing again so, sorry for eventual mistakes. Hope y’all liked it and be free to give me any advice.

#thobm #the hunting of bly manor #dani clayton #jamie taylor #jamie the gardener #dani x jamie #damie #fanfics #oneshot #fluff #jamie needs glasses

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

Insurrection (It’s About Time)

→ [4/7] of the Glossary Series

→ summary: If you told Park Jimin he was going to fall in love with a young cult leader, he would've laughed. But honestly, who's laughing now??

→ pairing/rating: jimin x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 90% angst, 9.9% fluff, 0.1% crack | high school!au

→ warnings: death, mentions of suicide, academic dishonesty, cult-like activities, profanity, school threats (bombs & shootings)

→ wordcount: 18.3k

→ a/n: this is a story that is near and dear to my heart. it actually kind of hurt to write because a lot of these scenes are similar to my experiences or the experiences of loved ones. i’ve had this idea for almost two years now and i finally decided to write it out. i hope you enjoy (:

Jimin is punctual. In fact, he is on another level of punctuality. At any given event, he arrives at least fifteen minutes early. For what reason? His answer would be 'just in case.' There are a plethora of events that can go wrong, a multitude of catastrophes that can erupt in his face last-minutely. Jimin's not going to take any chances jeopardizing his own future.

Especially his future in education.

Much accordingly, since he is exceedingly punctual, Jimin can not—for the love of god—stand people who dilly dally. The atrocity of them to dare to be late and waste others' time!

This is the exact reason why he absolutely despises his calculus teacher.

I sacrificed my goddamn lunchtime studying for this exam. And now he decides to be late.

Jimin's hands shake violently as he brings up his notes to his face, eyes boring into the paper filled with equations and example problems. Hands clammy and sticking to the paper, he balances himself on the balls of his feet and rocks in an attempt to try to settle his spiked nerves.

This is definitely not a good way to start off finals weeks.

Jimin has exactly an 88.3% in AP Calculus BC, and a morbid B+ will do no good in his future—at least that's what the school propaganda and his parents say. He'll have to score extremely well on this fall semester's final exam, especially because his teacher refuses to round up the grades.

Goddamn. He's really late. Late to his own final.

Jimin starts biting his nails again. At this point, there isn't much nail to bite left, but he manages to gnaw at the skin around it. It's a small habit that goes far; he does it when he's nervous, but nail-biting always does such little to do away with his gargantuan amount of stress.

In frustration, Jimin lets out a massive sigh, clutching at his chest where his lungs threatened to collapse on him. His stomach feels tight and queasy, which doesn't have much to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten. He is just anxious. Unlike the others around him.

Next to Jimin, Jeon Jungkook, his friend, casually leans against the brick wall, eyes focused on his phone screen as he mumbles nasty profanities under his breath. "That's motherfucking right, die, bitches," he mutters. Jungkook moves his body along with the avatar inside his game. He's so into it that his eyes gleam when he reigns victorious. "Ha!" he screeches, throwing up his hands. "Fuck you, you cowards! I win!"

Jungkook finally looks up from his game and meets eyes with Jimin. He grins. "Hey, bro, wanna log on too?"

Jimin's mouth hangs open with a mixture of complete surprise and utter disapproval. "We have a final this period, Jungkook. Aren't you the tiniest bit worried?"

He regrets asking that because he knows the answer he's going to get.

"No, not really," Jungkook snorts. He looks back at his phone screen and hoots. "Fuck, yeah! He's not here yet! I think I can squeeze in another game."

If Jimin's parents knew that his friend—aside from his straight A's and musical accomplishments—played video games, namely Fortnite, to pass time, they'd probably transfer Jimin to another school. A school that could be worse than this one. Which might as well be a prison.

Jimin shakes his head, harshly gripping his notes and looking away from Jungkook. Jimin doesn't want to admit it, but he's jealous. While he's stuck having a mini internal breakdown over the teacher's tardiness, Jungkook's taking the extra leisure time to play some shitty mobile game.

It's unfair. Jungkook gets his straight A's without moving so much of a goddamn muscle. While Jimin, on the other hand, has to stay up until four in the morning every other day, studying or doing homework from the moment he's awake to the time he goes to bed. He will never understand why, despite his grueling efforts, that he has a fair share of B's in his transcript.

It's a shitty, unfair system. But then again, it was set up to be unfair, anyways. Here at Welton High School, every student has taken a rigorous entrance exam, of which only the top 25% scoring students are accepted. Every student is well above average—they are students from all over the world and have probably never heard the word 'average' spoken to them in their entire lives. Until they faced Welton, of course. Now of the top 25%, only 1% can truly be special.

Jimin sometimes thinks that when he was accepted to Welton, he must've been barely at the cut off line. He speculates that he must've been in the top 24.99%, and was very lucky that he wasn't waitlisted.

He worked twice as hard from freshman year until now, junior year, to be on level with the young, walking Einsteins of Welton. But no matter how hard Jimin tries, he has never been able to outsmart the intellectuals who were born to change the world with their IQ's alone.

Competition is way too fierce.

No, Jimin thinks. Competition is deadly.

And it is. Student suicides, school shooting threats (from the students), student protests... Teenagers crack under pressure. But what can Jimin do about it? The system's shitty, yes, but he has no choice but to follow it, or else the promise of a stable future goes down the drain and into the sewer. For that exact reason, Jimin studies like there's no tomorrow every day.

Wake up. Go to school. Eat. Study. Sleep (if he's lucky). Wake up (sometimes). And do it all over again.

So fine. Jimin's jealous of Jeon Jungkook. Because he doesn't seem to put in the effort for his perfect grades. And it irks Jimin. But it shouldn't. Jungkook's his friend, so Jimin should be happy for him.

It's hard though when the person you're closest to is so far beyond your league that you begin to think yourself inferior to them.

"Sorry, class!" Jimin's calc teacher huffs as he nearly spills over his coffee while skidding to a stop in front of the classroom door. "We've lost time for the final! Get in your seats, take out a pencil, eraser and graphing calculator! Be ready in your seats so I can pass out the exams!" he orders in a frenzy.

How can you be so irresponsible? Jimin thinks, glaring daggers at the back of his teacher's head.

He's almost blinded by rage until he realizes what he's really here for: to take the test. Right. His stomach flips at the thought. Jimin shoves his notes into his backpack, wincing when he hears some of the papers ripping.

Shit, this is the moment. He's been dreading this exact time for weeks now. Each step into the familiar class makes him feel like he's walking the plank, inching closer and closer to his impending doom.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Jimin feels a migraine creeping in already. I don't know if I can do this.

Next to him, Jungkook is still playing Fortnite. Jimin doesn't know if he should spitefully tell his friend to stop or to let him continue. God, it's not fair.

Jimin's teacher is all over the place, holding his cup of coffee while also carrying dozens of test booklets in the other hand. For a split second, Jimin wishes his teacher would spill his coffee on the tests. Maybe that would delay the final. Maybe Jimin would get his first stroke of good luck in the nearly three years of high school he had already faced.

But luck is not on Jimin's side today. It never was.

The test booklets make it out in perfect condition, and Jimin's slightest bit of hope is crushed when his teacher finally sets down his coffee on his desk.

"Get your tests! Come on, pick them up!" his teacher shrills. Jimin breathes in deeply. At this point, he's just going to accept his fate. He might as well accept a B+ in this class. God, I feel faint.

"Don't write on the test," the teacher continues. "The scratch paper is up here if you need it and—"

The loud, blaring fire alarm interrupts him. It echoes deafeningly through the class, the raucous noise piercing through Jimin's ears to such an extent that he covers them with his hands. Jimin shakes in his seat, making eye contact with Jungkook.

For once in his life, Jungkook looks confused in a class setting. 'What the fuck??" he mouths aggressively to Jimin.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sometimes, the administration liked to schedule secret fire drills to get the students and staff better prepared in case of a real emergency. But really, during finals week? When students are already nerve-wracked from exam season? God, they had no shame for fuck's sake.

Jimin's teacher sighs, running his fingers through his head of unkempt hair. "All sorts of things happening today," he mutters to himself. "Must be a mistake," he declares with an affirmative nod of the head. "Class, as I was saying before—"

"Holy fuck, the other classes are evacuating!" Jungkook shrieks, pointing out the classroom window. Sure enough, teachers are already herding their students outside to the evacuation areas on the soccer fields. "I don't think this is a dr—"

Before Jungkook finishes his sentence and the teacher disciplines him for his explicit choice of language, the intercom buzzes, momentarily halting the horrendous fire alarm. Everyone freezes and it goes completely silent. So silent that Jimin can hear his own heartbeat.

A loud crackle and another buzz ring from the intercom, then the principal begins to speak in a hurried voice: "This is not a drill. Please proceed to evacuate out of the buildings. Thank you."

The moment he finishes, the intercom crackles again and the fire alarm carries on.

Jimin's anxiety flies to the roof. Not a drill? What could've possibly happened?

His teacher looks almost as—or even more—shaken as Jimin and he yells panicked directions to the students. "I'll be the last one out! Meet me at our safety corner on the field!"

Jimin quickly finds Jungkook and the two of them walk side by side out of the building. As soon as Jimin can see the sky, he looks up instinctively to check for smoke. But there is none. In fact, the sky looks clearer than normal today.

"Do you even think there's a fire?" Jimin asks his friend. He almost lets out a scoff of disbelief when he sees Jungkook playing his mobile game again.

"No idea," Jungkook replies nonchalantly, jabbing at his screen with his thumb. "Don't think it's anything serious. Probably just a small fire in chem class. Nothing to worry about."

Jimin's still uneasy. "You don't think anyone's hurt, do you?"

At that, Jungkook hums, his forehead creasing slightly as he finally shuts off his phone and pockets it. "There's no ambulance," he points out. Jungkook turns to Jimin fully, grinning at him to Jimin's shock. "Loosen up, Jimin. This is junior year. We might have a chance at canceled finals because of this real evacuation! Now isn't that nice?"

"I guess..." Jimin mumbles. But I need the final to raise my grade...

It's strange to see his peers smiling and laughing as they walk side by side with their friends. It's almost as if the fire alarm isn't threateningly blaring in the background. Do none of them care that this could be a serious matter??

"By the looks of it, we're definitely going to skip the calc final today!" Jungkook shouts victoriously, pumping his fist in the air. "No more fucking math!"

"True..." Jimin admits nervously. "But he might have to take the final after school..." He's almost too embarrassed to say that he needs this final to raise his grade.

Jungkook snorts. "Welton's not allowed to keep us after school with such short notice," he says. "If things go right, we might not have finals for the rest of the day."

When Jungkook puts it that way, the thought sounds heavenly.

"Yo! Bros!" a familiar voice calls, breaking Jimin from his reverie. "Y'all okay? We could've literally died!"

It's Taehyung, Jimin's other friend. The only guy in the whole school who's unafraid to use the word 'y'all' and be judged for it.

"Man, I heard the girl's locker room caught on fire!" Taehyung announces.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow. "Unless you were in there, how would you know?" he teases.

Jimin laughs as Taehyung huffs disapprovingly. "Some girls told me. I would never sneak in there," he pouts, crossing his arms.

"Really?" Jimin says. "How would the fire have started in there, though?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised to see what goes down in the girl's locker room," Jungkook says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What went down so hard to cause a fire??" Jimin asks.

"Nah, don't believe him, Minnie," Taehyung laughs. "Jungkook probably sneaks in there from time to time to be a little perv."

Jungkook shrugs, unfazed by the accusation. He even plays along with it. "Well, I need something interesting to do in my high school career."

At that, Jimin and Taehyung shoot each other a look. Them and a majority of the students at Welton don't have enough hours in the day to study, let alone to seek for 'something interesting to do' in their high school careers. It's so like Jeon Jungkook, the genius, to say shit like this.

"Whatever, y'all," Taehyung says. "I don't even care what happened. We're still alive, you know? I'm just glad I'm missing out on that stupid physics final."

"Lucky," Jimin says. "I'm supposed to take that shit tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, if there even is a tomorrow," Jungkook says, scrolling through his phone. Jimin thinks he's playing some mobile game again, but he soon realizes he's reading something. "It's not a fire in the girl's locker room after all..."

The three boys immediately stop walking, Taehyung and Jimin looking over Jungkook's shoulder to read what was on his screen. It's an email sent from the principal to all attending students and their guardians:

Dear Welton Community,

Today at approximately 12:48 pm, an unidentified caller phoned in a bomb threat to Welton High School. The caller stated seven pipe bombs had been planted on campus and were going to detonate in 25 minutes. The Police Department was called and immediately responded. Along with them, the School Administration decided to evacuate all buildings and bomb-sniffing dogs were called to search the entire school. When they have completed their search, I will send out another message to our community with the all-clear.

Thank you.

Bombs. Bombs?!?! Jimin panics again. Actual bombs! Seven pipe bombs could do serious damage—maybe even decimate half of the population of Welton High. What if they go off? Will this really be the end?

"Well, that explains the excessive amount of helicopters flying above us," Jungkook says, shrugging.

Before Jimin can shoot his friend a look of utter incredulity, he hears the sharp voice of his calc teacher. "Jimin! Jungkook! What are you doing out of line? I'm taking roll!"

"The Grinch is calling," Jungkook snickers. "We'll see you later," he tells Taehyung who salutes the two of you.

"See you guys," Taehyung says before sauntering off to his physics class.

"Text us!" Jimin calls.

Taehyung doesn't turn around but gives two big thumbs up indicating that he had heard Jimin.

Quickly, Jimin and Jungkook get in line while their dratted teacher takes roll. Once they see that their teacher isn't eagle-eyeing them, they slip out their phones, opening their group chat with Taehyung. It looks like Taehyung had already sent them multiple texts. All cries of pity.

Group: dead men + kook

[half-dead cowboy]: y'alls

[half-dead cowboy]: literally save me

[half-dead cowboy]: idk anyone in this class

[half-dead cowboy]: keep me entertained

[half-dead cowboy]: don't leave me hanging

[half-dead cowboy]: guyds

[half-dead cowboy]: guys*

[nO yOu]: serves u right for deciding to take physics ii lmfaoo

[half-dead cowboy]: shut up kook

[half-dead cowboy]: where's my boi minnie when i need him

[lil dead man]: Shit Tae I keep forgetting to tell you not to call me that

[half-dead cowboy]: you know why?

[half-dead cowboy]: because you not-so-secretly lobr it

[half-dead cowboy]: ugh

[half-dead cowboy]: love*

[nO yOu]: how did u even get in welton tae lmfao u can't even spell

[half-dead cowboy]: no

[half-dead cowboy]: i can SPELL i can't TYPE

[half-dead cowboy]: there's a difference you jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: ARE YOU KIDDING ME

[half-dead cowboy]: jerk********

[lil dead man]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

[nO yOu]: i feel quite honored to b called a jerky

[half-dead cowboy]: stfu

[nO yOu]: no for real bro

[nO yOu]: thank you

[lil dead man]: Back at it again with the sarcasm Kook

[lil dead man]: Anyways what's the girl's locker room like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[half-dead cowboy]: not the lenny face

[half-dead cowboy]: please no

[nO yOu]: nO yOu

[lil dead man]: How long have you been waiting to say that

[nO yOu]: months

[nO yOu]: thanks for noticing. u my man

[nO yOu]: also if tae won't say anything bout the girl's locker room i will

[lil dead man]: What the fuck bro I thought you were joking when you say you knew the shit that went down????

[nO yOu]: lmfao i'm still jokin chillax minnie

[half-dead cowboy]: i hate you guys :((((((

[nO yOu]: damn that frowny face has 6 chins holy mothatruckafucka

[half-dead cowboy]: :(

[lil dead man]: That's more like it!!

[half-dead cowboy]: hold up hold up

[half-dead cowboy]: oh shoot y'all hearing this?

[nO yOu]: no?? we're texting? wE hAvE nO vOicE

[half-dead cowboy]: no you illiterate f*cks they just cleared the school the bomb threat as phony

[lil dead man]: Whew

[lil dead man]: I'm happy I won't blow up into smithereens but also pissed off as fuck that we'll have to live to take finals??

[nO yOu]: agreed, minnie

[nO yOu]: k but more importantly

[nO yOu]: tae did you just censor out a fucking cuss word

[half-dead cowboy]: i'm trying not to cuss as much anymore if you haven't noticed. but y'all make it f*cking hard. f*ck

[lil dead man]: We'Re sOrRy wE'Re bAd iNflUenCe

[half-dead cowboy]: :(((((((((((((((

[nO yOu]: 15 chins lets git itttt

[half-dead cowboy]: F*CK Y'ALL

It feels strange. The shortened school day had been so eventful... but also uneventful? Sure, there was a bomb threat, but it had been fake. Jimin thought a full-on Hollywood action scene would've commenced after the bombs detonated, but the bombs were never there in the first place. There weren't any finals either. All of them had been rescheduled to take next week, which was good news for most students.

It wasn't just good news, too. It was great news. Superb news. The best news students have gotten since they began attending Welton High School. Now, students are thanking the bomb threat for its rather impeccable timing. Some are even pissed that it hadn't happened earlier (so more finals could have been missed).

"We need to celebrate this once in a lifetime opportunity!" Taehyung announces as soon as the three boys are reunited. "It's not every day that a bomb threat cancels your finals!"

"We deserve a break, anyways," Jimin says. "I'm down. Kook?"

"Mm..." Jungkook makes an unintelligible sound at the back of his throat as he pauses his video game with the tap of his finger. "Sorry guys. Can't. Have to go somewhere."

"You?" Taehyung gasps dramatically. "Have plans?"

"And without us?" Jimin says, feigning a hurt expression. "Are you ditching us?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "No. I'm just... busy."

"Ha! Busy," Taehyung snorts. "Yeah, busy with that little sophomore girl you've been—cough—seeing."

"What the fuck," Jungkook scoffs. "How do you know about that?"

Taehyung opts not to answer the question, instead, he giggles. "It's a date, isn't it?" he sings.

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks in annoyance. "Fine," he says, slipping his phone inside his back pocket. "It's a date."

"Oh, we are so following you," Taehyung says.

"Don't you dar—"

"No, we're following you," Jimin grins.

"No, I swear to fucking g—"

Jimin and Taehyung are following Jungkook. The boy's surprisingly agile as he zig-zags around stumpy trees, tall bushes and overflowing trash cans. Sometimes, he quickly looks behind him as if to see if someone was trailing his back. Every time, Jimin's heart sinks with the fear of being caught, but Taehyung seems to love the thrill of the adrenaline rush.

At this rate, Jimin feels like an outlaw. But he's only just chasing his rather suspicious-looking friend. Or maybe he really wanted his relationship with the sophomore girl as a secret?

Or maybe there was no sophomore girl in the picture at all. Jimin's not too sure.

"It's as if he doesn't want anyone to know he's dating a teeny weeny 10th grader," Taehyung whispers, a mischievous grin stuck on his lips.

Yeah. If the girl exists. But Jimin doesn't say that. "I wonder who she is," he whispers back. "I mean, who on earth is worthy of dating our Kook?"

"My expectations for this girl are high," Taehyung snorts. "She better be the most intelligent girl I've ever—wait, what the fucK??"

The latter is more of a reaction. Taehyung grabs Jimin's arm, pulling him to take refuge behind a particularly bushy bush. He points at a rather unsettling scene unfolding before them.

Through the leaves of the shrub, Jimin can make out Jungkook, all right. There's also a girl—who might be a sophomore, standing confidently on a tree stump. Jimin doesn't even know if you go to Welton. But what makes the whole situation peculiar is that there are others—including Jungkook—gathered in this little half-forest clearing. And they're gathered around the tree stump in which the girl is standing on.

Jimin tries to make a rough estimate of the number of people—seemingly students because they're all wearing backpacks— in his head. Twelve? Maybe fifteen students? He's confused, furrowing his brows as he squints at them through the bush. "What's this shit for?" he whispers to Taehyung who looks equally confused.

"No idea," Taehyung mutters. "Looks like a cult," he snorts. "But it could be a stupid Fortnite club for all I know."

"I doubt that a club would meet at such a sketchy place," Jimin murmurs to himself.

There is something definitely fishy going on here...

Jungkook blends in way too easily in the crowd of supposed students. The only person that stands out is the girl. The one on the tree stump. She stands casually, favoring her left leg. She's petite, but her posture and stance emit an aura of valiance and authority. Her eyes seem to sparkle with determination and her lips are curled up in a happy smile. A... victorious smile.

"That's her!" Taehyung whispers aggressively. "The girl I've seen our Kook with! The little sophomore!"

Ah... She's a sophomore... Jimin nods, cocking his head as his eyes scan the group of students to see if he recognized anyone other than Jungkook. He sees a few seniors (that he can't quite remember the name of) and finds it weird that they're huddled below the sophomore girl as if waiting for her command.

Whoever she is, she's the leader. The president, maybe? Of whatever club this was? If it even was a club, that is.

Jimin's thoughts are proven when the girl clasps her hands together, taking a deep breath before bellowing out a "Thank you for coming!" She offers a friendly wave to everyone looking up to her (literally) in awe.

Jimin has never seen the genius himself, Jeon Jungkook, respecting an underclassman before. Even the seniors in the crowd look at the girl approvingly. As if she were a queen and not just the president of a small club.

The girl speaks again in her light, lilted voice, turning to a lanky boy with unkempt blonde hair covering his eyes. "Yoongs! Attendance, please?"

"Perfect attendance, Y/N!" the boy deemed as Yoongs reports back to the girl. He winks. And she—Y/N—blushes.

Jimin frowns. What was going on???

You giggle, looking fondly at Yoongs before returning your attention to the rest of the crowd. "So, our experiment worked as expected," you say, shrugging rather casually. "I did feel bad for wasting people's time..." you trail off, unsure.

Experiment? Jimin feels chills run down his spine when he realizes you probably mean the bomb threat.

"It was worth it, babe!" Yoongs calls from the group.

You smile. "It's always worth it," you reply. "I'll make today's meeting short for those of you working on college apps and the others of you participating in competitions."

You're so casual in the way you speak—as if the people you were looking over were your friends. But you're also entrancing. As if everyone else has to be silent to hear what great words you have to say. And apparently, you have a lot on your mind to share.

"As I always say," you start, "never waste your time on your grades. They don't define you. Nor will they shed a light on the person you are inside. Nevertheless, everyone here should have straight A's..." you smile, looking over at Yoongs. "A round of applause for Yoongi's excellent coding skills for which we would've never been able to pull this off without them!"

The crowd erupts in enthusiastic applause, leaving Yoongi beaming from his proud accomplishments.

You wait for the crowd to simmer down before speaking again. "We tricked and cheated the system," you admit. "You might have doubts about that. Morality and integrity may play into your thoughts. But," you take a dramatic pause, "how moral are grades, really? They're tools for adults, which is as far as it goes. Teachers corrupt the system, watch silently as all hell breaks loose from the intense student competition... They make it a game. They know you'll do anything to get the letter grade you want," you take a painful breath. "We're only fighting against something that is as equally as or more morally ambiguous. The world cares about you as a human. They won't care about a robot that spits out impeccable grades but has no soul, no passion, no life. They want you at your best—what you can do that will benefit others. We don't need to take part in something as trivial as our high school grades, do we?" you smile as the students around you cheer.

"Of course... college is a different story. Depending on the college you go, that is..." you trail off. "When you start to learn about things that you have a genuine interest in, that's when grades might matter. But for now, struggling this hard on obscure subjects that you'll never touch again after graduating from Welton? I say it's a good thing we're cheating the system. How great was the system anyway to have contributed to three student suicides in the last two years?"

There's a collective murmur as students nod their heads.

"A moment of silence for Heegyung, Bonsoo and Chaewoon, please," you say, voice barely above a whisper but everyone hears what you say and they all bow their heads down to obey. You, yourself, close your eyes. Your face is etched with pain and actual remorse, which makes Jimin feel a little guilty he wasn't truly mourning the students' deaths.

After a few minutes pass, you clear your throat, blinking your eyes open and waiting for the other students to look up at you again. "Ah, yes," you say. "Thank you for the short mourning period we were able to squeeze into this meeting... But now to get to the purpose of this gathering," you pause for a split second before continuing again. "The finals you will have to take next week shouldn't be as stressful as other school days. Apply our methods and you'll be fine. If you need extra help, text me as soon as possible." You pause again, but this time, it wasn't to gather your thoughts, it was to shift the mood of your speech. A bright grin settles on your face.

"Now, for the moment we've all been waiting for!" you exclaim. "Let's give a special round of applause for Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi for their collaboration on this excellent evacuation plan!"

The crowd does more than applaud. Students whoop, yell and chant their names. But Jimin's not in a celebratory mood.

Jungkook did what?? Jimin shoots Taehyung a panicked look. It was one thing to realize that this group of students probably somehow organized the bomb threat, but it was another thing to realize that Jungkook was a large part of it.

"It was extremely difficult to create an automated call that couldn't be traced—" you begin.

"Eh, it wasn't that bad," Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. "Child's play."

You laugh, eyes twinkling as your turn to Yoongi. "Well, thank you," you say. "Ah, and as for Jungkook, thank you for volunteering to use your voice to record the bomb threat. It must've been so nerve-wracking."

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. "All I really did was speak into a mic. And we totally distorted my voice. Severely fucked up the frequencies and all that."

Jimin's blood runs cold. He looks over at Taehyung with his eyes wide. His friend isn't faring any better with his jaw clenched and fists tightened.

"It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your voice for an experiment like this," you say, smiling down at the older boy. "Oh, yeah! How's your album going, by the way?"

Jungkook beams. "It's going great!" he says happily. "I've been having so much fuckin' time to work on it that the whole process has just been insanely smooth."

"Love that!" you say. "Productivity at its finest, right?"

Everyone nods eagerly.

"Well!" you sigh, placing both of your hands on your hips. "The meeting's officially over, now! Please text me your work progresses, guys. They're due before midnight. Thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for hosting it, babe!" Yoongi says, rushing over to help you off of the tree stump by offering his hand. You take it gladly, stepping back on the dirt ground.

You start waving at the students who begin to file out of the meeting place. When Jimin sees them start to move towards him and Taehyung, he grabs his friend's arm. "Shit, Tae, we've got to—"

"Hey, Jungkook?" you call. The boy turns around, looking at you expectantly. "Can you please tell your two friends that hiding behind a bush is quite ineffective?" You giggle when Jimin falls to the ground in shock. "Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, was it?"

Jimin's in shell-shock, unable to move or dust off his pants. How the fuck did you—

"You can come out of hiding, you know," you reassure them with such a honey-like quality to your voice that it's almost impossible to resist. "We don't really bite," you giggle. "But... I mean, Yoongi might," you tease, earning a flirtatious shove from the boy.

At your invitation to quit hiding, Taehyung jumps out from behind the bush, dragging Jimin along with him. "Who the fuck are you and how do you know our names?!" Taehyung roars.

Guess he already gave up his no-cussing streak, Jimin sighs. But he's also glad that he's not the one who has to stand up for both of them.

"Don't be so rude, you ass," Jungkook scoffs. "Motherfucking stalkers. I told you not to follow me."

Stalkers?? We were just looking out for you! Jimin thinks. "We're sorry, Kook," he manages to say. "But you lied to us! And more importantly, you obviously haven't been telling us things."

Jimin's frankly hurt by his friend's lack of honesty, but it seems so that Taehyung is more vocal about it.

"Yeah, Jeon Jungkook, what the fuck?" Taehyung yells. "You're a cheater!" he accuses Jungkook, stepping closer and poking at his chest harshly with his pointer finger. "You're a fake! You're a bomb threatener!!"

"Wait a minute!" you cut in. "Let's not get into accusations like that so early. Jimin, Taehyung, I—"

"How do you know our fucking names?!" Taehyung screams. "We don't even know who you are, you cheater!!"

"Watch it," Yoongi says dangerously. He tries to take a step forward, but you stop him, placing a hand on his arm.

"I'm Y/N," you say. "We're all students of Welton, so there's no reason for the animosity. Besides, I memorized the yearbook." You shrug, but you gesture apologetically to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't invite you two to join our little group for a major reason. Of course..." you trail off. "Now you have to join... For safety reasons."

"Little group?" Taehyung snorts. "Where did the specificity go?"

"Hmm," you hum. "What do you think about a school revolt?"

Jimin does not like the idea of a school revolt at all. It sounds stupid. Students would never be able to pull it off. Even Taehyung, who's usually more open-minded than Jimin, seems skeptical.

You ask Jimin and Taehyung to meet up in Panera, later that day with Jungkook, to discuss the specifics. By the time Jimin and Taehyung get there, you and Jungkook have already saved a corner spot in the cafe.

Jungkook's eating pieces of sourdough bread while you sip your frozen lemonade. It looks to Jimin and you and Jungkook are getting along as both of you gesture wildly as you speak. You even let out a large laugh after Jungkook says something funny.

Jimin feels weird interrupting the already happy conversation, but Taehyung seems to have no problem. Taehyung slides into the seat next to Jungkook, leaving Jimin to sit with you. Jimin suddenly feels very self-conscious about himself.

"Glad you two could make it!" you chirp, setting down your frozen lemonade. "Want anything to eat or drink? They have hibiscus lemonade here and it's literally amazing!"

"I'd rather you cut to the chase," Taehyung says, frowning as he folds his arms.

Jimin agrees with a short nod.

"Oh," you say, "sure!"

"You said something about a school revolt," Taehyung says. "Explain."

"God, would it kill you to say please?" Jungkook rolls his eyes. "She's doing you guys a fucking favor. Man, if Yoongi was here, he'd whoop your asses."

"It's fine, Jungkook," you say. "I get how confusing this can be... Our little group has one goal," you start. "I want to help struggling students. You know what Welton is... Ruthless competition. Kids cramming without actually understanding the material. Rote memorization... Wasting time by doing four pages worth of math homework every night... Way too specific reading quizzes that have nothing to do with the storyline of the novels..."

The more you talk, the more Jimin begins to relate.

"It's horrible," you sigh. "That they're making us become a servant to the school. They use the students to boost the credibility of the teachers. They thrive off of our hard work, you know."

"They're bitches," Jungkook snorts. "Never really care for us. Remember Chaewoon? He told his counselor about his suicidal thoughts and she didn't do shit. He might still be alive with us if the counselor cared."

You nod. "Yes, our mental support system at this school amongst the grown-ups is preposterous," you say. "There are too many problems with Welton. And I reach out to deserving students to offer them a solution."

"A solution?" Jimin mutters.

You turn to him, nodding politely. "Yes! A solution. Students have dreams, Jimin. Taehyung, don't you ever wish you could be putting in your time somewhere else instead of studying for a subject you don't care about?"

Taehyung nods. "Who doesn't wish that around here?"

"Exactly," you say. "I'm offering you, Tae, and Jimin a great chance to follow your dreams. High school is when you feel the spark growing inside you. The spark is an extracurricular or a hobby of some sort that you've always loved with your whole heart. You probably had to sacrifice a lot to join Welton's elite debate team, right Taehyung?"

"Never even liked debate that much," he answers. "I had to quit theater for that shit."

"And you couldn't do both because...?" you say.

"Because the debate coach told me theater would interfere with the debate practice schedules," Taehyung says. "And he said that debate is much more intellectual than theater. He said that I won't be able to balance my studies with both debate and theater."

"Exactly," you say. "It's utter bs, don't you think? Why do we have to sacrifice our hobbies, our passionate dreams to do what some adult tells us to do? You do realize that they put down the arts because they want their smartest students participating in their intellectual or STEM-related activities? The more intelligent students that are in these activities, the higher the school rating skyrockets. It's purely selfish reasons."

"That is utter bullshit," Taehyung scoffs. "You're right. That is pretty fucking selfish."

"Right," you say. "I want to teach you, Tae," you say, looking the boy dead in his eyes. "I'll take care of your grades. I'll teach you the best ways to get away with outsmarting the teacher. I'll plan class distractions—like today—and if things still don't go well, my boyfriend—you met Yoongi today, right?—can make a last-ditch effort to hack into the grades system and work his magic. You'll have extra time to do theater—at school and at other professional intern sites. How does that sound?"

"Fuck," Taehyung curses. "That sounds fucking great when you put it that way."

Jimin's not so sure. "What if someone snitches?"

You laugh. "Oh, they wouldn't," you say. "I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"She does," Jungkook says. "There's no one she doesn't know. C'mon she's the first sophomore Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper. You'll be safe if you join."

"You're juniors as well," you say. "There's a lot of pressure to do perfectly in school now. And you'll be in college before you know it. I reckon that you want to know your ride-or-die interest before you attend university."

Jimin looks down at his hands. This is wrong, he tells himself. But it'll do so much good. Not moral good, of course. But still.

Taehyung already seems sold on the idea, a fast grin spreading across his face as he nods his head enthusiastically.

You notice Jimin's skeptical look. "Hey, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," you say. Jimin gets out of the seat to let you through, and as soon as you're out of sight, he collapses on the seat and groans.

"Great, she's fucking gone," Jimin says. "Tae, you can't possibly think this is a good idea."

"What do you mean? It's a fucking fantastic idea!" Taehyung says. "Dude, don't you understand? I'll get to do what I love without sacrificing my grades! Once in a lifetime opportunity, bro."

Jungkook snorts. "Yeah, well, I have my music and you have your acting shit, Taehyung, but Jimin doesn't know anything other than the pages of a stupid fucking textbook."

It hurts because it's brutally true. Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head.

"Fifteen people is awfully small for a cult," Jimin grumbles.

"It is not a cult," Jungkook argues, crossing his arms over his chest. "And no one knows how many students are actually involved except for Y/N. She figured it'll be safer that way."

"Bro, I'm in," Taehyung says. "I was in like seven minutes ago."

"Good choice, man," Jungkook says, slapping Taehyung's back approvingly. "And honestly? Jimin? You don't exactly have a choice. You have to join."

Jimin scoffs. "Why?"

"Because you know this group exists and it's likely you'd snitch on us if you don't get anything out of it," Jungkook says, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Y/N's being really generous with you right now. You're basically going to freeload."

"Freeload?" Jimin says, glaring at the man with intense ferocity. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

"Hey, it's okay!" Taehyung says. "You can just find some hobby or something. So you're still following protocol."

"Um, easier said than done," Jimin mutters.

It's silent after that as Jimin sulks in his seat and Jungkook and Taehyung awkwardly watch him do so. You come back from the "bathroom" (you were gone for much longer, so Jimin suspects you were just giving them time to discuss) only to see the three boys sitting in complete silence.

You cock your head. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Taehyung says. "It's final. Jimin and I are joining!"

"Great!" you say, smiling as you clasp your hands together. "Oh, you'll have to get started on your theater process right away," you tell Taehyung. "And Jimin, it's fine that you don't know what you like now. You can hang tight until you find something, all right?"

Jimin lets out a grumbling, "Yeah, sure."

"It's set, then!" you say, sipping your not-so-frozen lemonade drink. "Thank you, Jungkook. I owe you."

"No, it's fine, really," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head. "Just doing my job."

You smile at him fondly before turning to Jimin and Taehyung. "I'll text you the details pertaining to each of you, okay?" You glance down at your watch and gasp. "Oh, shoot, I'm late for my date! Um, I'll see you three at our next meeting? Or at school. Bye, guys!!" With that, you grab your drink and practically fly out of Panera, never looking back once.

Jimin and Taehyung are a bit dumbfounded.

"I gotta go work on producing my album," Jungkook says. "See you guys, too?"

"Yeah, duh," Taehyung grins as Jungkook slides out of the seat. "You basically saved our lives."

Jungkook snorts. "Sorry I didn't say anything about it earlier, by the way," he says. "We're not allowed to talk about it to anyone. Mostly because we don't really know who's involved."

"Nah, it's fine, man," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "At least we know now, right?"

Jimin stays quiet.

"Well, see you," Jungkook sighs as he glances at Jimin but doesn't say anything further. He leaves quickly.

"God, Jimin, he's your friend," Taehyung says as soon as Jungkook turns a corner and is no longer in view. "You shouldn't be that cold."

"Oh, really?" Jimin says. "He was living lavishly all this time and didn't bother saying anything!"

"He just said he didn't have a choice, Jimin!"

"God!" Jimin says, running his hand through his hair. "Now how are we any different from the motherfucking cheaters out there?"

Taehyung frowns. "I don't mind cheating. Y/N didn't even call it cheating. She called it 'outsmarting the teachers.' And besides, we have a reason for it too."

Jimin shrugs. "Yeah, whatever..."

"You'll come around," Taehyung smiles, shaking his head. "But what the heck do you think Jungkook meant by saying no one knows who's in the group??"

"No idea."

But it soon becomes quite obvious when Jungkook escorts Jimin and Taehyung to their first official meeting. Jimin and Taehyung gape as they realize no one they saw last time was here. You must hold several of the same meetings. All with different people.

Now it's for sure that nobody knows how many people are in the goddamn cult except for you. It dawns on Jimin that he's getting himself into something much, much larger than he had previously believed.

You've created quite an advanced system. So advanced that it took Jimin a while to get used to. It was a cheating plot so elaborate and well-planned that it almost didn't feel like cheating. Instead, it was like embarking on an evil heist in the adult world.

You had a master plan behind every single class in Welton. Jungkook said you harbored hundreds of paper documents (not digital, or they could be hacked) that had information about every teacher, every subject in the school. From there, you would investigate each subject and find the students who were genuinely interested in pursuing it in the future—the experts. Those students would then be in charge of making and organizing all of the class lecture notes; it would be their responsibility to fully learn the material and redistribute it to the other students who, more or less, didn't give two fucks about the class.

Homework was rotated amongst the "expert" students, and they'd send the other students the answers. (But, of course, there were always different versions of the homework so teachers would never suspect.)

Tests weren't a problem either. Somehow, you'd get a copy of every test or quiz before the exam date and distribute it to the experts. In a day's time, the rest of the students would obtain the answers (and work, if it was a math-based test). But to ensure that not everyone got the same exact score, you'd implemented quite a simple but complex system.

Test grades were higher for experts (especially experts who were able to make large progress on their personal projects). From there, the non-expert students were given scores solely based on how well they have updated their progress to you, and how much they have advanced in their extracurriculars.

The hardest questions on every exam were hand-picked by the experts themselves. And only the experts were allowed to answer the question correctly.

Essays were different. Not everyone read the given book, but the experts would always be ready for all kinds of topics—the holy grail was definitely the database of all past Welton essays that you handled yourself.

In that way, you had every single class in the whole school covered for the students in your group. (Which was ultimately a huge bummer for the students who had no idea of the behind-the-scenes 'outsmarting' that was going on.)

Jimin thinks the system is good. Could be better, but it works.

He's just pissed that he never has any progress to report back to you, so he always ends up scoring a high B on exams. It happens to be a pretty good deal, though, factoring in the fact that he didn't study for them. Scoring B+'s on exams was enough to keep his grades at an A.

But sometimes, it just feels wrong. Especially on his physics tests (where the class average is 60%, but he ends up with a raw score of 88% without having to put in the minimal effort). No matter how many times you call the action 'outsmarting the teachers,' Jimin thinks he's just plain cheating.

He's been wanting to report it for a while... Just because the little angel sitting by his shoulder is telling him that this is unfair to all the other students who were truly trying but weren't even getting close to the scores that Jimin was getting just by copying others' answers. Jimin remembers when he had been in that unfortunate position. When he'd watched students do suspiciously well on certain subjects while having time to do other activities, while he, himself, had to study for eight hours straight to get a C on the test.

But Jimin's not part of that unfortunate group of students. He's now pretty damn fortunate.

And he can't stay fortunate if he reports the cheating. Jimin's desperate. He's desperate to obtain decent grades without spilling countless tears and studying from early morning to the next morning after. It's the only reason that he hasn't reported your little group yet.

Besides, Taehyung is seemingly adapting better to this non-student-like lifestyle. He's already joined two theater productions and is applying to work as extras in films and such. And Jungkook's been continuing to work on his album too.

Jimin's friends seem to love being a part of the group.

Maybe Jimin's just salty because he hasn't found his passion yet. Though he doesn't know everyone in your little school cult, it seems like everyone involved in it has a passion, a dream they want to reach for, except for him.

A part of him wants to find a hobby just to say he has one when someone asks. But another, larger, part of him wants a hobby because of greed. Finding a passion and pursuing it meant Jimin would get a higher chance of getting better test grades for texting you about his progress. But Jimin can't just latch on to any existing hobby... He needs some advice.

Well, you'd told him that he should come to you if he needed advice... It's weird to think that he, a junior, has to ask advice from a sophomore. But maybe he's that desperate.

You're usually in your own little private newspaper office (as the Editor-in-Chief). So Jimin decides to give you a visit. But when he walks into the room after school, he sees you comforting a crying girl. Whether she's part of the cult is unclear, but Jimin immediately discerns her as one of those band girls—with frizzy hair, leggings and a boxy t-shirt. The girl's crying so hysterically that Jimin feels uncomfortable intruding. He leaves without another look.

Crying girls are not a good sign; he'll just come back tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes and Jimin walks into your private newspaper room, there is no crying girl to his relief. You're on your computer, probably reading or editing some student-written articles. Jimin feels awkward disrupting you being so focused on your work, but the longer time he spends just waiting for you to finish, the more time he wastes.

So: "Um, hi... Uh, Y/N?" Jimin says. He grabs a chair and pulls it up next to you.

"Oh! Jimin!" you greet him, turning from your computer to face the boy in front of you.

"I came yesterday," Jimin says, shrugging, "but you were busy with someone else... I came back today."

"Ah, you mean Chunseo," you say, nodding. "She was having a hard time yesterday."

Jimin's silent, waiting for you to elaborate, but you don't. It becomes quite clear to him that you don't like to talk about others behind their backs.

"So, what are you here for today?" you chirp. "Advice? Questions? I know everything must be new to you, so I just hope you feel comfortable with the whole system."

"Oh, uh..." Jimin would like to tell you that you're doing a great job and that everything's going fucking great, but that's unfortunately not what comes out of his mouth. "I still don't know what to pursue. I mean, I have so much extra time on my hands now, but I'm just spending it on my phone. My friends have been advancing in their passions, but I have nothing... I was just wondering if you could um, help me? Help me find a passion, maybe? I don't know."

"Hm," you say, looking thoughtfully at Jimin. "I can definitely help you with that..." you trail off, looking Jimin up and down and cocking your head. Jimin thinks you're analyzing him—not just his physical qualities but his personality as well. He feels almost vulnerable under your gaze.

"Have you ever had any hobbies, Jimin?" you ask him.

"That's the thing," he sighs. "No, I haven't."

He looks so miserable that you have to place a comforting hand on his arm. "Hey, it'll be fine, Jimin," you say. "I'm sure it'll come to you one day. A hobby isn't something you should necessarily force out of yourself. When you feel a connection with an activity—when you aren't exactly looking for one—then that meets you've found your hobby. And if you really love this hobby, then it can grow to be your passion. You just need to be patient. Don't worry," you smile, "you'll find something."

Jimin glances at your hand on his arm and then glances up at your face. God, you have a way with words. He feels much better, even though you didn't exactly offer him a cut-out solution.

"Thanks," he says. "I needed that."

"No problem, Jimin," you beam. "I know not having a personal project to work on leaves you with the lower grades, but you're probably only at the A- ranges, right? That's not too bad," you say. "Hm, how about this?"

Oh? It looks like you're going to offer him a plan. So Jimin scoots closer to you on his chair and listens intently for your next words.

"You're a junior, and before you know it, you'll have to write your college apps. Maybe instead of spending time on your phone, you can start with your college essays now? Is that all right to suggest?" you say, cautiously. "It never hurts to get a head start, you know."

You're right. Jimin should probably be productive, just like everyone else in the group. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good idea, actually."

"Great!" you say, clasping your hands together. "And I really appreciate you coming here to tell me the truth. You'd be surprised that a lot of others don't do the same as you."

"Oh..."

"Yeah," you giggle. "Hey, what about this? We'll compromise. I'll ask my boyfriend to change something for you as a thanks from me to you for being open and honest."

"Really??" Jimin says, his eyes growing wide and a small smile appearing on his face. "Thank you!"

You shake your head. "No problem, Jimin. Good luck on your college apps!" you call to him as he leaves the room.

"Thanks!"

Wow.

Jimin's heard a lot of great things about you from his friends, but now he realizes they really weren't kidding. You're a leader, all right. But a balanced one too.

Not only did you offer him emotional support with your words of affirmation but also you showed him a solution—at least a temporary solution to his problem. And you're also incredibly generous as well.

Hm. Now Jimin can't possibly think to report your little cult. Of course, it's still half wrong, what you're doing... But after talking to you, after receiving your feedback and help, there's no way Jimin would be able to double-cross you. As weird as it sounds, you kind of have a nice smile, and he doesn't want to cause you stress or grievances that you're actively trying to avoid with your group. In other words, he doesn't want to be the cause of your frowning.

Jimin's never seen you frown before, but he doesn't exactly want to see it in the future.

"Damn, I was such a bad procrastinator before joining the student group! The study group? The group? I don't even know what to call it," Taehyung laughs. He takes a large gulp of his boba drink and continues, "I feel like being a part of this community is improving my lifestyle. Like seriously, though. I haven't had a normal or healthy lifestyle since eighth grade!"

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Dude, I know! I've never been this productive before I met Y/N! Doesn't it feel so nice to be able to dedicate time to your strongest fucking passions?"

"Duh!" Taehyung says. "Man, what if this makes me peak in happiness in high school?"

Jungkook throws his head back to laugh, but Jimin doesn't find it so amusing.

Instead, he feels a bit left out. While his friends were diving deep into their passions, Jimin had yet to find a hobby. "Why doesn't the group have a name, anyway?" he asks. "Seems kind of inconvenient."

Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at Jimin teasingly. "Because..." he trails off spookily. "A name can always be traced back to the source. Haven't you thought of that?"

"Apparently Y/N did," Taehyung snorts. "Sometimes I wonder how she's so big-brained. God has favorites, I'm telling you."

"She's a fucking legend," Jungkook says. "I would worship her if I wasn't so stubborn about holding onto my dignity."

Jimin laughs, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl doing so. "Too bad she has a boyfriend, huh?" he jokes. "Jungkook sounds like he'd totally hit her up."

"I do not!"

"Sure, bro," Taehyung snickers. "When you talk to her, your pupils dilate."

"They fucking don't!" Jungkook says. "I have my interests elsewhere. Thank you very much!"

"Another girl?" Jimin gasps, placing a hand to his chest in shock. "Who?"

"Not a fucking girl, you bimbo," Jungkook says exasperatedly. "My music! I have interests in music. You guys fucking suck."

Jimin and Taehyung spiral into a fit of laughter. And the teasing and back-and-forth passive-aggressive remarks continued until the boba cups were empty and the three friends realized they talked up enough of a storm.

It used to be rare to meet up like this—because Jimin and Taehyung would always be overwhelmed in schoolwork—but now that their academic life was taken care of by you, they've been able to give themselves healthy breaks.

Jimin feels refreshed albeit a bit tired after parting with his two friends. He decides to walk home because his mother would kill him if she had to pick him up from the boba place when he should be studying at home.

The outside air feels nice against his cheeks, and Jimin finds himself becoming much more attentive to his surroundings. Back when he was a full-time serious Welton student, he couldn't ever spare to look at the intricacies of the vicinity—he always had to jump straight to the point, skipping the little moments to shove his face into his textbooks. It's a nice change.

Jimin notices a whole bunch of stores and studios on his walk home and he takes the time to admire each logo and memorize each name.

Damn. I never even knew some of these places existed...

There's even a dance studio called Hart's Dance Studio that Jimin swears he's never seen. The logo is an eye-catching red with a silhouette of a ballerina jumping over the 'Dance.' Jimin finds himself staring at it. Then, his eyes gravitate to the glass walls where he can see the dancers just... dancing.

And a lot of them are good. Like dancing is as easy as walking to them. But an unmoving figure amongst the active dancers catches Jimin's eyes. When he squints to get a better look, he realizes the stationary figure is you.

You're furiously typing on a laptop, occasionally looking up to watch the dancers once in a while.

What are you doing there? From your skinny jeans and lace top, it doesn't quite look like you're there to dance. Maybe you have a sibling in dance class?

But then again, Jimin remembers that Jungkook had once told him in a hushed whisper that you are definitely an only child... only after you lost your older sister to suicide, that is.

So really, what are you doing there?

Jimin cocks his head at you but realizes how weird it is to stand in front of the studio and stare. So finally, he just walks away.

But you're quite the mysterious figure. You're the exact type of person who makes others want to get to know you. You have an open quality where everyone feels welcome to talk to you, but you're also enigmatic, refusing to tell people a lot about yourself. Jimin sometimes even wonders if he's ever seen you at school with the same friend group. It looks like you're always jumping around.

Maybe you don't like to get to know people in a deep way. It's possible that you're a fan of shallow relationships, which there is nothing wrong with, of course. But then again, you have a boyfriend, whom you seem to really like. You're very hard to crack.

And even when winter break comes, Jimin's still been wondering what you've been doing at the dance studio, typing on your laptop. He's run all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe your mom works there? Or your friend dances there? But something inside him tells him whatever reasons he came up with are incorrect.

Meanwhile, Jimin's still waiting to find a hobby. He's already been to Taehyung's play and listened to the rough draft of Jungkook's album. But nothing seems to give him the inspiration that he needs.

Jimin just decides to go on a walk. The cold winter air nips at his skin, so he tightens his coat around himself, breathing steadily as he looks around at his surroundings. It's then when he finds himself stopped in front of Hart's Dance Studio.

He walks a bit closer to get a better look into the glass windows. And he smiles when he sees you. There is no one else around you, but you don't seem to mind. This time, however, you're not vigorously typing on your keyboard. You're... dancing.

Jimin doesn't know what prompted him to enter the dance studio, but the next thing he knows, he's inside.

You don't see him because your eyes are closed. Jimin takes the time to notice that you're wearing a simple black outfit consisting of a tank top and leggings. Your feet are left completely bare.

But the strangest part—you're not dancing with music. It explains your rather awkward movements. As if you can see yourself dance freely in your head, but you can't quite execute it in reality. Still, no matter how awkward you look, you radiate a majestic aura. So much so that from far away, you could look like a professional dancer.

Jimin doesn't realize he's staring until you startle him.

"Hey! Jimin!" you say. Your eyes are bright and wide open now and you wave at Jimin, motioning him over to you. "Hi!"

"Hi," Jimin agrees as he walks closer to you. "I didn't know you danced. Is that your passion?"

"Oh, god no," you giggle, shaking your head. "God forbid, no. It's for this book I'm writing!"

It finally makes sense. She's part of the school newspaper, and I'd seen her typing on her laptop.

"What kind of book?" Jimin asks curiously as he sits down on one of the metal benches in the dance room.

You take a sip of water from your water bottle before smiling. "It's this fictional book about a broken dancer. I'm an aspiring author! I've really been trying to get into my character and experience dancing so I can write her more realistically!"

"Oh, wow," Jimin laughs. "That's dedication."

"It's what I do to try to get good content," you say. "How's your winter break been going, by the way?"

"Pretty uneventful," Jimin says, leaning back on the bench. "I wrote and rewrote five drafts of my college essays. I don't think writing's my thing."

You laugh. "Well, we can rule that out in the list of possible hobbies you can partake in."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I'm still trying to find—but not actively look for—a hobby."

"It's hard," you shrug. "You shouldn't stress too much about it, Jimin. I'm telling you, it's gonna come. I can see you be so dedicated. You just have to wait until the time's right."

"Sometimes I feel like my time will never come," Jimin admits. "Taehyung's already been writing, directing and filming his own short film these days and Jungkook's adding four more tracks to his album. I don't know whether I should feel inspired or pressured."

You shake your head. "You need to get out of your competitive mindset, Jimin," you say. "Realize that you should be doing things on your own time. Everyone has different paces, you know. Maybe you should take your mind off of everything you've been thinking of these days. Wanna dance with me?"

Your question catches Jimin off guard. "Sorry, what?"

"Would you like to dance with me?" you repeat, giggling. "Sorry, it was kinda abrupt but my character needs to experience partner dancing and so do I to write that scene. I've already asked Yoongi, but he won't budge! That boy hates dancing! So maybe you can dance with me?"

"Uh," Jimin awkwardly fidgets his fingers. "I've never exactly danced before."

You snort. "Well, honestly me too. I suck. But whatever, you know? We're going to try."

"What kind of dance?" Jimin says. "I think the only dance steps I've ever learned were the square dancing steps from fourth grade."

"We could try waltzing," you say. "It's pretty simple, I think. C'mon!"

You drag Jimin to the dance floor, guiding his right hand to lay on your back and taking his left hand in yours. Jimin feels awkwardly close to you, but when you laugh and joke about how preposterous the two of you must look, he feels a little more comfortable.

"This might end up with me stepping on your feet constantly," you say apologetically, "but I'm trying to capture the feeling of dancing with a partner. So essentially, it's the emotions that count, not the physical steps."

Jimin laughs. "I'll try not to step on your feet."

"No way," you say. "How are you better at this than I am right now? I thought you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"I don't!" Jimin protests.

But something feels right. Something kind of clicks. And the moment Jimin parts from you and rushes home, he watches dance videos online. He finds out that there are many genres, and the ones he finds the most moving are contemporary and lyrical. There has never been something that has enamored him more.

Jimin irrevocably and quite willingly falls into the rabbit hole of dance.

It's been two weeks since Jimin danced a simple waltz with you at Hart's Dance Studio, but the time seems to have flown by too quickly. The next time Jimin passes by the studio, you're still trying to dance. And when he walks in to greet you, he's met by music. You're dancing to music this time!

"Hi, Y/N," Jimin speaks over the music, breaking you from your reverie.

"Oh, gosh! Jimin! Hi!" you say, immediately turning to pause the song. "Long time no see! How's school?"

"Great," he answers. "Um, just thought I would visit the studio. Do you still need a dancing partner?"

You grin. "Well, kind of," you say. "I need to see an amateur dancer do a little improv routine. Do you mind? I tried doing it myself and recording it, but it's just not fun seeing myself be a fool on camera."

Jimin laughs. "I don't mind at all."

You gesture to the dance floor. "It's all yours."

"Thank you."

Jimin stares curiously at the dance floor, the bright lights flooding the whole room. He feels like he's on stage, but he likes that feeling. He closes his eyes and sees the hundreds of dance videos he binge-watched every day for hours. And then he dances.

Somewhere along the way, you turned the music back on, which makes it even easier for Jimin to dance. He moves instinctively, fluidly like he's water. And he stops only when he finds himself out of breath.

Your jaw is dropped open when Jimin opens his eyes.

"Jimin!" you exclaim, hands thrown in the air. "You're a natural! How did you do that? What the heck??"

Jimin shrugs bashfully, shrugging. He doesn't mention the hours and hours of stretching and practicing he had done before coming here. There would've been no way he would have agreed to improv dance for you if he hadn't felt so confident. And it's funny. Dancing is the only thing Jimin's found in his life that makes him feel self-confident so far. He would've never expected it.

"You should enroll in this studio!" you say. "With some training... You could do great things, Jimin, I mean it!"

Jimin's not too sure about that. Yes, he likes to dance, and maybe it was a hobby. But enrolling in the studio meant full-time commitment. He isn't so sure if he is ready for that. He isn't sure his parents are ready for that.

"Okay," Jimin says. "I'll um, think about it." But not really.

It's like you can see right through his lie, though. "Oh, okay," you say. "Then maybe you can practice dancing in this studio by yourself. I'm friends with the owner so she lets me swing by whenever I want. Wanna meet here every Friday? I could use a beginning dancer like you to really write a story about a dancer's progression."

Jimin's face lights up. Getting to dance one day a week in an actual dance studio?? "Yeah, sure!" Jimin says. "I'd really love to." Now I have an excuse to go to the studio and dance.

This could be the start of something great.

The start of something great it was. Fridays quickly become Jimin's favorite day of the week. After school, he rushes to the studio to meet you and work on learning the basics of dance by watching tutorial videos on the internet. Usually, he works in silence—except for the clicking sounds of your laptop, but today, when he strides onto the dance floor, you're waiting for him in the middle.

"Do you have music requests?" you ask him, scrolling through your phone as if you are deep in thought. "I always feel like it's easier to express yourself with the music you actually like."

"Music?" Jimin frowns. "I, um, don't listen to music that much."

Your jaw drops. "What??"

"I don't even have earphones," he laughs awkwardly.

"You don't have what??"

And that was all it took for you to teach Jimin music for the whole day. You went through the hundreds of songs in your playlists, putting Jimin on the dance floor and making him dance to the songs he likes best. By the end of the session, Jimin still feels like he's soaring. His heart in his chest beats to the rhythm of the music. When he steps out of the dance studio and parts ways with you, he can't help but wish it were next Friday.

But at least he has a whole week to go music hunting. Jimin's never been much of a music man, but he's found that certain songs make him want to dance. He'll search them out and practice with them in the following days.

At school, Jimin feels like a mindless machine. He's still on the fence about cheating the system that's supposed to help him; the ethical part of Jimin wants him to stop—of course it's nothing against you. Jimin just thinks that if the system to help the students exists, every student should be involved. Even he was invited into the group much later (and technically, at first, he was forced to join for catching a meeting in progress).

Yet at the same time, Jimin owes it to you and your group that he's able to do what makes him happy. And he can't bear the thought of betraying you.

At home, Jimin lies on his bed, listening to all of the songs you showed him on repeat. His family doesn't have any music streaming services so he secretly started a three month free trial on iTunes. But he knew his parents wouldn't approve of his music taste (they usually don't approve of anything too teenager-y, so Jimin borrows his father's pair of earbuds.

Jimin didn't know, but earbuds bring a whole new dimension to music. He lies face up, closing his eyes as he pictures himself jumping, dancing, moving to the sweet rhythms of the songs. It's like he's been introduced to a whole new world.

Friday rolls around way too slowly for Jimin's taste, but when he's finally there, talking to you and dancing upon your request, it feels like he's on cloud nine. Today, you ask Jimin to describe what it feels to dance.

Jimin's not exactly very good with his words but he tries his best.

"I don't know," he says at first, blushing as he looks down at the brightly lit dance floor. "It makes me feel like... how do I say it? Like I'm just in a vast room with no one but myself? The moment I hear a good song, I just get this heavy gut feeling to move, I guess. And then I see the colors and the movements... And I dance."

"A vast room?" you say in awe as you unceasingly type across the expanse of your keyboard. "Elaborate, please."

"I guess it feels like I'm on my own stage. And it's a good thing because it feels like no one's watching me," Jimin says. "Uh, kinda like I'm dancing for myself. I'm dancing to express how I feel. And if there's someone watching, I don't really feel it because I'm so uh... I'm so..."

"Enraptured by your own world?" you finish for him.

"Exactly!"

You smile. "Thank you, Jimin! You meeting me here every Friday is so helpful. I really don't know how to thank you properly."

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head. "You've helped me so much already. There's nothing you could possibly do to help me better."

After exchanging a few more words with Jimin, you deem that you have to go home early to celebrate your mother's birthday. Jimin bids you farewell, but he remains in the studio. It feels empty without you, but it doesn't really matter. He's always by himself when he dances, anyway.

Jimin turns on his music, which echoes across the dance room, ringing against the walls and thumping in his chest. He can't stop himself from moving. His body twists graciously and he leaps across the dance floor as the synths in the song sing their melodious tones. He's so into the dance that he doesn't notice a tall woman watching him in the background.

Jimin finishes off his improv dance by striking a majestic pose he had come up with himself a few days ago. He didn't expect anyone to clap when he had finished, but there was this sharp-looking woman who was applauding and smiling at him approvingly.

"O-Oh," Jimin stutters. "I'm so sorry. Uh, Y/N left a bit earlier so I just thought it was okay to stay..."

"You're Jimin!" the lady says. "I'm Miss Hart. I run this dance studio. Y/N's told me how talented you are."

Jimin blushes. "I don't know about talented."

Miss Hart shakes her head, walking closer to Jimin in graceful strides akin to that of a ballerina. "I want to offer you a spot in my dance studio. This is a personal offer."

"I-I, uh," Jimin stutters. He's caught off guard by this sudden invitation and he looks left to right in a very panicked manner. "I-I don't think my parents will allow it... Um, sorry... I have to, um, go..."

He flees before Miss Hart can get another word out of him.

It's the sad truth. Jimin's parents would likely never approve of his current hobby—even listening to music while he studied was a stretch for them. But the more Jimin thinks about Miss Hart's offer, the more he realizes how great of an opportunity that is for him to progress in the path to find his true passion.

As nerve-wracking as is it, during dinner, Jimin asks his parents if it would be okay if he started taking dance lessons. Their reactions aren't as severe as he had expected, but his parents still seem pretty surprised.

"Isn't it too late to start something new?" his mother says. "You're a junior now, Jimin. You should already know what you're good at."

"I agree with your mother," his father says. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I don't know," Jimin answers truthfully. "It just happened. I really, really like it though..."

Jimin's father raises his eyebrows. "Really?" he sighs. "I don't think so, Jimin. Think about it. I know your grades are good right now, but now you should be busy with getting ready for college, shouldn't you?"

Jimin had expected this. "Oh..."

"And have you been taking my earbuds?" his father says.

"Oh, yeah... sorry," Jimin winces. "I'll give them back right now." He trudges up the stairs, feeling dejected and miserable at the same time. He decides to give the earbuds one last listen, plugging them into his phone and placing the buds in his ears. The familiar light-hearted, serene music floods into his head. Jimin can't help it. His eyes close, his mouth parts and he begins to move. His feet take him across his room, leaping over textbooks and dirty socks as his arms move fluidly to support his upper body.

Time has a mind of its own when Jimin enters the dancing world.

He doesn't notice an audience member at the entrance of his room. Jimin's father stares at his son, taken aback by the pure emotion and passion put into such a performance. He cannot hear Jimin's music, but he is able to feel it through Jimin's movements. Jimin's father watches the dance a bit longer, then leaves. When Jimin tries to return the earbuds to his father, he rejects them. "Keep the earbuds," he tells his son. "I don't need them anymore."

On Saturday morning, Jimin's surprised when his father calls him downstairs to talk. Truth be told, Jimin's a little nervous to have a serious one-on-one talk with his father. But his anxiousness melts away when his father asks:

"Have you been learning dance by yourself?"

Jimin perks up. "Uh, yeah! Um, well, kind of. I just saw YouTube videos... And I go to a dance studio every Friday with a friend to um, practice..."

"What studio?"

Jimin freezes. "H-Hart's dance studio?"

Jimin's father nods. "All right. Here's the deal. The moment your grades slip, you're going to have to quit, okay? Let's go enroll you right now."

Jimin almost faints from the sheer amount of happiness.

It is official. Jimin is to have private dance lessons (to make up for being such a late starter) once a week. This was a bit like a trial run; Jimin might get more lessons per week if he really decided to pursue dance.

And now that Jimin's actually a student at the studio, he can come in to practice anytime he wants! Which was every day after school for three hours.

When Jimin tells you the good news on Friday, you insist that you ditch today's dance-writing sessions and get some celebratory boba.

It's the first time Jimin's with you, alone, outside of school, without being in the confines of the dance studio. If he didn't know any better, this felt like more than two friends meeting up on a Friday afternoon. It felt like a date.

You're rather chatty with Jimin, making him feel comfortable and trying to get to know him better. But it comes to the point that Jimin wants to get to know you. So he finally asks the question he had been dying to know the answer to since he'd first met you in the dance studio.

"Do you mind if I ask what your book is about?"

"Oh, I don't mind at all!" you say, aggressively sipping your boba as you think. "Hm, okay, well, I kind of changed the plot halfway through... So now instead of a broken dancer, the story's about this newborn dancer who realizes her talents rather late in her life, but she throws all of her doubts—and others' doubts—away because she realizes if she's passionate about something, it doesn't really matter how long she's been pursuing it. What matters is that she is pursuing it in the present."

"Wow," Jimin breathes.

"Yeah," you giggle, tucking back a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It's a coming of age story. I want it to be heartbreaking, bittersweet and heart-wrenching." You sip your boba. "But I might have to rewrite a lot of scenes because I'm thinking about changing the gender of the main character from female to male. I think it feels more right."

"Oh, that's gonna be a lot of work," Jimin says.

"But it's going to be worth it."

Jimin nods. Of course it will be. You put your best effort into everything. "Do you know what your title is going to be yet?"

"Eh," you laugh, shrugging goofily. "I'll think of it one day."

The light-hearted conversation takes a twist as the outside of the boba place gets darker and the afternoon morphs into the night. Jimin finds himself talking about his personal struggles as an "average" Welton student. He reflects vocally upon the times in which he had to beg to receive an A in his classes. The times in which he despised himself and didn't understand the exact point of life. The times when he was existing and not living.

It's then when you reveal your own darkest moments. And what lies beneath the smiling curtains was a murky past.

Your freshman year at Welton hit you like a bomb—it was the same year that Jimin had been suffering in the depths of sophomore year's turmoil. You became miserable, competing for first place in your classes in subject matters that you had no interest in. The tests contained little material about understanding and more about the nitty-gritty details (that were barely significant). You used to write your stories the moment you came home from school until you had to go to bed. But now, you would be lucky if you could even get a few paragraphs down before being pressured into studying something tediously and frankly, useless. It drove you nuts.

To the point that you were tempted to be pulled under into the dark world of self-hatred and suicidal thoughts. Your older sister had jumped off a building when you were only eight; you watched her stuck in a coma in the hospital with twelve broken bones until she died in her sleep. So you figured if your sister did it, so could you.

But slowly, gradually, rationality took charge of your head, driving out the demons. You garnered your anger and self-hatred towards Welton and not yourself. And during the last few weeks of school in your freshman year, you decided that you were going to make a system to help every student in need—for those with big dreams but little time.

Jimin watches and listens in awe as you continue to tell your story.

"I met Yoongi in freshman year when I was interviewing him for winning first place in a tech comp so I could write about him in the school newspaper," you explain. "He was the first person I told my idea to. And then from the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I planned the whole system. Yoongi assisted me a bit, too, but I didn't want him to be burdened."

Or, Jimin thinks, you don't trust other people.

"Yeah, and then we really kicked off," you say.

"Wait, you and Yoongi? Or the whole system you created?"

"Both," you grin. "Yoongi and I started dating during the summer. And as you can tell, our whole group flourished too. Now you're here!"

"The group's relatively new then," Jimin says. "So um, I don't know if I can ask but, how many people are really involved?"

You smile, shaking your head and denying Jimin an answer. "The trick that I use to run this system is to never trust anyone."

"Oh... wow. Not even your boyfriend?"

"Oh, it's the people you're closest to that end up failing you. Just ask my sister," you shrug. "And you never know. You aren't still thinking of reporting me, are you? I know you were contemplating that for a while..."

"O-Oh!" Jimin stutters. "Oh, shit. No, uh, definitely no. Not anymore. God, I didn't know you knew. I'm sorry."

"It's really no matter," you tell him, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think it was really nice talking to you. When we usually meet up, you're dancing and I'm taking notes or writing so this is a really nice change."

"Yeah," Jimin agrees. "I had a lot of fun, getting to know you." He glances at his watch for a split second and his eyes turn huge. "Shit, Y/N, it's almost 10 p.m.!"

That's when Jimin's able to notice that there is no one else in the boba place except you and him. The store must be closing soon. And the outside is nearly pitch black.

"Oh, wow, we've been talking for a long time," you laugh. "I guess that means we'll have to leave, huh?"

Jimin wants to be in your company for longer, but he nods, agreeing with you. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "I'll see you on Monday?"

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Goodnight, then, Jimin."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

Jimin's now been getting dance lessons three times a week now, and according to Miss Hart, he's improving at an alarming rate. Miss Hart proudly tells Jimin and his parents that he would be able to compete in local dance comps in three months and easily place.

"The boy's born to dance," Jimin overhears his teacher tell his father. He repeats those words over and over again to himself until he falls asleep that night.

His parents took his success in dance a whole different way. Immediately, Jimin was to train his muscles and stretch every day to accommodate three days' worth of hardcore lessons. And he was also ordered to join the school dance team—even though Jimin tried to tell his parents that tryouts had already been held ages ago.

But when Jimin expresses his problems to you, you bring a solution the very next day. Apparently, you had some inside sources in the dance team; you just had to pull a few strings, and the next thing he knew, Jimin was in Welton's elite dance team.

For the first time in the cult, no, group meetings, Jimin has something to show. He's able to track his progress by videos and live performances that you watch on Fridays. With all the advancement in his newfound passion, you reward Jimin with the second-highest scores on every exam (because the highest scores were reserved for the "experts").

Jimin's now sitting at the peak of a figurative mountain. His grades are soaring. His passion is soaring. He feels like his whole life has become a never-ending, high-velocity dance.

And he loves it.

There are no more meetings left after this one, you explain to all of the students. It's the last meeting for it's the week before finals. The school year will end soon, which is a huge relief to every Welton student.

You claim that outsmarting the teachers with the finals would be easy, especially with your advanced system, so there was really no need to worry. The meeting is short, concise and sweet. You douse everyone with your love and passion and thoroughly thank each and every individual for allowing another wonderful school year.

The meeting ends on a great note. You tell everyone that you have great plans for next year. Something that'll top the bomb threat. Something that'll effectively help the students and put the teachers and administrative staff to shame.

Everybody is excited.

The first time Jimin meets you during the summer is in the dance studio. He'd dressed in his workout clothes but still had enough self-dignity to spritz some cologne and put on some deodorant before seeing you.

But when he walks into the studio, he finds that you're not alone—you're with your boyfriend. Laughing. Joking. Touching. Yoongi has his arm around you and you have a casual hand placed on his thigh, leaning into him as you talk animatedly to your boyfriend.

Yikes. Jimin thinks it's going to be awkward before he actually feels awkward.

You and Yoongi really seem to like the time you're spending together and Jimin doesn't exactly want to interrupt. And there's something about the way that Yoongi tugs you closer and looks at you with sparkling mirth in his eyes that sets Jimin off.

He quickly recognizes the feeling as jealousy. It confuses Jimin even more.

Oh, fuck it.

"Hi, Y/N!" he says, waving at you. "Hey, Yoongi."

You stand up immediately rushing to greet Jimin as Yoongi stays in his spot, nodding his salutations to Jimin. "Yoongi just wanted to know what I was doing every Friday after I said no to a fifth Friday night date," you giggle. "Is it okay if he joins us today?"

"Of course," Jimin says. "I don't mind."

I kind of do.

Meeting at the dance studio was an activity exclusive to you and Jimin only... It's weird to see Yoongi butt in.

"Okay, great. Thanks!" you say. "Just do your thing, and I'll be taking notes as usual!"

Jimin nods, bracing himself to dance after he turns on the song he'd been listening endlessly these days. But today, he feels stiff. Rigid. Something's not quite right.

Today, he doesn't feel like he's on a stage alone. He feels someone watching him from the audience with scrutiny. Suddenly, Jimin can't move. He feels trapped in his own world. When he turns to look at you, he finds that you and Yoongi are immersed in a deep conversation. You're usually watching his every move.

Jimin tries to focus again, closing his eyes to immerse himself into the music. But he can't do it. Not when you and Yoongi are talking like that. Shit. Why is that so distracting?

Jimin figures one day of giving up practice wouldn't kill him. He turns off the music and walks over to you and Yoongi and plops down on the bench.

You smile but Jimin watches as Yoongi flinches just slightly, and a disgruntled look flashes across his face just briefly. Jimin ignores him.

"Yoongi and I were just talking about legacy," you explain to Jimin. "You know, what we'll leave at Welton High School."

"Oh, wow. You'll be leaving a whole elaborate system," Jimin says. "But what's going to happen to it when you've graduated?"

You shrug. "We'll have to wait and see," you say teasingly.

"I'll already be gone by that time," Jimin huffs.

"We'll keep in contact," you say. "I promise."

It's a small promise but Jimin's heart skips a beat. He wonders if you'd still be dating Yoongi then.

Why am I like this? This definitely isn't the right time.

Maybe Yoongi senses Jimin's thoughts because he tugs you closer to him. "Come on, babe, do we have to stay here forever? I want to take you out on a date..."

"Aw, Yoongs," you coo. "I don't know... Maybe the three of us can go get boba or something?"

"Babe..." Yoongi whines softly, intertwining your hand with his.

Jimin watches the movement and another pang of jealousy hits his chest, this time larger than the last. He couldn't possibly have feelings for you. Jimin concludes that he's not jealous because Yoongi is your boyfriend, he is jealous because he's stealing you away when he and you should be hanging out.

But he doesn't exactly want to get in the way of Yoongi, who already seems to dislike Jimin for hanging around his girlfriend.

So Jimin shrugs. "I don't want to intrude on a date. It's fine, Y/N, enjoy your date night."

Yoongi shoots Jimin a grateful look and even lets out a beaming smile. "Really, Jimin? Thanks!" you say.

Jimin has to admit, seeing you skip away with Yoongi arm in arm makes him happier. Fuck, no. He's starting to mirror your emotions.

This isn't a very good sign.

Jimin's right. It isn't a very good sign. He's starting to feel weird around you—emotions that he can't quite explain or justify with words.

The more he hangs out with you, the more he notices little things about you—your little habits, your speech patterns, your dimples when you smile...

It comes to the point, you confess to him one day, "You know, Jimin, I've been hanging out with you more than my boyfriend."

Jimin feels honored by that, "Well, I've been hanging out with you more than my own to friends."

And it's true. Taehyung's been busy with his theater things and has picked up a girl along the way—the girl who was notorious for spilling tears arbitrarily. Jungkook's got his eye on some shy girl Jimin doesn't really know. So the friend group's already pretty split up. But Jimin doesn't really mind as much as he should. He and his friends are happy and have split to pursue their interests. There are no regrets.

Sometimes, when Jimin notices the blush on your cheeks after he teases you, he wonders how you truly feel about him. If all the time you spent around him was doing any good.

"I guess we've become quite the team?" you smile, nudging Jimin's shoulder. "I would've never been able to come up with a revamped idea for my book without you."

"I don't think I would've come this far in dance without you."

"No, it's your pure talent," you say. "I didn't do anything." You giggle, admiring the ruffles on Jimin's dance costume. "Break a leg out there, Jimin. I know you'll kill it in the solo division."

"Thanks, Y/N. I swear, I'm not even that nervous."

That's a lie. Jimin's so nervous he's been feeling like he needed to use the bathroom for two hours now. What if I forget a step? What if I'm offbeat for a split second? What if I trip on my costume? What if the wrong song plays?

There's absolutely no pressure that you've offered to come to watch Jimin dance to write about a dance competition in your book. Jimin has to get his routine down perfectly unless he wants to wind up embarrassing himself and disappointing his eager parents. He needs to be perfect. Maybe to impress you.

But this will be the first time that Jimin will be on stage with a true audience. Even though he will dance like he's the only one in the world, he will have hundreds of watchers and a panel of judges who will scrutinize his every move.

Jimin tugs at the ruffles of his white blouse and looks to the stage nervously.

"Hey, you've got this," you whisper to him, patting his shoulder. "What matters is dancing. It doesn't matter what place you get."

You're right. Jimin's here to dance. He is not here to flaunt his talents to others; he is here to make his own progress for himself, for his passion. What matters is that he has fun on stage.

Jimin keeps that in mind when he walks on the platform. The lights shine down on him, and his ears ring incessantly. But as soon as the cello begins to let out its low, elegant sound, he dances. The music envelops his body, and he sees nothing but colors. There is no need to think of which step is next when it comes to him naturally. He twists and turns accordingly to the rueful tones of the oboe, leaps at the entrance of the violins and finishes the dance with a grand pose in the middle of the stage.

He doesn't hear the clapping when he shakily gets off the platform.

Jimin's numb. He can't remember the performance, nor can he remember if he had gotten all of his steps right. But when you lunge at him with open arms and a bouquet of flowers (that you hadn't had before) in your hands, none of his performance matters anymore.

"JIMIN!" you screech at him, almost knocking him over with the force of your hug. "YOU WERE AMAZING!"

He's so taken aback, he can't answer, just holding you to his chest as you laugh happily in his arms.

"I hope you don't mind that I recorded the performance," you tell him. "It was just... wow. I can't even think of words to describe it because... wow."

Jimin pulls away from you, grinning wildly and his heart thumping in his chest—from post-dancing or from hugging you, he doesn't really know.

"Was it that good?"

"Yes!" you say. "Come on, we just have to wait to see how you placed. Not that it matters."

And it really didn't. Even though Jimin took home silver, otherwise known as second place, everyone—his parents, Miss Hart, you—was proud of him. No one could argue that his dancing was the most emotional—the most beautiful. The dance competition was only the beginning of Jimin's journey.

Now it's even more normal for you and him to hang out. Even outside the dance studio to just talk and keep each other's company. Anyone can find you typing on your laptop and Jimin dancing and think it's a normal occurrence. Especially with the two of you on summer break, it became insanely frequent to spend a whole day out together.

Sometimes it seems as though you're flirting with him, but Jimin just tells himself that it's his imagination. You have Yoongi, for fuck's sake. You would never go after Jimin because you've said it yourself—you and he are best friends.

Yet it's socially unacceptable, apparently, to only be friends with the opposite gender (especially a younger opposite gender in Jimin's case) and expect the relationship to be purely platonic. Jimin's been noticing you stealing a couple of extra glances at him when he stretches before he dances. And he's been guilty of staring at you when you write because he likes how focused you can get in your typing sprees.

A couple of times, Jimin swears he could've leaned in to kiss you. But being rejected scares him away to ever take the chance. Besides, he doesn't want to come between you and Yoongi. That would be unfair and immature of him.

God, Jimin's mind is mixed up and his feelings are confused. He's not ready to admit it to himself yet, though. So he stays confused until a new school year comes around.

Being a senior opens up Jimin's eyes, and he realizes he had been just plain stupid—and blind. He likes you.

Fuck.

It's not a question of when these feelings had developed, but a question of why. You have a boyfriend. Jimin's already a senior, which means he'll be gone next year. You're the leader of a group—that's practically a cult, according to Google—and you keep secrets from everyone no matter how much you love them. It's just not going to happen.

And if it did happen, then what about Yoongi? He's an essential member of your group. If you break up with him to be with Jimin, assuming that you even feel the same way, then what might Yoongi do? Would he ditch your group and let it fall to the ground? Would he report you and your system to administration? Would he get revenge on Jimin?

No way is Jimin going to get involved.

He should've seen it coming. He should've prevented himself from completely falling for you the moment you started caring for him, hanging out with him, helping him... But he didn't and now he doesn't know what to do.

Well, actually, he does.

Jimin's just going to simply get rid of his feelings for you for his own sake and yours. He just won't see you for a couple of months, and by then, his feelings for you would be gone, vanished into thin air. At least, that's what he hopes.

So, Jimin creates an elaborate plan of his own to avoid you for several months, max. He secretly changes his dance lesson times and tells Miss Hart to keep his schedule from you. And when his teacher inquires why, Jimin makes up a bullshitted lie that he wants to surprise you with his next performance. Then, he skips all of his individual practices and dances at home instead so you won't be able to find him. He even misses scheduled group meetings, texting you that he was sick (when he was only lovesick).

She's just using me to write her story, Jimin tells himself. I'm nothing but a character for her.

Deep down inside, Jimin knows that's false, but he makes himself believe it. Maybe it'll help him dislike you—which isn't exactly possible—but it could at least help him stop liking you.

But it turns out that maybe you never liked Jimin the way he liked you. All too soon, Jimin finds out from Miss Hart that you haven't been coming to the dance studio, so he switches his lessons back to his normal time. You've stopped texting him about coming to group meetings too. Which was strange because Jimin was still given homework copies and test answers when he needed them.

Maybe you took the hint that Jimin didn't want anything to do with you? Jimin doesn't know.

He does know that still, every time he thinks of you, he thinks of a generous, beautiful, mature, thoughtful person who chases after her own dreams and encourages others to do the same. It's hard to stop liking you, in other words.

Already, finals week is around the corner. Jimin has a few suspicions that you're going to hatch a complex plan again to put an end to student stress altogether, but he wouldn't know because he hasn't been attending the meetings. But whatever you were planning, it would be better than the last bomb threat for sure. Because you were always looking to improve, to better yourself to help others.

God, fucking shit. Jimin can't seem to think of one bad thing about you.

His days are spent dancing mostly as he'd submitted his college apps early (thanks to your suggestion), but he also can't get you out of his mind. Your absence makes him grieve for your presence. But he can't give up now. He doesn't want to show up in front of you one day and have to explain why he avoided you for months.

So he continues with his plan.

It's the Friday before finals week.

Jimin sits around in the corner of his school's dance room as the rest of his teammates go over the routine for the winter dance competition. He'd told the captain that he was getting a bad migraine, so he was allowed to sit out for the rest of the practice.

In reality, Jimin can't stop thinking about you. He knows you're here, after school, in your newspaper room, finishing up your last edits before publishing the paper on Saturday. He wonders if you'll welcome him if he meets you. He wonders if he should apologize for avoiding you. Maybe he can get rid of his feelings by hanging out with you more. Or he'll just act like the two of you are best friends and pretend he doesn't want anything more than a platonic relationship.

Jimin doesn't know what courses through his veins to make him stand up.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he murmurs, trudging out of the dance room and outside. He'll have to cross the quad to reach the newspaper room. Jimin nervously checks his watch. 4:42 p.m., it reads. You usually leave by 4:45 p.m., so Jimin doesn't have much time.

Or maybe he shouldn't go to you at all? He hesitates, lurching forward but taking a step back.

He sees another girl, not that far away from him, walking across the quad. There's a boy behind her, yelling "Wait up!" as he tries to catch up with her while holding a stack of heavy textbooks. The girl looks back around and laughs, taking half of the boy's stack and nudging his shoulder. They continue to walk across the quad, side by side. They must be dating.

Jimin quickly recognizes the tall boy to be Namjoon, his acquaintance, and as soon as he's about to wave, there's a loud bang!

Jimin flinches. Was that a...? He can't quite believe it. But there's a lot he didn't believe but still has come true at Welton High School. Or maybe this was another one of your plans. Fake a school shooting to cancel finals. He wouldn't know. He didn't attend the meetings.

But the blood rushes out of his face and it dawns on him that this is reality as he watches Namjoon's girlfriend fall to the ground in slow motion. His own breath quickens and his eyes are alert but he's almost frozen. No. This has to be fake. This has to be a trick. There's another bang! and this time, Namjoon lurches forward, hitting the ground with a resonating thump.

Jimin's frantic, trying to find the source of the loud bangs. Maybe Namjoon and his girlfriend are part of the group. Maybe it's all a plan. Time flies too quickly and slowly at the same time. Jimin sees blood leaking from the girl as she lay face down on the cement. Namjoon is knocked unconscious. That has to be fake. You can buy fake blood, right?

But deep down inside, Jimin knows the truth. He panics. It's hard to breathe.

Then there's another bang. Jimin feels searing heat engulf his chest. He feels himself fall backward, and he clutches his wet chest—not in pain but in shock.

He tilts upwards, and his last view is of the soft gray clouds in the darkened sky.

Then everything becomes black.

Two students, two seniors are reported to be dead. One shot in the head, another in the heart. One has miraculously survived a gunshot wound and is being treated in the hospital.

"Do you know them?" you say in a shaky breath.

Your boyfriend hugs you. "You know one of them..."

"Oh, god," you whimper. You can hear the police and see the bright flashing red and blue lights from afar. "The shooter was targeting students involved in after school activities. How cowardly. When there would be fewer adults around. They were looking to attack the students."

"I know, babe," Yoongi says. "The girl... she was part of the volleyball team. Her boyfriend is the one who survived, apparently. And the other boy... He... He was on the dance team."

Your eyes turn wide as you pull away from your boyfriend. "H-He..."

"Jimin, Y/N. It was Jimin."

You feel like you're falling down a pitch-black abyss with no one to catch you or help you. "A-Are you sure it was him?" you manage to whisper. "What was he doing outside the dance room?" you sob, throwing yourself into Yoongi's chest as your boyfriend tries to comfort you.

"Park Jimin, yeah... It was him," Yoongi says, petting your back. "I heard from the dance captain that he was having a bad day. Something about migraines..."

You can't speak. Nor can you even think straight.

"Jimin's body was found significantly away from the other two," Yoongi says. "He could've run away."

A heavy weight tugs at your heart and you let out another sob of despair. "Yoongi, he could've thought it was fake."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you get it?? He thought it was like the bomb threat!—fake! Planned! God!" you shriek, pushing Yoongi away and standing up, starting to walk around in frantic circles. "I killed him, Yoongi! I fucking killed him!"

You collapse on the ground with your hands on your head. "I killed him..."

"You didn't kill him, Y/N," Yoongi says. He crouches down with you. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who wasn't coming to your meetings. If he did, he would've known we weren't going to pull off a stunt like that until next year's finals."

You shake your head, hitting your forehead repeatedly with your palm. "It doesn't matter, Yoongi! I should've never faked such a serious ordeal!"

"Y/N..."

"I deserved to be out there in the quad."

"You're the students' hero, babe... Don't think otherwise."

"Oh? Really?" you scream. "If I really were a hero, then why the hell was the school shooter a student from our school, huh? I obviously wasn’t keeping everyone happy!"

Yoongi falls silent.

"I don't care what you say, Yoongi," you say, your voice shaking from anger and devastation. "I failed. I tried making a system, but it didn't work... And now, people are dead... And I never got to say goodbye..." And he was avoiding me for months. I never got to know why...

"Hey, hey. Your system is perfect, baby," Yoongi answers. "It just doesn't work on psycho murderers."

That makes sense, too.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi," you say. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. Thank you. For comforting me. God, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," he says. "Things will be fine." He pauses. "You know, on the bright side, they might cancel finals."

[2 years later]

The moment you graduated out of the hellhole of a school, you discontinued your idea of a school revolt, and your system collapsed without you nurturing it.

Welton High School went under investigation after hundreds of parents and students protested. Counselors were fired and replaced. Administration was put on probation. It didn't take until two students' murders to fix things.

Funny.

Three student suicides weren't enough for them to realize something was wrong with the school.

You're bitter, but you try not to let it get in your way. Jimin will never get full justice because he will never get the life he deserved back. He was supposed to win hundreds of dance competitions. He was supposed to get to the end of the path of his dreams. But his life cut him short.

You dedicate your debut novel to him.

Now, when you walk around a supermarket, a library, a bookstore, you see your book on the stands or stacked up on tables. The white cover contrasts from the title inked in a black font: To Jimin (It's About Time I Told You I Love You).

The book tells the tale of Jimin. A newborn dancer who becomes tangled in the depths of a rigorous high school. There's one twist, though.

The story is told from a girl's perspective. A girl who loves Jimin, but never admits her feelings until it's too late. She watches him grow, blossom and become a star. But she isn't there for him when he dies.

She is you.

And you think it's about time you admit to yourself that you loved Jimin. Except he probably never loved you.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #jimin #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #insurrection #this story just makes me so 😭😭#sometimes when i envision the scenes i just get so eMoTionAl

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