#nevermind I think I forgot to change my contacts last month so they’re out

[toomuchdickfort]

Gradient lady and Benoni are Very Tall for no reason beyond. Sometimes u wanna have a tall oc who stands up straight once they get outside and the person beside them goes ‘oh’

#gradient lady is 2 feet taller than benoni #and she’d 100% use his head as an armrest. at least once. and he’d not react except maybe duck down a little and then she’d feel kinda bad #and give him a magic ring or smth #character rambles #elysur #unrelatedly my left eye is blurry for no reason and I’m tempted to throw away this contact Bc if I put it in a case to rinse I *will* forget #about it until it’s dry and gross and idk if I can use the case anymore #nevermind I think I forgot to change my contacts last month so they’re out #this shit is why I want glasses. I can wear em for like a month and not have to worry about this shit

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #w: the love project #yes i am finishing this at 6am on the day its meant to be posted... MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

The One with the Wind and Sky

chapter 32

chapter index

It was Tuesday morning.  Despite the sun, Inga felt a sharp chill in the air as she opened her window.  She shivered a bit as she washed and changed into a dress appropriate for the weather.  After dressing, she took a deep breath, left her room, and walked to the study. 

“Inga!” Frederick greeted her cheerfully. “Are you helping today?” 

“Inga?” her mother asked in confusion.

“Yes, I thought you might like some extra help.”

“Well, thank you,” her mother replied, handing her a stack of letters.

Frederick gave her a sideways glance, which she pretended to ignore.  They got through everything very quickly, with no conversation aside from the occasional discussion of who should get a particular letter. 

“That’s everything for now, I think,” their mother told them when it wasn’t quite lunch time, “Can you come to the meeting with Corona this afternoon?  Your father will be at the trade guild meeting.”

“Do we get a choice of meeting?” Frederick laughed. “The trade guilds usually serve better food.”

The Queen glared at him.  “Not today.” 

“I’ll be there,” Inga piped in.  

Frederick nodded and got up, mumbling something about finding Anton and Peder for a ride, and letting the door slam after him.  

Inga remained sitting across the desk from her mother. She didn’t want to be rude and run out with barely a comment like her brother had just done.  He could get away with that, but she couldn’t, not today, at least. She needed to prove that she wasn’t still upset.   

“I didn’t mean to pry yesterday,” her mother told her.  “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Talking with her mother was exactly what Inga wasn’t ready to do.  Perhaps later.  She nodded and maintained eye contact, doing her best to stay calm and composed.

“You don’t have to come to the meeting this afternoon, you know.”

“I’d rather come, but thank you,” Inga said as she stood up, doing her best to hide any hint of emotion.  “I’ll see you in two hours.”

***

“You’re up early,” Hilde commented as she sat down by her brother, who was staring out the window of the breakfast room.  His food was untouched.

“Am I?  The sun rises so early here, you know.”

“That’s in the summer,” she corrected, “Sunrise is a half hour later here than in Corona now.  I checked the almanac before we left.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes, then looked around the room to confirm that they were alone.  “Now, since you’ve dragged me along on this trip over a month earlier than planned, will you let me know if there's anything going on? My maid keeps asking me questions.”

Henry flushed. “What?  You haven’t… have you been telling her?   I mean, what have you been telling her exactly?” 

“Relax, I just ask her enough questions to get an idea of the general gossip.  I swear I haven’t been the source of anything, why would I want to do that? Besides, she only asks me about you because your valet never tells her anything interesting. I have better things to do.  But...  Do you know what they’re saying about you today?”

“Today?  Were they saying things before?”

“Nothing any of us do is really private, you know that, don’t you? Of course they were talking. To be fair, I’ve never heard any interesting gossip about you except for the morning after the coronation ball. They talk about me, too, though apparently the only interesting thing about me is my clothing, so I give them that.  And they talk about her…” Henry looked up wide eyed. 

“Fine, tell me.”

“It seems, when you went missing for a little while after we first arrived, you met up with a girl in the marketplace.  My maid told me she saw this herself."

“Oh,” he mumbled, “I guess I forgot that there were people around.”

Hilde raised her eyebrow.  "So, she saw something? Because some staff here heard the same whispers in the marketplace, about the foreign prince flirting with the first girl he met. As usual, your valet has nothing interesting to tell about you."

“I was in the market yesterday, and I suppose it could be called flirting.”

“That’s an odd answer, especially given last night at dinner...”

“You already talked to me about that.”

“And I would have talked to you more if I’d heard about what happened in the market!”

“Fine, you’re going to tell me  I’m exposing her to gossip, I get it.”

“So Inga was in the market?  You could have said so when I asked and saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, I thought that was what they were saying.”

“No, actually, so now half of Arendelle thinks you’re a terrible flirt.  Nevermind that, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she not interested, then?”

“That would make things simple.”

“You sure are cryptic this morning.”

“If there’s something to share, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You promise?”

“On second thought, no.”

***

Inga arrived at the room for the meeting a few minutes early, and saw Frederick arriving as she got to the door.  

“How was your ride?”

“Good.  Did you have lunch? You hardly ate last night.” 

“I ate,” she replied, leaving out that she had only grabbed a piece of toast with a bit of jam. 

“Oh,” Frederick interrupted before she needed to think of something else to say, “I ran into Elizabeth on my way here.  She says Lars isn’t feeling well, so I guess he won’t be at the meeting this afternoon.”

“That’s too bad.” Inga forced herself to stay calm.  She remembered the encounter with Lars that weekend, and what she’d learned about him.  Had Lars become too curious?  “Did she say anything else?”

“No,” Frederick replied, smirking a little, “but I guess if it was something in the food, you’re safe.”

Inga sighed, remembering that Margit Nilsen had seemed uneasy yesterday.  Perhaps she would take her up on the offer of talking later.  “Is anyone inside yet?” she asked Frederick to change the subject.

“Pretty much everyone else from Corona,” he told her.  “Do you want to head on in?”

“Let’s go,” she said, breathing to calm herself.  

Everyone in the room stood when she entered. She caught Hilde’s gaze first, then looked over to Henry, who looked back, blinking.  Was he nervous? There was nothing they needed to say to each other this afternoon, which was good, because there was nothing she would want to say in front of other people.

Their mother arrived soon after, and the meeting began. Inga sat quietly, gazing at the books on the shelves immediately behind whoever was speaking at the moment.  She kept count of the times her eyes accidentally met Henry’s: six.  

At one point, an official letter from Corona was passed around. She read it over, trying not to let herself be distracted by the differences between the King’s handwriting and his grandson’s.  She wondered whether the King knew any details about why this shuffle of diplomatic personnel was happening, or was simply signing off on instructions from his daughter the Crown Princess.

At some point, Ambassador Meyer had mentioned that he would make a decision about which of the three men he would hire by the end of the week.  No one was quite sure when Arendelle would have a location selected for a new consulate, and Inga felt almost ready to flip the table in spite of protocol when they realized that their questions were best discussed with Lars in person.  

The business for the day was concluded.  Everyone got up.  Inga simply stood by her seat, unable to decide where to go.  There were no more meetings for the day, and nothing that needed to be done. 

“Inga?” Frederick asked, pulling her back to the present. 

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to get dinner with us.  I was going to take them to Hudson’s Hearth.”

She looked around.  Her mother had left, as had Ambassador Meyer.  Kai was directing a young servant to clean up the room and get the furniture back to a better arrangement.  Henry and Hilde were standing behind Frederick, looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied, following behind as they left.

***

Wednesday morning wasn’t quite as cold as Tuesday morning had been, but there was still a slight chill in the air.  Dinner had been frustratingly uneventful.  Inga couldn’t help but notice that Henry had been nearly as silent as she was through most of it, and Frederick explained many details of Arendelle to Hilde.  

But that was last night.  Inga hadn’t made any promises about helping anyone today.  She was awake and dressed so that she could possibly go riding later, feeling somewhat restless.  She picked up the book on her bed stand, and the letter from Henry fell out.  There was no point in writing back right now, was there?  Except, yes, there could be a point.  Did he know where the garden was?  Well, he could figure that out.  Having written a quick note which she stuck in her pocket, she went to her dresser, opened the top drawer, moved aside a few things, and placed Henry’s most recent letter on top of the other letters from him.  She leafed through them idly, coming to the photograph at the bottom of the stack, picked it up, and looked at it.  The formal portrait looked almost like a stranger, having all of his features, but none of the spark of seeing him in person. She still wasn’t sure what had come over her the other night.  She couldn’t exactly say that she regretted her behavior, but at the same time, she wished she felt more in control of herself.  As she looked at his picture, she wondered what Henry actually thought of the photo she’d sent him. His photo went back to the bottom of the stack of letters, and she carefully closed the drawer.  

 Inga quickly made her way down to the guest rooms, suddenly panicking when she realized she wasn’t sure which one was his. She really had no excuse for being here if someone asked.  Suddenly, a nearby door opened, and Inga stood to the side.

“Of course, Your Highness,” she heard a lady’s maid saying as she closed the door.  “Oh, excuse me, Miss,” the young woman gasped as she nearly bumped into Inga.

“Don’t worry about it,” Inga replied.

The maid nodded and went on her way.  After a moment, Inga looked at the door the woman had come out of, and guessed that it was Hilde’s room.  She decided she’d take the chance that the door next to it was Henry’s room, and slipped her note underneath, trying to head away quickly and quietly.  

As she turned the corner, Inga stopped again as she heard a door opening, but the giggling and footsteps told her it was from the nursery.  She turned around to see her sister Sofia running toward her.

“Where are you going?” Inga asked, trying to sound stern, barely hiding a laugh.

“Inga!  Hi!  We’re going out to the garden, but I forgot my sweater.  Do you want to come?”

Inga nodded and followed along.  

Nanny was already in the garden with the younger children.  Marie was fussing over the baby, and their little brother Karl was off finding things to climb on. Inga sat down next to Marie and the baby, and tried her best to simply enjoy the moment in the autumn sunlight.

***

“Come down, Karl!” Sofia shouted, repeating Nanny’s admonishment from a moment earlier.  Inga watched as her youngest brother found a way up the side of the wall, almost like a mountain goat. He giggled at every shout to come down, and climbed higher.

“I think that’s enough now,” Inga laughed as he started standing on the top of the wall.  She climbed up to the top, realizing too late that she had no plan for getting back down.  Still, she was glad she was up there with her baby brother, though he wasn’t quite a baby anymore, was he?  The other side of the wall went straight down to the rocks below along the fjord. She scooted over next to little Karl, and grabbed him as he walked over to her.  He settled into her lap, and she decided spending a few minutes looking at the view wouldn’t hurt.  She could figure out the next step later. 

Sofia had gone over to Marie and Baby Linne while Nanny ran off to find Kai. Marie was suggesting all sorts of games which weren’t quite appropriate for such a young baby, and Sofia was making slightly less awful suggestions.  Inga didn’t want to turn around, since she’d have to start thinking about how high up they were, so she kept staring off in the distance, one arm tightly around her little brother, and the other gripping the edge of the wall behind her.

She heard some commotion behind her, and heard Anton and Peder shouting juvenile insults at each other.  Peder shouted something especially crude, and there was a thud of bodies hitting each other, and Anton laughing.  Letting out a sigh, Inga turned around as much as she felt she could safely do, spotting Anton standing near her sisters.  

“Shouldn’t you be with your tutors?” she shouted.  “If you have so much energy, come help us down here.”

“Sorry, Inga,” Anton shouted back, “I’m too busy laughing at Peder.”

“Laugh at him another time, help me out here!”

“Oh, fine.  Peder, get up off the ground and make sure you didn’t actually hurt that fellow from Corona.”

Inga swallowed nervously, turning back around to out over the fjord. She was so focused on her siblings that she had forgotten about her note.  She hadn’t given an exact time. 

“Okay, Inga,” Anton called from down below,  “I’ll climb up, take Karl, and then you climb down and I’ll hand him to you.”

“Sure, why not?” she laughed nervously. She wondered if leaving her room this morning had been a good idea.

She glanced quickly down behind her and saw Anton’s red hair.  He quickly got to the top and sat beside her, facing back toward the castle.  Karl giggled as he saw his brother, and Inga handed him over. She exhaled in relief, and started her way back down to the ground, thankful that she had dressed for riding, at least, so no one below would get a show.

As her feet touched the ground, she let go over the stones and tried to brush the dirt off, shaking the tunic, glad that it wasn’t a light color. She still needed to help with Karl, but now she wished Frederick were here, since he was the only one of them really tall enough for this task.  Where was he this morning?  Probably talking to the Admiral, if he wasn’t with the twins.

“Anton, please be safe, at least with Karl!” she called back up.  Their little brother thought it was delightful being dangled down from the top of the wall.  Inga caught his feet, and as Anton let go the little boy grabbed her around the neck, causing her to stumble.

She gave Karl a kiss on the cheek and set him down.  Anton walked along the top of the wall until he could jump to the tree.  

“You’re just giving him more ideas, you know!” Inga shouted.

“Oh, hello, Kai!” Peder shouted behind her.  Inga turned around to see Nanny picking up the baby and scolding the sisters for playing whatever game they had been playing.  She walked over to Nanny and took the baby off her hands so that she could chase after Karl before he got into more trouble.  

As she held baby Linne, she realized that she hadn’t seen the baby nurse all morning, and was wondering when she would get back, since the smell was rather bad.  Nanny was coming back with Karl, her hand gripping his wrist very firmly. 

“Your Highness,” she heard Kai’s voice behind her, “do you need any help?”

“Yes, thank you, Kai, if you could,” she answered before turning around, “where is-” 

Kai was standing a few feet behind her, but facing away, and had been speaking to Henry, who was sitting on the ground a short distance away.  He looked over and smiled. 

“Thank you, I’m fine,” Henry replied to Kai as he got up. 

Kai nodded, and looked to Inga.  “Your Highness?”

“Thank you, I’m fine,” she responded without thinking, her eyes locked on Henry.

Kai nodded and left.  

“Were you here this whole time?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he began, “I got your note, and I came out to find you, and then, well, I didn’t say anything because you were up on the wall and I was afraid you might be startled…”

“So you were the one my brother ran into?” she laughed.

“Um, yes,” he mumbled, looking at his feet.  

They stood silently, still several feet apart. 

The baby squirmed, and Inga remembered she had meant to ask Kai about the location of the nurse. “I… I need to go,” she mumbled.

Henry frowned.  “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Oh, no!” Inga replied, flustered again. “Please don’t go. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… the baby, um… she doesn’t smell very good right now, and I was going to go ask Nanny to take over.” 

As if on cue, the baby nurse came over, apologizing for having slept so long that morning. Inga told her not to worry, and thanked her. 

“So, um, you sent me a note?” he stammered.

“Of course,” she said.  She looked around.  When she wrote the note, she had hoped the garden might be empty. “It’s getting a bit crowded here.”

“I suppose it is, but-”

She grabbed his hand and led him to the door in the wall that led down to the fjord.  The wind was blowing in from the north, and she saw Henry shiver a bit as he walked down to the rocks with her.  It hadn’t rained recently, so the rocks were dry.  She let go of his hand and sat down on the largest rock.  Henry stood where she left him looking confused. 

“Are you going to come over here? I won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Well, do you want to know how I send letters or don’t you?”

“Oh!” he laughed, coming over.  “I really had absolutely no idea why you brought me here.”

She felt very conscious of how small the rock actually was as he sat down. Her hands were clenched in her lap. The air was chilly down here by the fjord, and he was warm. It wasn’t so bad.

“So…” he hemmed after he had been there a moment. 

Inga swallowed.  “Gale?” 

Henry grabbed her hand as the wind whipped around them. He looked at her with his mouth slightly open, like he wanted to ask a question.

“No, I don’t have any letters,” Inga declared.  A second gust swept more directly around Henry, who tightened his grip on her hand.  “Yes, that’s him, you already know it is… so can you get his letters to me?” Henry was staring at her now, and she tried to ignore it, but a leaf hit her in the face.  “No, I didn’t exactly tell my aunt.  If she tells you to stop… Fine, thank you.”

The air was suddenly calm again.

Inga let out a long breath and looked at Henry again.  “There, it’s all settled.”

“What’s settled?”  He was staring wide eyed.

“Your letters won’t take two weeks to get to me any more.”

“How?” 

“That was the wind spirit,” Inga explained, “You just ask, like I did, except you should probably be more respectful.”

“I…” he stammered.  “I suppose this explains a lot.”

“Probably best if you don’t tell anyone, though.”

He nodded, looking out.  She felt his grip on her hand loosen a bit, but he didn’t let go.

“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” she said, running her thumb along the side of his hand, “but it’s not like it would have made that much sense.”

“You’re not much for giving warnings, are you?” he smiled.

“Oh, right.”  She could feel the blood rushing to her face.  She looked away, then quickly looked back again.  He was still looking at her.

“I’m pretty sure we’re both awake this time,” he laughed.

“I…yes? Of course...” Of course what? She looked into his eyes. 

Henry's free hand reached over to her cheek and she turned toward him, interlacing her fingers with his other hand. As their lips met, she felt his hands move around her waist, and moved her hands under his coat.  She hadn’t realized her fingers were starting to feel cold until then. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when they stopped, both breathing heavily, noses touching. 

“So…” he breathed. 

Inga rested her head on his shoulder, her hands still under his jacket.  She wasn’t sure what to say. This was comfortable, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to move, though they would eventually have to.  “I’m hungry,” she muttered, wondering why she was saying this before she even finished speaking.

“Um…” he sat up a little, smirking. “Actually, I am, too.  I didn’t really eat breakfast this morning.”

***

Frederick had spent the entire morning down at the harbor talking with the Admiral.  The Admiral was preparing to sail to Bergen that afternoon, leaving Frederick on his own for lunch.  He wasn’t sure where anyone was, so he went to the castle kitchen.  Coming in from the outside, he forgot that he now needed to duck on the last step down, and hit his head on the beam overhead, letting out a scream.

As he stood rubbing his head, he heard others in the kitchen, so he carefully ducked down and walked in.

“Hi, Frederick,” Inga laughed nervously, quickly finishing tying off her hair in a loose braid. “Did you hit your head again?”

“What makes you think I did?” he chuckled. As he looked around for what he wanted to eat, he noticed Henry standing at the other end of the table.  “Henry?  Good, I told you you should feel free to come down here if you’re hungry, I’m glad to see you did.”

“Um, yes, thanks,” Henry mumbled, walking back toward Inga to pick up the half eaten sandwich sitting next to her.

“Were you talking to the Admiral this morning?” Inga asked.

“Yes,” Frederick answered while he reached for the food he wanted, “and he’s heading to Bergen this afternoon.” 

He stood eating, watching the other two finishing their sandwiches.   Henry seemed a little too focused on his sandwich, and Inga wasn’t usually the type to fiddle with her hair in public.  He wasn’t sure why they were acting oddly.   His sister might think she was hiding something, but she wasn’t.

He heard something coming from the hallway inside, and looked toward the door behind his sister and Henry. It creaked open, startling the two, and Frederick saw their mother come in.

“Mother!” he called. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

Their mother stood for a moment looking somewhat perplexed at the group in front of her.  “Thank you, Frederick, I think I will. Could you get something for me?”  Frederick quickly put something together for her.

“Hello,” Inga greeted, trying to sound less awkward than she had clearly been the last several minutes. As their mother walked to the opposite side of the table from her.  Frederick set down a plate with a sandwich. “How was your morning?” 

“Oh, fine. ” their mother replied with a smile, “I met with the council.  Nothing actually got settled with anything they were talking about.”

“Do they ever settle anything?” Frederick groaned.

“Certainly not today, and one duke was trying to impress me by quoting a book he’d obviously never read.  Not that I’ve had time to read it, but Inga would have been helpful.”

"I think I know who you're talking about,” Inga sighed with exasperation, turning to Henry.  “Ever since Karl was born he’s acted like we named him in honor of that man and thinks we’ll be impressed if he drops his name. I’d like to go back and change my brother’s name if I could just to avoid it.  I’ve asked that duke enough questions, I know for sure he’s never read anything beyond the local newspaper, let alone anything on economics.”

“Have you read Mill?” Henry asked, looking at Inga.  

Their mother startled slightly, not having paid full attention to who was sitting at the table. 

“I meant to, actually, earlier this summer.  I’ve…  I should find my copy,” she smiled a little.  “Have you read Ricardo?”

“I liked Ricardo more,” Henry declared, looking like he was seeking Inga’s approval. 

Frederick wasn’t sure if he should leave the conversation wherever it was going, or if he should begin some other topic with his mother, but Kai entered at that moment.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Kai?”

“His Highness has told me he will not be attending the dinner with the Belgian Ambassador. Is there anyone else you would like to attend?”

“Oh,” their mother sighed.  “Inga, Frederick?”

“Um, sure,” Inga replied.  Frederick thought she looked a little uncertain about their mother’s invitation.

“I can be there,” Frederick said immediately.

She smiled, “Kai, we’ll be there at six.”

After the steward left, she finished the sandwich Frederick had made her as they sat silently. "Thank you," she said as she stood up, "I should go find your father now. I'll see you this evening."

“I should get going,” Henry said, “I promised Hilde we’d go on a ride this afternoon.”

“We have several hours, would you like company?” Frederick asked.

"If it's not an imposition," Henry replied. 

"None at all," Frederick laughed, "and besides, it looks like Inga is already dressed for riding."

***

It was late afternoon when they got back, with a little over an hour to get ready for dinner.  Inga bathed and dressed, trying to get her hair arranged as best she could.  There was still half an hour until dinner, but she had nothing to keep her in her room.

Walking down the hallway, she saw Elizabeth looking at the family portrait painted when Inga was nine.  

“Elizabeth?” she called out.

“Oh, Inga, hello,” Elizabeth responded. “You look well.”

“Thanks, I kind of have to, dinner with some Belgians tonight.  How are you?”

“I don’t want to take up your time if you’re in a hurry,” Elizabeth responded apologetically.

Inga frowned, realizing she had made it sound like she was brushing her off.  “I’m not in a hurry at all.  What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I should ask you that question.  You seem fine this evening, and I don’t want to pry, but, I know there was something upsetting you the other night, after the ball.”

“It’s… it’s complicated,” Inga sighed. “There are a lot of things we don't want to know about the people we love."

“I don’t know if that’s really true,” Elizabeth protested, “though… I think Lars isn’t telling me something, and I wish he would tell me.  He was talking with his mother after dinner Monday night, and he’s seemed upset ever since. He was talking to your father this morning, and he went out for a ride, but he’s not back yet.”

“Oh,” was all Inga managed to say.  Lars knew the truth now.  She wondered why they hadn’t met him on their ride, but perhaps they went a different way. She hoped he hadn’t gone too far.

“I… I should probably get going.  Mrs. Nilsen told me to meet her for dinner soon.”

***

It was Thursday.  Walking along the corridor, she heard Ambassador Meyer’s voice coming through his door.  Her childhood instincts to listen in on foreign visitors got the best of her, and she slowed down for a moment on hearing him mention the royal orders from Corona.

“You’ll train him, of course.”

She heard a muffled “yes, Sir” from Lars, and hurried on her way, not actually interested in the conversation, but glad to know that Lars was well enough today.  She continued on her way to the study, hoping to find her mother.

Entering the study without knocking, she saw her mother was alone. 

“Good morning,” Inga said, walking in.

“Good morning,” her mother replied, watching her closely.

“How are you today?” Inga asked coolly,  expecting some small talk about the dinner the night before. 

“I'm fine," her mother replied, pausing and looking down at the papers in front of her. "Do you know that the ship from Corona is leaving tomorrow?"

"No," Inga said, her throat tightening a little. 

"They're leaving one of the candidates here for training, I don't remember which. I think they're going to England next. Their emissary told me all of this earlier this morning."

"That's good to know," Inga replied, shifting uneasily, finding it suddenly hard to focus.

"Here," her mother quickly changed the subject, handing her a large stack of letters. "Why don't you start on these?"

***

Inga walked across the courtyard. She had the entire afternoon to herself, but couldn't decide what she wanted to do. As she passed by the stables, she saw her father stepping out, wiping his hands. She stopped, he saw her and walked over.

"Hello," she mumbled.

"How are you?" he asked, stopping a few feet away. 

"I'm fine," she answered, hesitating a little. "I'm sorry, by the way, for everything I said to you."

She looked him directly in the eye, and it felt painful.

"You already apologized," he reminded her, "but thank you."

Inga swallowed hard and took a strong breath.  “How are you?”

“Fine,” he answered, “I won’t hold you up if you’re meeting people in town.”

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing right now,” she said with a nervous laugh, trying her best not to avoid crying in this public place.  Her father stepped forward hesitantly.  Inga stepped forward, and leaned in as he hugged her tightly.

“You’ll be fine,” he told her.  

“Maybe,” she replied as she stepped back, “but probably.”

“Good,” he smiled, “now, go have lunch.” 

***

Inga turned the corner to her room and saw Henry standing there.  

“Hi,” he smiled.  

“Hi,” she replied, biting her lip a bit. “I heard you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes.”  He looked at his feet, one hand fumbling in his coat pocket. “I’ll write to you, I promise.”

“I know,” she beamed.

He pulled his hand out of his coat pocket, holding onto something small.  “I wanted to give you this.”

“I still have the photo you gave me before,” she blurted out. 

“No, this is… um, here.” He pushed the envelope into her hand.  

She opened it up and saw a small pencil drawing that looked almost exactly like the photograph she’d sent him, but it was only of her.  She blinked, staring at it. Her nose wasn’t quite right, but she liked his version better than the real thing. It was beautiful, and he’d made it for her. She couldn’t think of what to say.

“You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it,” he added quickly.

“Why?  No… I mean, I do like it, but, what is it? I mean, I know what it is, but-”

“I drew it on the way here,” he said.  “Or, well, I started drawing it.  I won’t show you the ones that didn’t work.  I hope it’s not… I don’t know-” 

“I love it,” she interrupted.  “Thank you.” Inga couldn’t help but hug him. She could hear him gasp a little from the force she hit him with, but soon he held her close, as well.  As they pulled away, she saw him smile a little less shyly, and there was a definite gleam in his eye. 

***

Inga sat at the harbor early Friday morning, watching the ship from Corona sail away toward the open sea, heading for England next.  They had been up before dawn loading the ship, and Inga had barely managed to get up when it was first light out, so her goodbyes with Henry had to be awkwardly public.  Now, she hugged her legs and sighed, listening to the bustle of the morning business picking up behind her.  

“Inga?” She heard Elizabeth call out behind her.

“Oh, hello,” Inga smiled, stretching her legs to hang over the ledge where she was sitting. “What are you up to this morning?”

Elizabeth looked up. “Lars was up early to meet with the Ambassador and to train his replacement. I saw the ship being loaded, and I thought I might come take a look.  How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “would you like to join me?”

“I don’t think I can get up there,” Elizabeth admitted.

“That’s not a problem,” Inga said, lowering herself down to the quay.  “Were you going anywhere?”

“Not in particular.  So, you’ve been well?” 

“I… I think so,” Inga replied honestly.  “How is everything with…” she couldn’t manage to finish her question, but looked meaningfully at Elizabeth.

“Better, I think.  He had fallen asleep by the time I was done with dinner the other night, and since then he’s been up early and working. I suppose he’ll tell me what was going on when he’s ready.”

Inga could only nod in agreement as they walked along.

“They were talking about trying to get over there before winter,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “If we sail to England next month, we could take a steamship over.”

“So soon?  You wouldn’t even be here for Christmas, you know.”

“I know, but Lars has decided it’s imperative to have the post filled now.” 

Inga frowned, but it wasn’t her place to interfere.  “I’m sorry you’ll be missing it.”

“I am too,” Elizabeth said, touching Inga’s arm. “You have to promise to write. I’ll write you, if you don’t mind, of course.”

“Yes, please,” Inga said. “And, please promise you won’t stop writing me, even if it takes longer to reply sometimes. It’s always disappointing when someone stops writing.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth exclaimed.  “But for now, it’s a beautiful day.  Let’s enjoy it.”

#my fic #the young diplomat #chapter 32 #kristanna #the one with the #fight club quote

[brittysaucefanfic]

Operation: Voltron

Part 33

Shiro

(First)(Previous)(Next)(AO3)

Shiro realized in about three seconds that Lance never actually answered him.

It's too late though, he had already given him the shovel talk, one of his best ones yet, and walked out. He can’t go back to his office, it would ruin the whole ‘murderous vibe’ he wanted to give off. Plus he’s already back upstairs, so leaving now would be weird and suspicious.

Keith would kill him if he knew about Shiro’s ‘talk’ with Lance.

But, come on man, in the middle of an operation? Shiro shivers as he recalls the video Allura had showed him. Most of it was circumstantial, but the video of Keith eye raping Lance? That was enough proof for him. Too much if you ask Shiro. 

It takes a few minutes for everyone to settle back for the planning of their next mission, but eventually they do. The last ones in the door are Lance and his little brother, who is suspiciously avoiding eye contact with Shiro. That doesn’t spell out anything Shiro truly wants to read so he drops it.

“Right,” Allura says, clearing her throat. “Shall we continue where we left off?” The question is rhetorical, but Lance doesn’t seem to get it as he stands up.

“Actually, if I may Princess?” Lance says, a flirty smile on his lips. Shiro’s eyes narrow at Lance, and his mind is flooded with images of murder. Lance glances at him and coughs, adjusting his shirt. Shiro smirks as he watches a trail of sweat form on Lance’s neck.

“What is it?” Allura asks. “And don’t call me Princess.” 

“Right, sorry. I think we need to forget about the diamonds and go after something else.” Lance says, and he’s interrupted before he can continue, by none other than Keith.

“What? Why would we do that? The diamonds are the only lead we have on any of Zarkon’s following. How can we go after ‘something else’ when all we have is the diamonds?” Keith finishes with one of his signature glares, and Shiro’s just relieved to see his usual badass brother back in action instead of the blushing weirdo he’s been as of late. 

Lance glares back before reaching for the computer screen on Allura’s desk. It’s become their official space for planning because Lance likes it so much. He throws a pouting fit if they don’t use it and Keith caves every time. 

“As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted.” Lance says, obviously meaning Keith. “We do have another target.” Then Lance switches gears completely. “Do you want to know why Sendak tried to blow me up?”

It’s quiet a moment as everyone registers the change in topic. 

“Uh,” Hunk says slowly. “Because he and all of Zarkon’s people are psychopaths on a path of destruction and world domination?”

Lance smiles and points at Hunk. “Yes, but no.” This time they just silently agree to let Lance be his dramatic self. Lance drops his smile, and reaches to the computer screen. He pulls up a sketch pad that was definitely not there before. He begins drawing using his finger as the pencil. And, surprisingly it turns out he’s pretty good at it.

“Wait, where did you learn to use this computer?” Allura says half way through Lance’s drawing. He doesn’t even miss a beat, talking as a picture forms in front of their eyes.

“I break into the office at night and play on it when I can’t force myself to sleep on the workout bench or Hunk’s couch.” He says. They all stare at him for a moment, and then Pidge slaps the table. All eyes look at her, and even Lance pauses in his drawing, which looks a little familiar.

“That’s what we forgot!” She yells looking at Allura. Allura only stares back in obvious confusion. 

“What?” Allura says.

“Lance! We forgot to get him a place to stay!” Pidge says. It takes a moment but the realization sets in on Shiro a beat later. He looks back to Lance, who is staring at them all, one by one, with a look of confusion.

“You didn’t do that on purpose?” Lance asks, and Keith is the first to respond, beating Shiro to the punch.

“Why would we do that?” Keith asks. Lance opens his mouth, then he closes it and shakes his head. He leans back over the desk to finish his drawing. 

“Nevermind about that. This, this is our new target. Or targets I guess.” Lance said. When his arm moves out of Shiro’s way he’s hit in the face with a memory. It isn’t a fragment this time, or blurry whatsoever. It’s clear in his mind, clearer than even his more pleasant of memories. 

It’s a fight, one where he’s against two seasoned opponents. He’s still a prisoner in the memory, clear by the ragged clothing that once used to be his space suit. It’s close to the end of the fight, and Shiro is standing over the two men down on the ground. One is unconscious, the other is weeping silently, with almost inhumanly green eyes. Shiro is saved from the memory just as he was plunging a knife directly at the weeping man. He’s lucky that he doesn’t see the end, but he knows. 

He knows what he did, as well as he knows his brother’s scowl.

“They’re called Arena’s, and they are, essentially, the backbone to Zarkon’s entire network.” Lance says as he draws a smaller picture of to the side, a picture of a Roman Gladiator.

“Zarkon, he’s a madan born in the wrong era. The way he works, the way he thinks, it’s completely Ancient Roman in nature. He thrives on violence. These arenas?” Lance pauses for effect, clear by the tiny taps of his finger to count the seconds. It slingshots Shiro into another memory, a blurry one. He’s counting the seconds between guards as he escapes.

“They are his colosseums.” 

“Wait,” Pidge says. “How do you know about all of this?” Lance clears the sketch pad and sits down, probably no longer needing visual representation. His hands settle on the table and he stares at them.

“Because I’m the one who destroyed them.” Lance says. “A few years ago, I got ahold of the list of Zarkon’s arena’s through my talents. Then one by one I destroyed them all. Remember that brief period where there was no activity from Zarkon or his followers?” He glances up at them, but continues without an answer. 

“I destabilized his network, making him go to ground. Someone must have pieced together my involvement and Sendak hunted me down for it. He tried to make it poetic, using how I destroyed the arenas to kill me.” 

Lance is silent again, but no one dares to speak up. This is the most information Lance has told them about himself in one sitting. The mystery’s keeping them craving for more. No wonder he stays so secretive, it must be very empowering holding someone’s interest by the neck like this. 

“I thought I ended the arenas, but I guess with my supposed ‘death’ they started rebuilding. If we can take these down once more, we might have more of an opening to take down Zarkon.” Lance says. 

“What makes you think they started rebuilding?” Keith asks. 

“Champion.” Lance says, and Shiro nearly jolts in his seat. He wasn’t expecting Lance to answer at all, let alone have that be Lance’s answer. His throat tightens as he waits for Lance to elaborate.

“It’s what they called the survivors of every month before a new batch of prisoners would be brought in, and every year around Christmas, they would pit all the Champions in a battle royal.” Lance looks over at Shiro, and he frowns. From the look on Lance’s face, he would have to hazard a guess that he wanted Shiro’s permission. He swallows, and braces himself, before nodding consent to Lance.

“Some of those goons at the warehouse called Shiro ‘Champion’. My guess? They want their champion fighter back, and me dead.” Lance finishes at last. “Any questions?” Pidge’s hand shoots up like she’s in school and Lance points at her. 

“How do you know so much about Zarkon?” She says.

“Wrong question. Anyone else?” Lance asks, but Pidge makes an offended noise.

“How can a question be wrong? It’s a question.” She said, crossing her arms with a glare. Lance points at her again with a small smile.

“That’s wrong too. Food anyone?” Lance says, and he and Pidge lock eyes. Shiro feels a gut reaction he only gets when he knows Keith is about to do something stupid. Like jump off a building just because he was trying to catch Lance. 

“Wait-” Shiro says, but he’s too late. Lance grins impishly, and Pidge launches out of her seat. Lance moves out of the room like it’s on fire while laughing, Pidge hot on his tail. Shiro lays his head down on the table with a sigh, trying to stem the growing headache behind his eyes as he hears Lance and Pidge run around downstairs. He flinches when he hears a crash, and both Hunk and Keith race out of the room to make sure it wasn’t one of their stuff broken.

God give me strength, Shiro says to himself.

******

(First)(Previous)(Next)(AO3)

#voltron #voltron au #voltron fic #lance mcclain #keith kogane #shiro #takashi shirogane #katie holt #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #allura #coran #matt holt #modern!au #white collar!au #hawaii five o!au #zarkon #military!shiro #fbi!keith #nasa!pidge #nasa!hunk #criminal!lance

[kenbarrens]

Krythe Prologue (v.3)

“Rotate two-hundred and four degrees clockwise,” the observer instructed.  “Try and make it take… let’s say, three-point-four seconds to complete.”

“You just made those numbers up,” Dominic grumbled.  “Why so specific?”

“Don’t think about the numbers.  Just… think about what you need to do, and do it.”

Dominic laughed dryly.  “Sounds like what I’ve asked you to do.  Is this an experiment, or are you plotting a coup?”

“I-- uhh… N-no!  Of course, no-- not at all, sir.  I assure you, this is part of the experiment.”

Normally, Dominic would think nothing of putting someone off-balance with his authority.  That was part of the game he played as Cheif of the nation of Cerol, after all.  The researchers had been slow to deliver as well, so he had no qualms over giving them a hard time.  

This time, though, something was different.  The device on Dominic’s head hummed with a soft vibration as the colored lights on its front blinked frantically.  He noted that they were still so bright as to be an annoyance, but at least this latest prototype didn’t require exposed wires pasted to his scalp.  As the observer fumbled over his response, however, Dominic felt a maelstrom in his chest made of emotions he knew he’d conquered long ago: Hesitation.  Anxiety.  Fear.

“How are you feeling right now, sir?”

“Nevermind me, how are you feeling?” Dominic returned.

The response surprised the experimenter - and somehow, Dominic knew this tacitly, even before seeing the man’s brow furrow, before seeing his green cheeks flush to a more verdant shade.  “What-- I’m fine!”  He lied.  Dominic knew he was lying.  “I understand you’re anxious for results, sir, but during these tests, it’s important we follow the outline to ensure the validity of our data.”

The hum of the experimental psychic interface eased its way into Dominic’s mind.  He’d never before thought about where his thoughts came from, but as he studied the observer’s behavior, it was as though something in the back of his mind was feeding him information.  Those feelings in his chest, he realized, were not his - and yet, he could feel them as though they were.

He turned his attention to the clock on the table before him.  Unpowered, the clock’s hands sat motionless at 12 o’clock.  Before they’d placed the device on his head, Dominic had fully expected to leave the experiment without so much as a wiggle from the clock’s hands, as in the four previous attempts.  

This time, though…

Two-hundred and four degrees? Dominic thought.  Three-point-four seconds?  He can’t possibly expect me to know where that minute-hand should end up--

His breath shortened, and the air seemed to grow thinner.  The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up.  The white walls of the lab seemed to sparkle with an ethereal shine.  He noticed all of these things at once, and then immediately forgot them as the minute-hand moved at last.  

It glided counter-clockwise at a steady pace for a little under three-and-a-half seconds.  When it stopped, the clock read 11:34.  The emotions whirling in his chest spiked: Alarm.  Jubilation. Trepidation.  Success, almost… Victory, not quite.

“Tell me… what you felt.”

At length, Dominic racked his brain for words to describe the experience.  “...Light.”

“Tell me what you were thinking, just before it started moving.”

“I thought about your directions… and about how asinine they were.”

The observer jotted this down.  “Describe that… you thought they were ‘asinine?’”

“Well, how did you expect me to know how far around it should go without a protractor?  And to time it so precisely without a stopwatch…”

“Did you think about doing it clockwise?”

“...No.  I’d forgotten that part.”

The observer nodded and wrote that down too.  “The distance the hand traveled fell short of your goal.  How does that make you feel?”

“Fell short?” Dominic felt as though his heart had been set ablaze.  “What do you mean, ‘fell short?’  It moved, didn’t it?  What does it matter how far it went?  You eggheads did it!  You actually did it!”

Excitement, relief, surprise - Dominic was not acting like his usual, hardened self, he felt the observer thinking.

I should tell him I can feel what he’s feeling, Dominic thought, but it might sound crazy.  I can’t afford to be perceived as crazy…

“These tests are purely confidential,” the observer said.  “I hope you have faith that anything that happens in this room stays within the Monolisk - until you say otherwise, of course, sir.”

Dominic sat up straight.  “What are you responding to?”

“...Responding?  No, I-- I just thought, you know, in case you were worried about telling me something--”

“You heard my thoughts!”  Anxiety filled Dominic’s chest again, but it was different, more familiar.  “I thought about telling you something, but didn’t - and then, you said something that could have been a reply to my thought!”

The observer stared agape at his clipboard.  “That… might be a side-effect of the translation software.  Incredible...”

“Translation software?”

“For your, ah… new friends, of course!”

Dominic nodded.  “Right, I recall I commissioned a language translator from you months ago.  I was unaware you had decided to build it into this device.”

The scientist smiled awkwardly.  “We could have tried to learn their language, but then we thought, ‘why bother?’  Words are just verbalizations of ideas.  Lacking the ability to directly transfer thought, we’ve evolved vocal cords to transfer ideas through sound.  However, parts of those ideas are lost when we mold them into the context of language.  So, we asked ourselves, ‘what if we could simply extend the range of thought?’  With this device, you won’t need to learn another foreign language ever again; You could just know what they want to say, and vice versa.”

“But you didn’t know I was communicating with you, and yet, you knew what I was thinking.  ...Come to think of it, I didn’t know I was communicating either!”

“...A little too much power to the TTU core, perhaps… and the thought projection went totally unnoticed by both parties…” The observer’s pen scrabbled across his clipboard.

“So you’ve attempted to write a translation program, and accidentally achieved telepathy!”

“Yes, well... ‘accidently’ is a very important word here,” the observer faltered.  “Sir, I know you hate to hear this, but I can’t stress enough that there are significant risks.  With all due respect--”

“The tests will continue with me as the subject.”

“But, sir… you’re the chief--”

“--Then you’d better make sure your next accident doesn’t melt my brain!”

“We have plenty of candidates who could serve to perform these tests in your place--”

“--And you said this device requires fine-tuning to suit its wearer.  How much time will that take with a new subject?  How much will the results change?”  He leaned in.  “How much longer will I have to wait until this is field-ready?”

A buzz on the intercom forestalled the tongue-lashing.  “Sir?” A female voice rang out.  “They’ve made contact.”

“Already?” The observer checked his phone for the time.  “They’re early!”

“It’s not the same contact as before.”

Dominic gave the observer a stern glare.  “The translator.  Is it ready?”

“It… still has some bugs.  But--”

“Close enough.”

The world around Dominic made more sense while he wore the psychic interface.  Cerol’s capitol building, the Monolisk, was like home to him, but as the scientists lead him out of the lab and down the halls, he felt he could sense more of the place than ever before.  Even my own thoughts ring in my ears, he reflected, but as I pass each door, it’s as though I have an inkling of what the people inside are talking about.  Unless the room is empty… and, I know which rooms are empty, and an idea of the space within their walls.  ...How deep does this go?

The communications lab was abuzz with activity.  Normally, the wide, open room would be full of lab technicians monitoring signals from space for responses to their probes.  Now, though, the whole room was focused on one big monitor and the hideous face it projected.

Though this was not the first of these beings they had encountered, the alien addressing them now was by far the most imposing.  As it narrowed its fiendish red eyes, its purple-gray, dark-speckled skin folded over its brow as it scrutinized its audience.  Smoke drifted from its nostrils, set far apart beneath each of its eyes.  If this creature had a mouth, it was obscured beneath the green hood it wore, affixed with what appeared to be some form of gas mask.

A clicking sound filled the room as the being spoke.  When it stopped, Dominic’s interface buzzed a little louder.  A thought crept into his mind - one that didn’t belong, one that was not of his own voice.

“Krythan.”

That one word, a word that should not have frightened him, struck a chord down Dominic’s spine and into his very being.  The researchers felt it too; He could tell by the whirlwind of worry.

“Greetings!”  Dominic said aloud.

“Just think it,” the observer from the experiment whispered, pointing at a second monitor.  “Your interface will create a transcript here.”

He tried again.  “Greetings!” he thought ‘out-loud,’ imagining himself speaking to the alien.  “I am Dominic, Chief of the nation of Cerol, Representative of planet Krythe.  It is good to meet you!”

“Big words,” the thought replied, its originator’s red eyes burning into his memory.  “Basalt man.”

The experimenter grumbled as the confusing words appeared on his screen.  “Ohh… kay, uhh, that’s probably a bug.”

The ghastly alien clicked again.  In his chest, Dominic felt the sensation of bemused laughter.  He tried to relax as he replied to his other-worldly guest.  “Ha-hah!  Indeed, we are all but pebbles amongst the stars, but don’t we all have a lot of big words to say about ourselves?  Isn’t it grand that we intelligent species are able to make contact past all barriers of distance and language?”

“Your first time, it seems.  You extinct yourself very wise and powerful.”

“Another bug,” the observer flustered.  “It must’ve meant ‘think.’”

Dominic wasn’t sure whether it was the interface, the alien, or the experience as a whole, but something had shaken loose those tendencies to feel nervousness and doubt he thought he’d conquered.  He hoped the device wasn’t transmitting those feelings to the alien - or the researchers, for that matter.

“Well… yes, as a matter of fact!  Some might call it arrogance, but I am indeed confident that our progress shows how very wise and powerful we are.  To our knowledge, we are the most intelligent beings in our solar system.  We’re proving that to you right now!  But you already know that.  Clearly, you are most wise and powerful yourself, since you too have the technology to reach us!”

“Yes,” the thought returned with a chill.  “To reach you indeed.”

Something in Dominic’s heart was trying to get his attention.  He tried to feel how the alien felt in his chest, but this time he felt a resistance that blocked him from getting much detail, as though the alien was hiding its intentions.  Failing that, he went with what he knew; That this alien had replaced their former contact, and, judging by its appearance and demeanor, that it must have some authority the former did not.  A negotiation, then, Dominic decided.  I can handle that.

“Pardon my assumption, but am I now speaking to a being of authority on your world?”

“Half.”

“...Half?”

“You are half-right.”

Perplexed, Dominic turned to the observer studying the transcript for guidance, but he could only shrug and shake his head in reply.

“Well!  That is still wholly exciting.  I hope that in time, our two peoples can find ways to work together.  It is already great what each of us have achieved separately, but perhaps one day, we can excel beyond our limits with each other’s help!”

The cool, blue glow of the telecam monitor illuminated Dominic's commanding visage.  Though the alien had seemed fierce at first, he imagined that he, too, must look rather intimidating to it!  On the other end of the transmission, Dominic’s green-skinned face, his rich, dark suit, and his slicked-back black hair would shine through his adversary's screen, imperial and imposing.  His country’s flag - an image of the planet Krythe aloft on orange, fiery wings emblazoned upon a sea-green field - hung on the wall behind him, sure to instill a sense of order and civilization to their guest.  His ears, pointed at the tips and the lobes, were poised at attention for his rival's rebuttal.

"Perhaps from your point of vent.  However, there is something you igneous lack."

“And what would that be?”

An explosion rocked the Monolisk. Cerol's capitol building groaned as the communications lab tilted to one side. The alien on the screen clicked loudly as its sadistic laughter filled Dominic’s chest.

"An adequate defense subduction."

#krythe #novel #wip #sci-fi #alien #invasion #psychic #kenbocalrissian #ken barrens #heel and boulder

[arbitrarilymine]

Tuesday, 26.09.17, 18:29

Identities, Intersectionality and Erasure

Often, the identities I have and the way they intersect and interact make me feel like I’m spending too much time thinking (worrying) about them. As a gender non-binary pan-romantic greysexual (yes, it’s a mouthful, I know), I honestly spend a lot of time just... thinking about my gender and sexuality. Why? Simply because they’re not the “norm”, they’re not what people around me typically experience and because of that, I don’t really have any one to talk to about this. Which is why I end up figuring things out myself with the help of the internet. And the internet is, you know, great and wide and all, but it’s also not actual real life human interaction and contact, so there’s always that difference.

But let’s not speak so broadly. Let’s start from each identity and why, everytime I question myself, it feels like I’m doing something rather pointless. Firstly it’s difficult enough to figure out exactly what I want, what I feel, what I am (and not to mention that *that* is subjected to change as I grow older or experience more in life). And the fact that very little people around me can actually understand what I’m experiencing doesn’t help. Sure, they can empathise. Especially the friends who are gender non-conforming or gay or ace, those help. They do. They tend to understand better, because we’re all minorities, so to speak. But do they understand specifically my identity? No, because we don’t have the same ones (and that’s not even crossing over into intersectionality, which I would, in a bit). So, there’s that first bit about feeling lost in my own identity searching, so to speak. And me being gender non-binary... that took me quite a while to figure out, and I’m still not sure if it’s the best term to use, but it’s the best I can find for now, so.

The thing is, I feel uncomfortable when I’m referred to as a guy, which I have been mistaken for, multiple times. I’m generally alright with being referred to as she/her (aka female pronouns), but the moment gender norms on dressing and behavior set in, especially in more formal events like work or school, I... feel very, very uncomfortable being “female” or being expected to dress and behave what’s deemed appropriate for a girl. (Also, I don’t like the word “woman” being used on me. “Girl” is still acceptable, I think, maybe because I’ve been called that so many times since young that it’s not really uncomfortable.) So yeah, if she/her are pronouns that honor me, but they/them work too... and I don’t feel like I’m a dude, I’m comfortable with my body and I dress in a mostly androgynous style that seems more masculine (but I think is more unisex)... what am I?

And okay, it’s fine to not know. And like, a very common question from people who don’t experience this gender ...dysphoria (though I use the word loosely because it doesn’t cause me extreme distress, but it’s definitely a thing that weighs on my mind from time to time) is, does it really matter? Does it matter if I know whether I’m a girl or boy or woman or man or both or neither or what? DOES IT MATTER? they want to know. And the answer is, it seems like it doesn’t, but it does to me. Even if it’s rather insignificant, like it doesn’t seem to impact my life much... but then again, it does. It causes me discomfort whenever I’m in uncomfortable situations brought about my gendered expectations and like, ok, sure other people experience it too, but maybe the thing is (and the thing I should learn to tell myself is), just because others don’t think it’s an issue doesn’t mean it’s not an issue for you. It’s obviously a thing that’s on my mind, that bothers me, and that’s ok.

I don’t know, I ended up going in a circle to give myself advice. Okay, nevermind, let’s continue while my train of thought is still going.

Pan-romantic. For the last few years, I figured I was pansexual. But recently I’ve started realising I’m more on the grey-end of the sexual spectrum. I don’t experience much ...sexual desires usually, but they do come, once in a while, and stay for a period of a few months? But mostly I think I’m more on the ace end of the spectrum, but also, I read a lot of explicit and mature fanfic/media so it’s not like I’m completely ace either. So basically, greysexuality aside, let’s talk about the pan aspect of my identity. Pan-romantic means I like people, regardless of their gender. I’ll like to believe I’m open to gender non-conforming people, which is why I don’t really use bi (except to make it easier to explain to people), but really, if you count the people I’ve been attracted to, it’s girls and guys. But anyway, let’s leave the door open on gender non-conforming and trans people, because who knows? So I’m pan, but what I’m going to say next is going to sound more like bi-erasure because that’s the more realistic extent of my experiences so far.

Being pan (or “bi”) is like this. I’ve told people. They tend to advice me not to come out “unless I really fall in love with a girl”, as if it’s *lucky* that I’m not straight out lesbian (ignoring for a moment here that I identify as gender non-binary and not female). It’s like, being pan (”bi”) is seen as a, “oh hey, you can pass as straight, so why not use it to your advantage” from the straight crowd, and a “oh hey, you’re lucky to not be as discriminated as us gay/les people because you can hide” and getting kind of a ...discriminated treatment from the gay crowd and just. I get that they’re looking at this from their perspective and pan/bi seems like such a fun place to be but trust me, it’s not. It’s not lucky or what, because those who are straight tend to see me as straight and those who are not will see me as “not gay enough”? And yeah, it doesn’t matter what these people think per se, but it’s being caught in the middle as if I want to that makes it suck. It’s also, dating a dude and being assumed to be straight and having to hide my relationship with a girl because oh hey, we’re not ready to come out. Because, why would a pan/bi person come out? Why would a pan/bi person not go for the “easiest” option (i.e. “straight” which, like dude, that’s such a heteronomative idea, because I like people, not gender). So really, erasure is such a thing and I’m sick of it.

But hey, that’s not the last bit. There’s greysexuality. And also, I forgot, monogamous (because I don’t have enough energy and love for polyamory) and also my current wish to remain single until I feel that I’m ready for a relationship. You see, being monogamous, when paired with being pan/bi means I’ll always be seen as “straight” or “gay” just based on who I’m dating at the moment unless I clarify (But oh hey, I don’t owe anyone an explanation, so I don’t need to explain, but also, ERASURE). And my current desire to remain single brings the question of, does it matter if I’m pan or greyace or what if I’m not even going to be dating anyone?

(The answer is, yes, it does, to me.)

But because it seems the only person this really matters to is me (as it should be, I suppose), it means it’s hard to find anyone to talk to about this. Like, ugh, I know, they can just listen, I don’t have to tell anyone, etc. etc. but. I’m also only human. I can think about all these alone, in my head, but I don’t exist in a void, and I’m just tired of feeling like none of my identities matter and yet I spend so much time trying to figure myself out and just. I don’t know man, it’s a real pain. And it’s also partly the reason why I’d rather be single because one, I can’t figure myself out enough and two, it’s really hard to find someone who can understand or at least accept all these. So far the intersectionality of my identities have made it so that the people I’ve dated don’t... understand or even, at the very least, begin to empathise? And that’s a huge gap in a relationship, at least one I want to be in, and just. I’m tired. Obviously I do want human comfort as well, but for now friends and family are it. Because just. I’m tired.

This is a mess, I didn’t read it through but I’m going to publish it anyway because I think I should.