#people keep asking me ‘bee how do you make so much art so quickly’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gukyi · 4 years

Text

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked.

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous.

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them.

You told him because you thought that nothing would change.

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more.

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through.

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi.

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook.

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together.

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more.

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat.

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body.

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception.

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud.

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true.

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him.

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault.

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish.

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone.

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks.

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else.

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked.

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed.

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you.

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it.

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it.

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is.

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away.

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick.

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all.

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer.

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well.

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written.

Some things never change, you suppose.

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow.

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life.

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer.

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead.

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face.

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation.

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes.

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me.

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give.

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him.

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two.

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?”

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer.

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin.

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done.

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire.

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t.

The fact is that it has always started and ended here.

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving.

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old.

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit.

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him.

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin.

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while.

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies.

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now.

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly.

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it.

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died.

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you.

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks.

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making.

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!”

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more.

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here.

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible.

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room.

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience.

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok.

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things.

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.”

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh.

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine.

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t.

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other.

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors.

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion.

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval.

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s.

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t.

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters.

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair.

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice.

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable.

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters.

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose.

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink.

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie.

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better.

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door.

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent.

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie.

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that.

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word.

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile.

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had.

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks.

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century.

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night.

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet.

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that.

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back.

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back.

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up.

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes.

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived.

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall.

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.”

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside.

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face.

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on.

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent.

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says.

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself.

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other.

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials.

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him.

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing.

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable.

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists.

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you.

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands.

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all.

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair.

“Y/N—” Jimin begins.

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with.

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks.

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!”

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here.

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible.

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features.

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable.

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place.

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you.

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation.

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin.

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back.

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart.

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them.

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid.

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope.

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you.

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will.

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will.

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless.

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy.

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete.

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell.

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you.

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off.

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation.

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb.

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously.

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty.

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight.

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi.

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute.

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply.

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon.

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them.

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks.

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears.

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing.

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction.

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go.

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin.

“I think so,” you heave out in response.

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough.

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way.

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different.

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline.

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter.

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun.

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others.

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent.

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials.

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain.

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember.

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you.

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder.

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be.

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves.

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted.

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider.

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too.

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers.

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken.

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces.

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects.

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her.

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts.

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up.

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes.

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea.

They will bloom every year, Jimin said.

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded.

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting.

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts.

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him.

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables.

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance.

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you.

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time.

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands.

“What?” He asks.

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why.

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs.

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him.

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests.

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know?

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question.

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one?

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on.

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks.

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year.

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.”

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway.

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get.

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow.

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken.

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile.

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter.

It’s getting easier.

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors.

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier.

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again.

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other.

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again.

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop.

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name.

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting.

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly.

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back.

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place.

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record.

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers.

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed.

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability.

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them.

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance.

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children.

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now.

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud.

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages.

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge.

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you.

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks.

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says.

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically.

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard.

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again.

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit.

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently.

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms.

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already.

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows.

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be.

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright.

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative.

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it.

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you.

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you.

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read.

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more.

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much.

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims.

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back.

It can’t be.

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear.

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind.

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more.

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality.

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room.

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it.

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him.

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together.

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches.

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more.

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left.

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him.

This place will never not remind you of him.

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take.

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob.

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room.

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks.

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain.

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky.

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking.

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you.

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else.

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries.

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe.

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands.

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath.

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it.

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face.

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious.

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room.

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal.

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place.

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance.

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event.

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier.

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet.

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe.

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies.

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet.

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch.

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully.

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying.

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams.

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different.

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs.

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease.

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt.

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness.

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do.

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding.

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm.

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable.

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely.

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room.

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse.

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer.

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that.

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it.

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp.

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation.

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off.

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same.

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see.

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore.

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin.

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else.

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want.

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects.

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something.

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water.

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder.

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need.

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it.

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy.

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it?

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix.

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you.

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder.

You wonder, what if.

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that.

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.”

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly.

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that?

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray.

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again.

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul.

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet.

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out.

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh.

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change.

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him.

No. This feels like something new.

This feels like your heart is in bloom.

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less.

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced.

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say.

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight.

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration.

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that.

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves.

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible.

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn.

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you.

It makes you feel like you can do anything.

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives.

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on.

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features.

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it.

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on.

“Me,” you say.

“Me,” Jimin says.

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths.

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession.

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin.

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily.

“So did you send it to him?” She questions.

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far.

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back.

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds.

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color.

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it.

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t.

“Anytime,” he promises.

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you.

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says.

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer.

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash.

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once.

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way.

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship.

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side.

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts.

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up.

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain.

“You’re next, right?”

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you.

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.”

It’s not a goodbye.

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features.

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time.

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright.

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain.

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile.

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

#jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin x reader #bts x reader #jimin au #bts au #w: into the wilderness #UHH THATS THE FUCK RIGHT THATS WHAT I SAID !!!!!!#okay but also i havent felt as emotionally redeemed abt a climax scene in a long time #anyway i hope you all enjoy !! this is my baby so you BETTA TREAT IT THAT WAY

4K notes · View notes

thecousinsdangereux · 3 years

Text

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

#bumbleby #writing #rwby #bees racer au #for #corvophobia #<33333 #just a little something for a birthday treat

217 notes · View notes

pawsitivelymiraculous · 3 years

Text

Damian, the little brother, Dupain-Cheng (Part 1)

I'm backkkk! I explained why this series went on hiatus on this post but yeahhh the Damian Dupain-Cheng series is back and will be posted on it's old schedule (which is every other week) Anyway I really appreciate you guys,, sorry for taking so long and let me know what you think! Comments really motivate me to keep writing.

(I promise I'll add a read more thing and the links tomorrow but I need sleep. for now I'll add the masterlist you can find everything there)

<<Previous Next>>

Ao3 Masterlist

~♡~ Recap ~♡~

Marinette kidnapped/adopted Damian after seeing him with Talia in the Miraculous Café. She gives him the choice between staying with her or a non assassin relative. He chooses to stay in hopes of stealing the miracle box, but since that didn't work he lashed out and tried to kill Marinette and her friends repeatedly. This makes Marinette doubt in herself because she feels guilty about the whole situation. After hearing Marinette cry, Damian runs away confused at the whole situation, but he didn't get far before realizing that he was actually okay with the idea of Marinette becoming his mother. Marinette finds him and they go home. Time passes, they get a dog, Damian grows closer to Marinette and Marinette legally adopts him.

This takes place some time after all of this, like a couple of months.

~♡~♡~♡~

Why am I still in Paris?

Jason asked himself this every day, and yet he could never find the answer.

Maybe it was because he really had nothing else to do. Well besides killing a Bat.

Or maybe it was because being in Paris somehow cleared some of the madness leftover from the Lazarus Pit that clouded his brain.

In either case it seemed like every time he tried to leave, he would convince himself to stay with the lie that Marinette Dupain-cheng was just as dangerous as Talia had claimed she was.

And that his "brother" really was in danger.

Which only led to him tailing after the pair like a complete creep while feeling miserable because who was he kidding? The woman who had taken Damian in was just as dangerous as a basket of golden retriever puppies and Damian would have a way better life living with her rather than with Bruce.

And still he could not f*cking leave.

So he continued to observe from the shadows. Trying to remain invisible.

Which had worked out perfectly fine until that day it seemed, because Jason soon found himself pressed against the cold concrete after being flipped by a woman half his size.

Jason tried to look up, but he felt the heel of a shoe pressed against his head.

"Ow"

"Oh, I'm sorry did I hurt you?" Jason heard a familiar voice say. The only difference was that she was speaking in English with a slight accent rather than French.

How the h*ll did she know that he spoke English?

Jason tried to get a better look at his attacker, but she just pressed down her heel deeper making it very clear that she was not sorry at all.

Marinette leaned down to talk to him. "Look kid, I just want to know why you keep following me. Now we can talk like normal people, or I'll have to be a little… unconventional. So what do you say?"

Kid? Jason couldn't remember the last time he had been called. It was especially surreal coming from such a petite woman who couldn't be older than thirty.

"Now I'm going to let you stand up just… don't do anything stupid."

Stupid seemed to follow Jason because as soon as he felt the pressure on his head lessen, he stood up and ran. The only thing in his mind was getting away from the woman.

He wasn't able to go far though. As soon as he got to the end of the ally they were in, Jason suddenly felt all the muscles in his body grow weak. Everything around him became blurry and for the second time that day, Jason fell down and hit the gravel.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette hadn't meant to use a tranquilizer she made from the bee's miraculous venom on the guy. Honest.

But she needed answers, and he didn't seem in the mood to be the one providing them, so she had to do something before he got away.

Marinette did find it strange how he seemed more interested in running rather than harming her in any way. But she could think about that later. For now, she had to do something about the unconscious body on the ground.

First, Marinette tried to drag him back into the ally because she didn't want to risk anyone seeing her. It was ridiculous how difficult it was to move the guy a couple of inches. Even with all the strength she got from being ladybug, Marinette found herself incredibly tired when she finally managed to get to the end of the alley.

There was no way that Marinette could drag the guy to a safe location. Unless… she had the horse miraculous.

Marinette swiftly grabbed her phone and called Adrien while still holding down the guy in case he regained consciousness. "Hey kitty! Are you busy right now?"

"Um no?" He replied cautiously. "Unless you need me to bury a body, then I'm really busy." He would gladly lie to the police and give marinette suggestions on how to get rid of the body, but actually digging a hole sounded like too much of a hassle in Adrien's opinion.

Marinette laughed nervously. "Don't worry it's not a body." She paused "Not a dead one at least" she added under her breath.

Adrien heard her anyway "Marinette."

"I just need you to get the horse miraculous and come here." Marinette added quickly when she heard Adrien's disapproving tone.

"Do I even want to know why you need it?"

Marinette hesitated. Adrien still acted weird around Damian, and she wasn't sure that he would want to get involved with this. "Well I found the guy that was following me" she explained "and accidentally knocked him out" Marinette stopped when she saw a portal open. "And you’re already here, was there no traffic?"

Adrien laughed as he walked out of the portal. "I was already getting the miraculous while you talked." He explained with a shrug then he looked at the unconscious guy on the floor. "Sooo… do you need help with that?"

~♡~♡~♡~

Kagami was already at the café's storage area by the time Adrien and Marinette passed through the portal.

Adrien did a double take when he saw her. "Woah, I literally just texted you."

"You said you found the stalker, and I was nearby, and I figured that you would need help interrogating him." she explained.

"With a sword?" Marinette asked, eyeing Kagami's left hand. "Where did you even get that?"

Kagami smiled. "Yes, and your son has an excellent taste."

Marinette looked at kagami, with a very confused and slightly worried expression. "Wha- when did you go sword shopping?"

Adrien replied instead. "When you asked me to babysit, your little gremlin scares me and gami wanted a sword, so I let him go with her." Then he grabbed a nearby chair and sat the guy in it, and also tied him to one of the stands that held coffee supplies using zip ties.

"You have broken my trust Agreste." Marinette said trying to sound as serious as possible but failing at it. "No, but seriously, let me know next time okay?"

"Yes ma'am"

It took a couple of minutes for the guy to regain consciousness. And as soon as he did, he thrashed around trying to break free from his restraints. Looking around him wildly until his gaze landed on Marinette.

His eyes narrowed. "You" he lunged towards her but was held back.

His attitude was completely different from their first meeting. Before he seemed conflicted and confused. But while he still seemed very confused that confusion was now mixed with rage. Which Marinette could understand, she had just knocked him out and brought him to a strange place.

But Marinette needed answers, the guy was very clearly part of the league, his aura reeked of their darkness, and she was not about to feel sympathy for anyone connected to the league of assassins.

So Marinette held no remorse when she allowed kagami to approach him with her sword after he calmed down a bit.

"Who are you?" Kagami asked threateningly, then raised the blade dangerously close to his neck. "And why have you been following Marinette?"

The guy didn't even flinch. "Name's Jason" then he turned slightly to look Marinette in the eye. "I am Damian's brother," he continued.

Marinette's eyes widened. The room fell silent for a moment.

Jason smirked at his captors' shocked faces as he gave the final blow. "And I'm here to take him to his father."

~♡~♡~♡~ TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~

(If you want to be added please let me know)

@elmokingkong @anjuschiffer , @ii-fox-demon , @justcourttee , @tazanna-blythe , @lozzybowe , @idontfuking, @wannajointhecrabcult , @bakergirl13 , @rosalineandrosemary , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @our-preciousss , @consumeconstantly , @jiso-lee , @allthegooddaimenettenamesaregone, @justcourteesuportline , @finallyaniguana , @user00000003 , @whydoexamsexist , @justafanwarrior , @violetfandomaddict, @smolplantmum @fidget-eep ,@cadenceh2o , @justarandomtumblerblog , @ramos123 @iwantasecretidentity @t1dwarrior-of-earth @thesunniestdays @alice-hazelwood

~♡~♡~♡~ PERMANENT TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~

@charme-de-malchan , @theatreandcomicfreak , @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl , @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha , @t1dwarrior-of-earth , @waffleyunsure , @technicallyburninggarden , @azuremayscarlet , @vroomtaka , @emistar0 , @ichigorose , @maskedpainter , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @alysrose-starchild , @jayjayspixiepop , @abrx2002 , @nathleigh , @icerosecrystal , @jumpingjoy82

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #my trash writing #my writing #damian dupain cheng #mominette

227 notes · View notes

solarwonux · 3 years

Text

Sunflower || Seokmin

seokmin x f!reader: soulmate au

w.c: 23.7k (its a long one get some popcorn lol)

warnings: angst, really really slow burn, suggestive themes (no nsfw sorry y’all)

note: I’M SO EXCITED TO FINALLY RELEASE THIS FIC, it has been released before but I rewrote it a little and finally finished it. PLEASE PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS IT WOULD MEAN SO MUCH TO ME AND YES YOU DO NEED TO READ CHERRY FIRST IT WOULD MAKE A LOT MORE SENSE IF YOU DO.

cherry || masterlist

“Get up.” Seungkwan said opening the curtains in your room letting in the obnoxious rays of sunlight. You groaned turning over in your bed pulling the sheets over your head. A failed attempt to block the sunlight out. “I mean it get up.” He jumped on your bed, trapping you underneath him then tried to pry off the sheets from your body. Your iron-like grip holding them in place. You wiggled your body trying to wrestle him off. He scoffed placing his hands on your sides and jabbing them, an annoyed laugh falling out of your lips. He snickered grabbing onto your sheets and pulling them off your body.

“Get up!” He exclaimed letting you go, bringing your sheets along with him. He stood at the foot of your bed, hands on his hips, waiting. You whined, flaying your limbs up in the air, which only made him roll his eyes in annoyance. “It’s too early, let me sleep please.” You grumbled finally sitting up on your bed, crossing your legs and arms in front of you. You blinked rapidly trying to get used to the brightness of your once dark room.

“It’s almost two in the afternoon, I’m not letting you sleep anymore…so get up.” He commanded his hands leaving his hips and pointed an accusatory finger at you. “You’ve been doing this every weekend for the last five months and honestly I’ve had it.” He shook his head in disbelief and threw himself on your bed in despair. You rolled your eyes shoving him with your foot before laying down on your side, eyeing the unpleasant billboard outside your—well Seungkwan’s guest bedroom window. “Even if I get up, what's the point, I have nothing to do.” You sighed moving so you were now on your back, eyeing the ceiling fan as it turned with ferocity above your bed and attempted to count the times it went around in circles. Useless to say the least but helped calm you down.

“I talked to Vernon yesterday; he’s worried about you?” Seungkwan sat up poking your side again. The name that fell out his lips sent jabs of pain up your body and you tried your hardest to blink back the tears that had started to form at the sound of his name. “I’m fine.” You whispered turning over to face your best friend. His eyebrows furrowed as he searched your face carefully for any warning signs. “It’s okay not to be fine you know, it’s okay to admit it too.” He sighed wrapping an arm around your shoulder hugging you tightly.

“How is he?” You mumbled. The question had been lingering at the tip of your tongue since the day the two of you decided to finally part ways. Since the day you moved into Seungkwan’s guest bedroom and since the day Vernon told you about his back-packing trip around South East Asia. That night the two of you cried together on Seungkwan’s overly expensive couch, because your new realities, that didn’t involve one another as lovers, finally started to settle in.

When he walked out the front door, he had promised to come back under one condition. You knew it was eating him inside, but he held his head high and told you to try everything in your power to find the person that was meant to be your forever. He had found his, in fact his was the reason why the two of you were in this mess in the first place. Why the color you had gotten used to seeing for nearly five years had been stripped away from you.

“He’s good, he arrived in Thailand last night and yes he’s taking his vitamins and eating well.” Seungkwan stated he sat up bringing you along with him. “But he keeps asking about you and I’m tired of lying to him, so I’m taking you out today.” He smiled brightly, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear and placing a soft kiss against your forehead. “So, take a shower before I dump a bucket of water on you.”

“Where are you taking me?” You turned down the radio, your voice was hoarse from screaming out the lyrics to Dancing Queen with Seungkwan. A curious smile playing on your lips as you looked out your open window, the wind hitting your face making goosebumps rise onto your skin. Despite still not feeling like you could jump back and be the person you were five years ago or five months ago, you felt at ease.

“It’s a surprise.” Seungkwan stated in a matter of fact tone, finishing it off with a scoff. You rolled your eyes sitting back in your seat. The beginning melody of Toxic sounding through his car speakers made Seungkwan groan in protest. “Last time I let you pick the music.” He pointed out, turning on the turn signals.

“Shut up you love it.” You teased. “Now please tell me where we’re going, we’ve been driving for nearly three hours.” You whined, closing the window and bringing down the car visor. You opened the little mirror and cringed once you saw yourself. Your hair was sticking out in different places, your red lipstick was slightly smudged, and your mascara had started to run. If Vernon was next to you, he would’ve told you that you still looked like the most beautiful girl in the world. You grinned letting out a small sigh and shook your head. The feeling of nostalgia making its way underneath your skin whenever you thought of him. To your surprise you hadn’t bursted into tears yet and maybe that was an indication that you were finally starting to let yourself feel happiness once again.

“It’s been an hour and a half, you’re literally so dramatic.” Seungkwan said in disbelief as he slowed down the car. “Anyway, we’re here, but you have to put on the blindfold before we go anywhere.” He smiled, putting his car in park and shutting it off. He reached over the back seat and brought out a blindfold, cheekily showing it to you.

“Kwanie I know I’ve been a pain these last five months but I’m literally begging you to not kill me today.” You said as you finished up fixing your face as well as your unruly hair before closing the visor and turning to face him. He rolled his eyes shoving the blindfold into your hand. “I can’t stand you sometimes, just put the damn blindfold on.” He whined, tapping his fingers impatiently on his steering wheel. You saluted at him jokingly before putting it on. “Done, lead me to my death.”

“Let’s go drama queen.”

“You’re one to talk.” You mumbled opening his car door. Seungkwan grabbed your hands leading you out of the car, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I promise you’ll love it.” He said the smile prominent in his tone of voice as he started to walk you forward. You jumped putting one of your hands over his in panic, your stomach turning in anticipation. Your mind goes through numerous possibilities of what would be on the other side once you removed your blindfold. A part of you hoping it was Vernon, but you knew that wasn’t an option. He was out, doing something he had desperately wanted to do for years and no matter how much he cared for you. He wasn’t going to put his dreams to halt for you. The two of you had done it for far too long and now it was time to finally live for yourselves. It was something the two of you deserved.

“Alright we’re here.” Seungkwan stated as the two of you stopped walking. Your hands quickly went up to the blindfold and took it off quickly. A gasp falling out of your lips as you stared in awe at the black and white field of sunflowers. The heliotropic flowers swayed slowly in the wind as they reached up high towards the sunlight. Your stomach turning wishing you had never taken your color for granted.

“Kwanie, I-I love it.” You smiled turning to face the boy who was looking at you smugly. You hugged him tightly, burying your face into the crook of his neck finally letting the tears spill out. He nodded wrapping his arms around you tightly, slowly caressing your back as he let you cry. Something he had gotten used to since you had started living with him, and something he would never complain about. The pain you were going through, he could not understand no matter how hard he tried. He had never been in love before, his soulmate mark remained untouched, the words etched on his wrist haunting him for years, slowly making him lose hope. And that’s how he lived for a while until the night when you called him sobbing. The words coming out of your mouth he couldn’t make out, but he heard the pain laced in your voice. His heart broke as he knew what had happened.

Vernon had confided in him for nearly a year. At first, he didn’t agree with the way he was handling things, telling him that you should’ve been his first priority. But the more he thought about it the more he understood why he couldn’t. Vernon’s love for you was indescribable, he would’ve moved mountains and parted the red sea for you if he could. You were his light the reason he kept pushing even though at the end he knew what the outcome would be. The love the two of you had was pure art and Seungkwan could only hope to find something so perfect one day. Which is why he let you cry on him; let you curse out the world as he held you in his arms because even though he hadn’t found the person the universe had set him up with. He knew what it felt like to long for that person.

“We can cut some and take them home. Trust me the apartment needs a little bit of brightness.” He pulled away, his thumbs wiping the stray tears on your cheeks. You nodded turning around, watching the people you had overlooked run around happily. Some were by the little white kiosk that held bundles of sunflowers and strawberries and you assumed that’s where you would go to pay the fee. Others were taking pictures with the daisy like flowers, while others were cutting off the stems carefully to take home, fighting with the bees. The whole sight made you feel warm and at peace and though you had already cried. You felt like crying again only because the happiness that was bubbling up inside of you was overwhelming.

“Let’s go then and since you brought me here you will pay for them right.” You pouted batting your eyelashes up at him.

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t”

“The worst honestly.” You grabbed his hand leading him to the middle of the field. The skyrocketing flowers make you feel small as if you were an ant in the middle of a field of grass. “I wish I can see them in their truest form” You sighed taking one of the leaves in between your index finger and thumb. “But I can only remember what they would look like.” You nodded smiling sadly earning a flick on the forehead from Seungkwan. “Ow…what the hell Kwanie.”

“Stop getting all sad on me and smile please.” He said, bringing a pair of kitchen scissors from his back pocket. You cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, and you were about to ask him where the hell he had gotten them, until you noticed the miniscule flashes of color by his shoulder. You blinked rapidly, before rubbing your eyes forcefully not caring that you had smudged your mascara.

Seungkwan leaned up grabbing onto the flower stem, placing it in between the scissor blades and cutting it. A satisfied hum escaping his lungs, nodding in approval while he turned to you and brag. His smile fell once he noticed the look of distresses embedded onto your face. “What’s wrong, what happened?” He said dropping the flower along with the scissors and placing both hands on top of your shoulders. He shook you, your eyes turning wide while you looked around. The water pooling in your tear ducts and he tried to desperately grab your attention.

The broken flashes of yellow, coming in and out at a faster than before. Faster than the morning you had met Vernon. Your heart was at your throat and you pushed Seungkwan’s hands off your shoulders, ignoring his worried statements and pushed past him. You kept walking, your hands shaking at your sides as the flashes of color became more intense. Seungkwan followed you, taking long strides to keep up with you. “What’s happening…did something happen?” He asked his voice sounding with concern and once again you ignored him again, trying to find the reason why you were suddenly seeing color again. A part of you wondered if this was how Vernon had felt that night. If he felt lightheaded. If his body grew weak while his heart broke slowly into thousands of pieces while the flashes of color came in and out.

“Seokmin where are you going…what’s going on?” You heard a voice shout, your footsteps coming to a stop once your eyes found the ones of the person in front of you. The same look of distress you had on your face adorning his. You let out a sob seeing as the color poured in at a faster rate than before. The part of you that still loved Vernon breaking away slowly while you felt your heart start to beat out of time. Just like it had done that first time you met Vernon and you were introduced to a world of color. Seungkwan came up beside you, out of breath, his hand grabbing onto your arm, confusion written all over his features as he looked between you and the man standing a few feet away from the two of you.

“Min, you’re scaring me.” His friend said, waving a hand in front of his face. He didn’t budge, instead his eyes only got wider, and he took it upon himself to take a wary step forward. “D-Do you see i-it too?”

You nodded pushing the hand Seungkwan was using to hold you back off. “W-What’s your name?” You took a step forward, your body feeling as if it were on fire. Something you had never once experienced before.

“Seokmin, I-I thought I would never find you.” He confessed stopping until only a foot separated the two of you. His hands inside his jacket pockets itching to reach out to you. To embrace you, wipe away your tears, and tell you how beautiful you looked despite the mascara tracks staining your cheeks.

He never imagined that this day would come. Sure, he had fantasized about it since the day he learned what soulmate’s where. He had practiced numerous conversations inside his head, to be prepared. But he never once believed that he would be able to find, certainly not in a field of sunflowers on the hottest day of the year. And certainly not with you standing in front of him crying as if your heart was breaking instead of mending.

“C-Can I give you a hug?” You spoke rubbing the back of your hand against your cold cheek, a sob catching itself at the back of your throat. He nodded quickly, taking his hands out of his pockets and shaking them at his side. The two of you stared at each other in silence, eyes running all over the place. Your bodies daring to finally cross the line. In the end, despite your heart feeling as if it were to fall out of your ass. You crossed it, wrapping your delicate arms around his torso, the sob you had been holding in finally breaking out of its confinements.

Seokmin held you as if his life depended on it. His mind searching through the files of practice conversations he had over the years, trying to come up with something, anything to say to you right now.

With caution he started to run his hands down your back, trying to offer you comfort. His gaze landing on the man that had been chasing after you. To Seokmin his features were unreadable, but the tears that had started to fall out of his eyes spoke volumes and it scared him. He could only hope he wasn’t your significant other because the last thing Seokmin wanted to do was make you choose. If your heart didn’t belong to him then he’d live with the consequences because despite not knowing your name yet, he knew you deserved more than what the world had to offer.

“I-I’m sorry.” You pulled away; the residue of your mascara combined with your tears on his pale-yellow t-shirt. Your bottom lip trembles as the memories of your first meeting with Vernon came flooding back. “Everything is so fucked…I’m sorry you had to meet me like this.”

“Don’t be sorry, just because we met doesn’t mean we have to be together right away.” He nodded the soft pad of his thumbs lying against your soft cheeks. He studied your face closely, taking in everything as fast as he could. Afraid you would be taken away from him forever. He could tell something was bothering especially when you refused to look him in the eye. Only catching the subtle hint of sadness hiding behind your sparkling eyes. There was something you had to deal with, one that didn’t involve him, and he knew he had to put himself aside and you first.

“I’ve waited my whole life for you…I can wait a little longer.”

“Text him please.” Seungkwan pleaded falling on to your bed cuddled with your pillow. You stopped your typing and took off your glasses before looking down at him. His puppy dog eyes cause you to roll your eyes.

“I will once I’m done applying for this job.” You smiled sending him a playful wink. “No now, you always come up with an excuse to shut me up but this time it won’t work.” He sat up and hit you across your face lightly with your pillow, blocking your view. You whined feeling the weight of your laptop disappear from your lap and you knew this was a fight you weren’t going to win.

“Why does it matter, it’s not like I’ve been ignoring him, I respond to his good night and good morning texts every day.” You sat up and reached over to grab your laptop in which he was holding close and tightly to his chest. “Wow girlfriend of the year.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes, turning his body from your grabby hands.

“We’re not dating…please give me my laptop back.” You pulled at his arms as they got tighter around your precious device. You cursed falling back on your bed when you realized your attempts were going to be deemed as unsuccessful.

You slammed your hands down on your bed in frustration. Seungkwan sighed and set down your laptop on your bedside table before laying down next to you. He poked your cheek, grabbing your attention, your pouty gaze making his heart sink. “I’m scared, what if the same thing that happened with Vernon happens again.” You confessed hitting your palm against your forehead, silently punishing yourself for your stupidity.

“We don’t get anywhere in life letting our fear get in the way of things.” He grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. “And you can’t keep comparing this potential relationship with the one you and Vernon had because you’ve been given a chance to start over and fall without a care in the world.” He said playing with your fingers gently. “So, ask him out, I know he’s been dying to see you again.”

“How do you know?” You scoffed pulling your hand from his and resting it on top of your stomach. You looked up at the ceiling, counting the small indents that appeared over years of overuse. Your mind racing back to the events that occurred at the middle of the sunflower field as well as what happened after. Which was nothing, you had told Seokmin that you needed time before jumping face first into a brand-new relationship. He had agreed, told you he’d wait for you a whole lifetime again if that’s what you needed, and it broke your heart. You could tell he was a little disappointed. It was written all over his face, despite the smile that adorned it and you couldn’t imagine how he was feeling now, especially with your lack of communication.

“Soonyoung told me.” Seungkwan flicked your forehead bringing out of your daze making you glare at him in the process. You were thankful for him and everything he had done for you throughout your devastating break up with Vernon but sometimes you wished he wouldn’t worry so much. “Wait…when did you get his number?” You sat up leaning your body over and poking his side. He convulsed pushing your hands away before sitting up and crossing his legs under him. “That day at the field while Seokmin paid for your flowers.” He pointed behind you to the vase that held your withered sunflowers. “Also, when are you going to get rid of them, they’re looking a little dead.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him as hard as you could. He was right, the flowers had been dead for almost two months, but every time you looked at them, they reminded you of Seokmin and that thought alone made you happy. “Never, I’m going to be buried with them. Now get out of my room I need to finish applying for this job.” He nodded reaching over for your laptop and handed it to you before getting off from your bed.

“Fine, but please text him, Soonyoung and I made a bet and so far, he’s winning, and I really really don’t want to give him a cent.” He laughed walking out of your room, holding onto the door handle tightly.

“Seungkwan my love life is not a game.” You shouted, throwing your pillow at him. His eyes grew wide in panic and he ran out of your room, closing your door quickly. Causing your pillow to hit the door and fall to the floor. You shook your head and laid back on your bed, your laptop and job application long forgotten as you eyed your charging phone. Your hands itched to reach out and grab it and finally send the text you had written countless times, but never sent because of fear.

“Fuck it.” You reached over and pulled it off the charging cable, unlocking it and opening your message app. Seokmin’s good morning text sat unread at the top of the list. Your heart palpitated as you typed the message you had memorized and counted to ten before hitting send. You panicked throwing your phone across your bed and getting off it, the sweat forming on your hands as they shook. You ran out of your room, down the hallway and into the kitchen, your eyes landing on a smug looking Seungkwan as he turned a wine glass in his hand.

“I sent it.”

“Finally, I’m about to be fifty dollars richer.”

“How do I look?” You walked into the living for the umpteenth time that afternoon, this time you were adorning a sky-blue summer dress and white vans. “Every time you’ve asked me that I’ve told you the same thing, you look great now finish getting ready he’s going to be here in literally ten minutes.”

“I know but each outfit doesn’t feel right.” You threw your hands up and sat on the lounge chair putting your feet on top of the coffee table earning a look of disapproval from Seungkwan. “What if I wear the wrong outfit and the same thing as last time happens.” You pushed your hair back, lightly tugging at your roots.

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe that I’m the dramatic one in this friendship.” He leaned over and pushed your feet off the coffee table making you pout. “A bad outfit isn’t going to trigger what happened with Vernon, so calm down and touch up your make or hair. Whatever you need to do because now you have a solid five minutes before he gets here.” Seungkwan stood up from his seat and pulled you up from the lounge chair.

“See, I knew my outfit was bad. Now I have to go change again.” Seungkwan rolled his eyes while he pushed you back into your room. “It was a hypothetical, you look beautiful, but what does look bad is your hair so fix it because time is ticking and neither of us are getting any younger.” He guided you to your mirror waving his hands around your disheveled hair, scolding at yourself for having the terrible habit of pulling on it whenever you were anxious or frustrated.

“Fine, but can you keep on the lookout.” You spoke your eyes growing wide, the feeling of panic rushing through your veins when the doorbell sounded. “Looks like I don’t need to.” Seungkwan grabbed your brush and handed it to you before exiting your room, closing the door behind him. “Don’t change or I’ll come in here and drag you out in whatever terrible outfit you have on.” He scolded the sound of his feet getting softer as he neared the front of the apartment.

You sighed putting down your brush and smoothed out your hair as much as you could before tying in back in a loose half up and half down style. You slowly counted to ten putting on your earrings and the rings you could find on top of your messy dresser. You gave yourself one last look, whispering words of encouragement and walked out. Seungkwan and Seokmin’s animated voices getting louder as you got closer to the living room.

“Tell Hoshi I’m expecting his payment by tonight.” Seungkwan jokes. Seokmin threw his head back in laughter, making you roll your eyes.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting.” You cleared your throat, putting your cross-body bag on and gripping the leather strap tightly to keep your hands from shaking. Seokmin’s laughter died down as he turned to face you, a blush appearing on his cheeks as he took in your appearance. “It’s okay I didn’t wait long.” He shook his head smiling, he extended his free hand to you before quickly exchanging it with the one that held the flowers. “These are for you. I wasn’t sure if I should get you the daisies, the roses, or the lilies so I got you all three.” His nervous eyes left yours and looked around looking for another point of focus.

“I love them, thank you so much.” You took them from him, holding them close, a color of array of emotions bursting inside of you making you feel as if you were being reborn.

“Alright, you two get out of here, go have fun.” Seungkwan broke the silence taking your flowers from you. He gave you a pointed look as he shuffled the two of you out. “Have her home by midnight.” He opened the front door signaling the two of you out. “Will do, it was nice seeing you again Seungkwan.” Seokmin walked out leaving you behind to follow him through the compressed doorway.

“I’m terribly sorry about him.” You sent Seungkwan a glare, his tongue poking out at you in a teasing manner before shutting the door.

“He should meet the rest of my friends. I think they’d get along very well.”

Seokmin and you walked in silence, your hands brushing against one another daring to feel each other’s warmth. The sweet melodies of the night life filling in the pockets of the comfortable silence that was lingering in the air around you. A few sorry’s and excuse me’s were exchanged by oblivious passer-byes making the two of you exchange inconspicuous stares. Smiles etching from side to side, cheeks flushing dark crimson. Your hearts matching time unbeknownst to the outside world.

You tried to come up with anything to say though you ended up falling short. Even though the silence that was between the two of you was loud, blaring in forms of sirens. It wasn’t enough to overwhelm you, and for that you were thankful.

“We’re here.” Seokmin finally broke the silence, his shoulders settling to a calm composure. He grabbed the door handle and opened it, stepping aside giving you room to walk in.

The second you did you were hit with a colorful aroma of different tea blends, sweets and spices. The quirky designs and phrases decorating the different walls jumped out at you. And the calm soothing vibe warmed up your insides, calming your nerves.

Seokmin came up behind you finally crossing the line the two of you had unknowingly laid out. “I hope you don’t mind this is my favorite boba shop, I know it’s not ideal, but I was really drawing a blank when you texted me earlier.” Seokmin placed a hand on your shoulder, making your breath hitch as he stood behind you patiently waiting to be attended.

“It’s okay, I love it, plus we have other chances to go on more extravagant dates.” You exaggerated, giving him a warm smile. Seokmin swore he had been lifted up into heaven and dropped once he saw the light on your face.

“I’d love nothing more.” He gave your shoulder a squeeze before wrapping it around your front, gently pulling you close. “T-This okay?” He asked, his voice wavering at the end giving you the indication that he too was unfamiliar with this new ocean the two of you had plunged yourselves into. “Yes, this is perfect.” You answered a little too excited.

“Great, what do you want then?” Seokmin pointed to the menu behind the front counter. You looked up skimming through the various flavors and options silently before turning your head to face him. “Why don’t you choose me?”

“Are you sure, you’re putting a lot of trust in me. This decision could either make or break us.” He joked moving with you as the person in front stepped up to order. You smiled, shaking your head, bringing up a hand and intertwining it with the one Seokmin had around you.

“I guess you better choose wisely then.”

In the end Seokmin ended up ordering four different flavors of boba tea. All this favorite.

The cashier had given the two of you strange looks, probably wondering why the hell two people needed four drinks and it only made you laugh even harder. Seokmin had given you a pointed look before breaking into a smile, that you swore could light up every room. It made your heart skip a beat, fill you up with happiness that you hadn’t felt ever since that day at the park with Vernon. Making you realize that that was the last time you had felt that type of happiness.

“So why four?”

“I just ordered all my favorites, just in case my favorite favorite wasn’t your favorite.” Seokmin placed two of the drinks down onto the table, the two of you indiscreetly walked too. He waited for you to take your seat before taking his, at his respectful side of the tiny booth.

“So, which one is your favorite favorite?” You leaned your elbows forward toying with the plastic wrap of one of the straws.

“The mango green tea one.” He nodded pushing the drink in question towards you. You snickered, breaking the plastic wrap, lifting your hand to break the lid, stopping short when you noticed Seokmin’s hand covering the lid. “Before you try it, promise me this won’t be our first and last date.” He whispered his eyes all but pleading making your heart sink.

Sighing you brought your hand down, setting the straw aside. You put your hands over his, lifting it up to your lips, giving them a gentle kiss. You couldn’t blame him for asking. You had ignored him for almost three months, only answering his good morning and good night texts. He had every right to doubt you and your word. Without his knowledge you were putting back the pieces that were left behind after five years of living in a perfect illusion. Vernon still lived in the back of your mind, sometimes his memories still made your heart flutter and the what if’s still kept you up at night.

It was a conversation you needed to have with Seokmin, he didn’t deserve to be lied to or kept in the dark, especially because your heart wasn’t all that there yet. And because his was still innocent and pure, but for tonight you would bask in your dream world. Make promises you weren’t sure you could keep yet, because a part of you was starting to desperately cling onto him.

“Seokmin I promise.”

There was a first time for everything.

And for the first time in your life you had laughed so hard to the point you had milk tea coming out of your nose.

“Sorry.” Seokmin’s demeanor fell, stopping his over dramatic retelling of how he and his friends came to own a pottery studio. He panicked, a troubled expression replacing his soft gaze, scrambling to get a napkin out of the holder. You tried to regain your breathing as he handed you a handful of napkins, but your imagination took over and you doubled over in laughter, your forehead coming down onto the table. The images of Seokmin and his friends dressed as cats, dancing and singing along to the musical soundtrack in order to convince the previous owner to hand over the studio with the first six months of rent paid. Replaying in your mind like a movie reel.

“D-Don’t be t-that’s the funniest thing someone’s ever told me, and I’ve known Seungkwan for half of my adult life.” You panted and placed your hand on your chest, your stomach throbbing in blissful pain. Seokmin smiled, his cheeks blushing red. He reached over cradling your cheek gently, wiping your nose. The situation finally became clear and you flushed in embarrassment.

“You’re cute.” He whispered, his face lighting up before he gave your cheek an awkward kiss from across the table. “I think I’ve embarrassed myself here today more than I have my entire life.” You let out a small laugh, your hand coming up to your forehead and hitting it lightly with the palm of your hand.

“Like I said, you’re cute.” Seokmin removed your hand, locking his fingers with yours before sitting back in his seat. “Can I come sit over there?” You toyed with the straw of your drink, signaling to the empty space next to him with your head. Seokmin nodded, tugging on your hand lightly signaling that his impatience was close to take over. You removed your hand from his hold and stood up. He eyed you carefully as you smoothed out your dress, the light blue hue brought out the beauty of your smooth skin. It complimented the sparkle that lived behind your eyes making them look as if they held the entire universe behind them.

For the first time in his entire life, Seokmin finally understood the hype around the color blue.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder after you sat down. You put your head on his shoulder, blushing when you felt his body stiffen. “Will you take me to the studio one day?” Your index finger coming up to play with the water ring your drinks had left behind on the table.

“If you do me a favor.” He swallowed trying his best to get his body to relax, but it felt as if it were on fire and no amount of water would be able to put it out. “I’m not dressing up as a cat and dancing for you, if that’s what you want.” You looked up as he started to cough, his eyes wide as he choked on air due to your statement. His mind wandered to places it shouldn’t ever wander and he wanted to slap himself mentally as well as physically. You sat up and patted his back, a knowing smile forming on your face and made a mental note to add what you had said to the list of embarrassing things that had happened today.

“N-No nothing like that, t-that wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know I was just messing with you.” You poked his nose and it only made him blush even harder, and it made your ego swell knowing you had such an effect on him. “What is it?”

“Please stop calling me Seokmin, it makes me feel like I’m in trouble with my mom.” He chuckled awkwardly, bringing up a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it awkwardly. “What do I call you then?” You cocked your head to the side, bringing a hand up to smooth the collar of his button down shirt. It had been bothering you the entire night, but you didn’t have it in you to fix it. Afraid you were crossing a boundary either of you were ready to cross. But seeing as how the events were playing out you assumed it was alright.

“Call me DK.”

“Like the video game character?” Another fit of laughter threatening to break through the surface. Seokmin sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before pulling you close to his body. “Could be, but it’s short for Dokyeom.” He grabbed your hand from his chest and hooked his pinky with yours, swinging them in front of your bodies. You acknowledged, taking in your bottom lip in between your teeth. The butterflies that had been growing throughout the night in the pit of your stomach were having a field day. It was scary, you had only known him for almost three hours, and you were reading to risk it all once again.

“How about I call you baby instead?”

“Say it one more time?” Seokmin had you pressed against the outside wall of your apartment. Your hold on the doorknob faltered as you felt his lips hover over your own. “Baby,” You whispered, finally letting go of the doorknob and wrapping your arm around his neck.

“That’s my new favorite song.” He stated pressing your body closer to his, lifting you away from the wall. “Is that so…baby.” Seokmin groaned hiding his face in the crook of your neck. A tiny laugh falling out of your lips. You wrapped your hands around him, running your hands down his back gently.

“Please let me kiss you.”

Seokmin pleaded, lifting his head up to face you. A teasing smirk settling on your lips as you took the disparity behind his beautiful eyes. “Nope, you haven’t earned that privilege yet.” You pushed him away gently, stepping aside and finally entering the passcode to your front door.

“Ask me to be your girlfriend first.” You turned the doorknob, his arms snaking around your waist, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, the adrenaline you had felt throughout the night intimidating a breakthrough.

“Will you be my gir—.” You turned around quickly covering his mouth with your hand, the panic evident behind his glimmering eyes. “Not here, not now Seokmin.” You brought your hand down and he pulled away, taking his arms with him. “You’re right I’m sorry.” He hit his forehead gently with a closed fist, mumbling indiscreetly underneath his breath. For a second you thought you had ruined everything.

“I-I want you to be sure first, I don’t want to rush into anything.” You said as reassuringly as possible, the tiny fear demon in your mind finally coming out to play as it filled you with your doubts “I know, I’m sorry…sometimes I get too carried away, but I meant what I said the first time I met you.” He stuffed his hands inside his pockets, shrugging awkwardly. “I just hope that one day you can tell me what’s holding you back.”

“Seokmin it’s just that I—.”

“You don’t have to tell me today, but I promise I’ll listen to you when you’re ready.” He nodded closing the gap you had created and gave your forehead a gentle kiss. “Goodnight, sleep tight…baby.” He winked before stepping back and walking out of your line of sight leaving you breathless and overwhelmed, to the point where all you wanted to do was cry, because to say the least you were still scared and confused.

You let out a sigh and turned around punching in the passcode, impatiently waiting for the door to click open. You angrily shuffled inside your apartment, closing the door behind you. You placed your forehead against it, toeing off your shoes and pushing them aside. You took a deep breath and counted to ten before facing Seungkwan who was without a doubt going to be waiting for you to hear all about how your date went. You plastered on your best fake smile, going over points Seungkwan was sure to ask in your head and turned around, expecting to see him on the couch dramatically twirling a glass of Rosé in his hand.

And you wished that’s what you were met with, but like always the universe had its way of working and for a while it had been working against you. So of course, you were met with Seungkwan, a forgotten bottle of Rosé on the coffee table as he held onto Vernon while he sobbed into his arms.

“W-What’s wrong?”

The minute you laid eyes on Vernon you felt like your whole world collapsed into tiny shards of glass at your feet. You couldn’t breathe. It was as if your lungs were being crushed by two weights of pressure. You stood there in the middle of the living room, your words getting caught at the back of your throat, while Seungkwan ushered a sobbing Vernon out into the balcony of the small apartment. Leaving you behind to deal with your own curses. Seungkwan gave you one last sympathetic look almost as if he were telling you that he had everything under control. Yet, it didn’t help ease your newfound anxiousness as all you wanted to do was run outside and push Seungkwan away to comfort the boy you once loved. The same one a part of your soul still loved and held onto for dear life in fear that one day you would wake up and forget what it was like to ever be loved by him.

It was overwhelming. The feeling bubbled up inside of you as you retreated from the living room and made your way into your own room, looking for an escape. You were met with your four walls and memories that were buried deep into the archives of your mind started to play. Reminding you just how much you truly longed for Vernon. Reminding you just how much craved for his touch.

It was cruel. The tricks your mind was playing on you and for a moment you let it consume you. Deciding that this was it for you and you had a good but unfortunate run but it was too much for your poor body to handle.

Like that the seconds passed and then came the minutes and eventually four hours had gone by with you having no recollection of what you had done. How you changed out of your blue dress or when you had replied to Seokmin’s text with a simple: I’m fine, miss you already. Another lie you could add onto your belt. Your self hatred growing as time slowed down everything around you making it seem as if you were underwater.

Maybe one day you’ll finally be strong enough to face him and tell him the truth. Open your chest up to him and let him in on your soul crushing secret because he deserved to know the truth. But that time wasn’t now, at least not while you sat against the door frame of your bedroom door. Looking out into a dark lonely hallway hoping that the next person to come through wasn’t the one you wanted to hold.

You wanted to scream out into the void. Scream at the universe for being so cruel. Scream at Seokmin for finding you when you were still hurting. And you wanted to scream at Vernon for showing up in such a state that made you want to drop everything and give him the entire world again. But whenever you opened your mouth nothing but silence came out. Leaving you behind to deal with feelings you didn’t fully understand.

“He wants to see you.” Seungkwan’s voice brought you back down to Earth. You looked up, running your hands over your tear stained face, meeting his pained expression. Another thing you could add to the list of things you hated about yourself.

Seungkwan didn’t deserve to be caught in between two broken people and act as their mediator. He deserved a life where he wasn’t constantly picking up the pieces and breaking his neck to offer comfort to two selfish people that clearly did not deserve it. Every night you found yourself hoping he’d finally realized this. You hoped he’d leave you behind and continue the life he had put on pause for you and Vernon. You hoped he could find better friends that finally saw him as someone more than just a shoulder to cry. Your wishes falling onto deaf ears because he was still here wiping away your tears.

“He wants to talk to you.” He crouched down in front of you and gently flicked your forehead. “I don’t want to see him.” You whispered resting your cheek against your knees as you avoided his eyes and looked out into the dark hallway again. “I’m scared.” A tiny sob fell out of his lips as he sighed, taking a seat in front of you.

“Not as scared as he is right now.” Seungkwan placed a hand on top of your head and smoothed out the frizziness that had occurred over your neglect. “I helped him as much as I could now I’m passing the torch down on to you because I think you can offer him a lot more than what I can.”

“I can’t...a broken person can’t help another broken person. We tried it before and it ended in a mess.”

“Then don’t try to help him and just listen to him.”

“What if I say or do something wrong and I just make everything worse?.” You lifted up your head and met Seungkwan’s frustrated gaze. He ran his soft hands over your cheeks wiping away the tears that had silently started to decorate your face again. He placed a soft comforting kiss against your forehead before standing up and offered you his hands.

“I doubt you can make him feel even worse than he already does.”

You held the beer cans Seungkwan had laughably shoved in your arms close to your chest. Your eyes stung from the salty tears that had been pouring out. It frustrated you because it seemed like the only thing you could do nowadays was cry. It made you feel weak and worthless.

There was a little voice in the back of your head that was scolding you. Telling you to suck it up because whatever was going on with Vernon had nothing to do with you or the beautiful tragic past the two of you shared. You had realized this hours ago, yet you still cried as if you were the one at fault or the one feeling his pain with him.

That was something the universe didn’t take into account when she had rudely decided to split the two of you up. No matter what happened or where the two of you ended up in life you’d always be connected by a single string. Your life lines belonged to one another, the pain he felt you felt it to.

Maybe that was the aftermath of this whole soulmate fiasco or maybe it was something you made up to give yourself comfort. But at least he didn’t have to endure it all alone.

You took a deep breath before sliding open the balcony door. The humidity of the summer air hitting you square in the face causing the feeling of suffocation to return. Yet somehow it still sent shivers up your spin as if it were winter. A side effect of being in the presence of your past lover.

His back was turned to you and you would’ve thought he hadn’t noticed you if it weren’t for the awkward shift of his legs and the tension in the air. He looked down at the nightlife that had started to crowd the streets for their daily rituals. A soft hot breeze blew dancing with a few strands of his hair, while the annoying billboard that covered the sky view from your bedroom window casted a faint spotlight on him.

“You wanted to see me?” You cleared your throat and closed the balcony door behind you. Vernon turned around, his swollen eyes and tear stained face matched yours. “Can I give you a hug?” He choked out, his lips trembling slightly. You nodded and placed the beer cans down onto the small patio table before closing the gap between the two of you. A broken sob fell out of his lips when your arms finally found their way around his frame. You held him tightly, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the goosebumps rise along your arms as you rubbed soothing circles down his back. Your own eyes brimming with tears as you felt him shake in your arms and it broke you.

“What happened?” You broke the silence with the question that had been lingering in your mind for hours. Vernon raised his head and you reached over to gently wipe away his tears with the sleeves of your hoodie. He pulled away from you once you retreated your hands and walked over to the balcony railing, turning his back to you. You were left standing there unsure if you should follow him or keep your feet planted in the spot a few feet away from him.

“I think the world has a personal vendetta against me.” He shrugged, breaking the suffocating silence. You grabbed the beer cans and walked over and stood next to him. “That’s a pretty big claim don’t you think?” You handed him a can. His fingertips slightly brushing over yours, sending a jolt of sparkling shivers up your spine.

“The person I saw myself growing old with turned out to not be the person the universe had picked out for me and the person the universe did pick out for me died last night. I’d say it’s the right claim to make.” He laughed bitterly opening the beer can and taking a generous drink from it.

“L-Last night, Vernon you’re not shitting me are you? I just had lunch with them yesterday.” You shook your head bringing a hand up to your face and slapping your cheeks gently. Your head didn’t want to settle down and your heart was starting to speed up. It was impossible you had seen them not even twenty four hours ago. You had laughed over a funny video on their phone and bonded over a book two of you had been consequently reading.

“You two were friends?” Vernon exclaimed his voice containing hints of underlying shock and confusion. “I guess we were.” You shrugged and opened up your beer can. “I didn’t mean to befriend them at first. I reached out to them after you left cause I knew you were in contact with them and since Kwanie wasn’t telling me anything about you at first. I thought that if I got close to them, they would eventually bring you up and I’d finally know how you were.” You finished bringing the can up to your lips and took a few sips. The bitter taste hitting your tongue making you groan in annoyance.

“Did I come up?” He glanced over at you, a sneaky smirk forming on his lips at your confusion. “Only when they found a way to insert an apology over the events of that night. Even after all the times I had told them that it was fine. That I was fine.”

“Are you fine?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” You grinned, bumping your hips with his making him stumble. “Everyone already has. I wanted to spice things up for once.” He smiled up at the night sky. You watched making it obvious that you were. The stars sparkled behind his tired eyes reminding you of all the wishes you had made whenever you looked into them. Some of them came true others didn’t and it had torn you apart until one day it didn’t.

“I don’t matter right now Vernon.” You took a sip from your beer cringing at the taste once again. You had to remind yourself that you weren’t drinking for the pleasure, but for the strength you needed to be next to him right now.

Vernon blew out a raspberry and took the last sip of his beer before turning to face you. He grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips kissing each of your knuckles before placing it on his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch basking in the feeling of having you next to him again. You took a deep breath as the hand holding his beer can circled around your waist and brought you close. He opened his eyes once he felt your chest against his, soft eyes running over your features carefully taking in everything that had stayed the same but had also subtly changed. Vernon freed your hand letting his fingers run up your arm until they reached your chin.

His touch ignited your insides. The world falling away over the horizon leaving two broken souls behind reveling in each other's warmth once again.

“You will always matter to me.”

You tried everything to keep the tension between the two of you at bay. To keep your focus on his words rather than the way his lips moved as he explained his soulmate’s unfortunate death.

It had been a hit and run and it filled you up with anger. Anger that you had never once had the privilege of experiencing until the words escaped Vernon’s mouth. “I just feel guilty. I never gave them a chance. I ran away when I realized things wouldn’t go back to normal and now I’m sure I’m being punished for it.” Vernon sighed and brought his fourth beer up to his lips, taking a decent sip from it before gazing over at you. His eyes shined as if they held a thousand tiny little universes and you found it difficult to look away.

The space between the two of you disappeared and you found yourselves shifting closer to one another as if pulled by two magnets. Your legs were resting on top of his thighs and his warm hand wrapped around your calves, rubbing soothing circles against your skin. The light of the billboard casted a warm glow onto the two of you making the setting a little more intimate than intended. But neither of you found yourselves complaining.

“Vernon, don’t say that...they understood our situation and they wanted to wait until you were ready.” You reached over and pushed a fallen strand of his hair back, your heart beating out time and you felt as if the entire world had stopped. It was a known fact that you two were reaching into uncharted territory but neither of you wanted to hit the brakes just yet. Maybe it was the unfinished business between the two of you or the lingering feelings that would always remain. But you had decided to blame it on your vulnerability, the stupid billboard light and the beers shared between the two of you.

Whatever it was, you didn’t want it to stop.

“I think I really could’ve loved them.” Vernon let out a sigh and sat back, his hand squeezing your calf. “Maybe not in the way I loved you, but in a way that could’ve been special between the two of us. I talked to them almost every day and each time I found my heart jumping out of my chest. It was as if I was a kid in high school again scared to comfort their crush.” He sighed and looked up at the sky, silently counting the tiny little dots of light that could’ve been stars or planets from universes across.

You watched him carefully, finally taking in how much he had changed from the last time you saw him. He had grown out a little bit of stubble, slight bags stood underneath his eyes and his cheeks were red from the sun. A clear indication that he had not once thought of putting on sunscreen and you wondered if he did it to hear your voice nagging him in the back of his mind. Or if he finally felt free to do whatever he wanted. Either way he was different, not just physically but there was something about him you couldn’t pinpoint. And it frustrated you because before you would have been able to read him as if he were your favorite book. Now you had lost a few pages along the way and you didn’t know where to turn too anymore.

“So what happens now?” You whispered tilting your head to the side, the droplets of your forgotten beer running down your fingers. He sighed and looked over at you before reaching over and massaging the creases between your brows. He always scolded you about it, told you your face was a piece of art and didn’t need any extra tension. And although you had never believed him before and brushed it off as a joke, the way he was looking at you as if you were his entire world made you believe him.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I can still see the world in all its glory, the colors haven’t faded and I don’t think they will.” He brought his hand down your face and cradled your cheek gently. “I think they were it for me. I just wish we had more time.” He nodded before running his index finger across your cheek and down the bridge of your nose stopping just above your cupid’s bow. “But can I tell you a secret.” His eyes filled with hope as the words spilled out of his mouth.

“As long as you don’t make me keep it.”

“You will always be my favorite color.”

It was wrong.

The way Vernon’s lips danced against the skin of your neck as he pushed you up against your bedroom door, was wrong. He wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his but you felt the flame burn deep inside you. One that had gone out long before the universe took the man in front of you away. You were feeling it again and letting it consume your entire being. You didn’t want it to stop.

“We have to be quiet.” You moaned out, fingers playing with the hem of your old graphic tee that you were sure had belonged to him. From what you could remember it had smelled like him once and somewhere along the creases he had left his mark.

“Seems a bit challenging for you.” He teased and pulled away, his lips leaving your skin making you feel empty. He smirked and circled his arms around your waist letting them travel down your back and landing on your ass before giving it a squeeze making you yelp in surprise. He chuckled and pulled you close, “Thought you said we needed to be quiet?” He quirked an eyebrow before leaning down letting his lips hover above yours.

“F-Fuck...just kiss me already.” You whimpered and wrapped your arms around his neck and brought his head closer, but he restrained from closing the gap and you let out a desperate whine. “I miss you angel, I miss you so much I don’t think I can hold myself back anymore.” He confessed his words making their way into your heart and locking themselves in. The little voice in the back of your head yelling at you to stop but you pushed it aside, desperate to feel his warmth again.

“Then don’t”

Vernon’s lips crashed onto yours barely letting the words leave your mouth. You could taste the bitter alcohol on his breath, a reminder that neither of you where in the right mind to be doing this. Yet the fire between the two of you grew. You found yourself ignored the flaring alarms going off in your head again as you kissed him back with the same hunger he was kissing you.

He tapped the side of your hip and mumbled an almost incoherent jump and you obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist while he held you as close as he could. He pushed the two of you away from the door, his lips desperately dancing against yours. The crude sounds the two of you were making bounced off your bedroom walls and you were sure the two of you were being anything but quiet.

Vernon pulled away and carried you over to your desk removing everything he could before setting you down on top of you. You pushed yourself against him letting the back of your hand brush against the collar of his shirt. He smirked and gave it a tiny peck before finally bringing your shirt over your head and throwing it somewhere behind him.

“Still as beautiful as I remember.” He hummed your face heated up as he attacked your neck again. This time making sure he was leaving his mark on you one last time. You threw your head back moaning his name lost in the pleasure he was giving you when your peripherals caught sight of something that made your heart stop.

The faded yellow of the withered sunflower’s Seokmin had given you were now staring at you in disapproval. You felt your breathing regain speed and it wasn’t because of the way Vernon’s lips traveled down the navel of your breasts. No, it was because reality finally decided to hit you and you were once again planted back down onto Earth.

“Vernon stop.” You choked out. The flame inside of you dying and quickly replacing itself with the poison fear brought with it. Vernon stopped his movements and pulled away as fast as he could. You saw the concern wash over his soft features as his eyes ran all over your face. “What happened, did I do something wrong?” His words raced out of his lungs at the speed of light and he cradled your face in his hands. The tears soon started up again as Seokmin’s laugh rang in your ears. His broken face staring back at you when you had denied him earlier that evening made you feel as if you were the worst human being on planet Earth.

“W-We can’t do this Vernon.” You shook your head trying to avoid his gaze and placed a hand against his chest before pushing him away. Vernon sighed, letting his eyes land on your flower face and somehow he had finally understood what happened. “I know, I’m sorry...I should’ve stopped the minute I kissed you.” His shoulders fell letting the guilt wash over him like a tidal wave. His confession left you broken but he didn’t try to fight you or himself. Instead he created the space you need to breathe and looked around your room for your shirt.

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have egged you on.” You pushed yourself off your desk not caring about the things that had fallen onto the floor and grabbed your shirt from Vernon’s hand. He grinned watching you slip it on before sitting down at the edge of your bed, his forearms resting on his knees.

“We’ve got to be the most fucked up people in this cruel world.” He laughed letting himself fall back onto your bed. You shook your head before sitting down next to him. “Maybe we did something to piss someone off in our past lives and now we’re paying for it.” You shrugged, poking his side lightly making him fold over from the jab that ran through his body.

“Whatever it was...it must’ve been bad.” Vernon mumbled and looked up at your ceiling. The silence raining down over the two of you like a protective shield. Your heart was starting to return to its normal state but the guilt and confusion consumed you greatly. You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight. You wanted to ask Vernon to stay and keep you company and you almost did as you watched him shut his eyes, peace washing over his body and you wondered what it was like to be held by this new version of him. But you quickly pushed those thoughts aside deciding that there were boundaries you needed to start setting up for both of your sakes.

After all, neither of you belonged to each other anymore.

“Where are you going to sleep?” You finally broke the silence after sitting in it for what felt like hours. He opened his eyes slowly blinking back the sleep as he sat up. “Probably the couch.” He stood up running a hand through his hair before turning to face you. His eyes bore into yours gently and you knew there was something he wanted to tell you but whatever it was it looked like you had to live without knowing because what came out of his mouth was not what you had expected. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded before walking over to your door.

“Goodnight Hansol.” You whispered making him stop dead in his tracks, his birth name falling foreign onto his untrained ears. There was a time in his life where he loved the way your voice danced whenever you said it, but now he realized that he didn’t anymore and that was the hardest pill he would ever have to swallow. So he gave you the gift of a small nod before exiting your room, leaving you behind in your cold bedroom. Your soul felt as if it were in a pool of muddy water and all you wanted to do was call Seokmin, apologize and tell him everything.

“Can you please talk to me?”

You trailed behind Seungkwan as he pushed the shopping cart into the frozen aisle of the grocery store.

A week had passed since you accidentally found yourself pinned against your bedroom door with Vernon. A week had passed since the two of you decided to finally start setting boundaries for one another after Seungkwan had scolded the two of you like teenagers on the couch. Since then he had been giving the two of you the silent treatment. A punishment until you and Vernon came to terms with how wrong your actions had been, or so that’s what Seungkwan claimed.

You knew you had been in the wrong, you knew you should’ve never let it get as far as it did. The disgusting guilt consumed you whenever you saw Vernon wander around the apartment like he owned the place. It tugged on your heartstrings whenever Seungkwan glared at you for standing an inch too close to your ex lover. It feasted upon your flesh whenever you stayed up until the morning dew fogged up your windows, talking to Seokmin. Nothing between the two of you was official yet, and that had been your doing because you couldn’t seem to find a way to confess to him without hurting him and yourself in the process.

“Nope, not until you tell Dokyeom what happened.” Seungkwan huffed, stopping the shopping cart in front of the frozen pizza freezer. It was your weekly movie night. It had surprised you when Seungkwan brought it up in passing over breakfast that morning because you had assumed with how things were going, and now that Vernon had decided to stay, he would’ve cancelled it.

“I will, I promise I will. I-I just don’t know how or when.” You walked in front of Seungkwan and opened the freezer door reaching in to grab the triple cheese stuffed crust frozen pizza. “I don’t want to hurt him.” You sighed as you placed down the large box inside of the cart that was filled with an assortment of junk food.

“That’s the problem BooBoo the fool, you hurt him the second you let Vernon inside your heart again.” He held the freezer door open and reached inside grabbing the frozen hawaiian pizza, making you scrunch your face in disgust. In all the years you had known Seungkwan his taste in pizza was the only flaw he had, though he claimed it was an acquired taste that only the elite understood.

“What am I supposed to do then Kwanie, Vernon will always hold a piece of my heart whether I want him to or not. I spent half a decade loving him and shit like that can’t be forgotten in a few months.” You took liberty in closing the freezer door after Seungkwan had finished grabbing everything else you needed for the movie night. “I feel like you’re being really unfair right now.”

“I’m not saying you should forget about Vernon, the guys living with us for crying out loud. And he is my best friend, but I’m trying to get you and him to realize that your story together is over and has been for a while. It sucks that the two of you got ripped away from one another, but you know how I always tell you that everything happens for a reason?” Seungkwan glanced over at you while you nodded along to what he was saying, “Then there’s a reason why the two of you were never meant to be.”

“And what reason could that be?”

“Let him go and you’ll find out.”

Whoever reserved Wednesday nights as movie nights, deserves the guillotine.

Though as much as you hated that they were planted in the smack middle of the week. You will never complain about it out loud, because you knew it had been your idea to hold them every Wednesday after a very heated argument with Seungkwan that you surprisingly had won. But if you dared to ever mutter out a complaint, he would make sure to never let you hear the end of it.

“One movie, I have to wake up early for my job interview tomorrow.” You pleaded looking over at the clock that hung over the t.v, that also didn’t work. You had promised you would change the batteries to it months ago but forgotten. You suspected that the only reason Seungkwan hadn’t taken matters into his own hands was because he wanted it to serve as an annoying reminder for you.

“Wait, you have a job interview?” Vernon exclaimed in surprise as he walked out of the kitchen in a hurry with the pizza box burning his hands. “Yeah, at the school a few blocks away from here.” You shrugged, throwing the pillows you were carrying in your hands onto the makeshift fort the three of you had tried to create. Keyword tired, it was falling apart the more you stared at it.

“You’re going to be a teacher again?” Vernon’s face lit up as he set down the pizza box onto the coffee table that had been decorated to the T with all the junk food you and Seungkwan brought home. Seungkwan cleared his throat as he came into the living room again, his arms overflowing with all the blankets he could find. He threw them down landing on top of the pillows you had once held in your hands, before crossing his arms in front of him, closely eyeing the two of you.

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to Vernon who had taken it upon himself to start digging into the hawaiian pizza, “I hope so, a job position opened up last week so I decided to send in my resume and they called me on Monday to schedule an interview.”

“That’s great--ow, bubs, I’m really happy for you.” Vernon said as he fanned his mouth after stupidly biting into the fresh out of the oven pizza. You nodded and turned to face Seungkwan who was glaring at Vernon while he ate his precious fit for royalty pizza.

“Let’s hope I get it, nothing is set in stone yet.”

“They’d be fools to not hire you. You’re amazing. I know they’d fall for you the second they hear how passionate you are about teaching.” Vernon assured as he blew onto his pizza, stopping to look at you for a split second, “I know I did.” He shrugged before tearing his eyes away from yours and taking another bite out of his pizza, making an O shape with his mouth to avoid getting burned again.

It was strange. If Vernon would have told those exact words last week out on the balcony, you would’ve melted at his feet. You would’ve never stopped him from going any further and you would’ve probably tried to erase Seokmin from your mind. But hearing those words escape Vernon’s pink lips now that he stood in your living room arguing with Seungkwan about hawaiian pizza. His words did nothing for you. They didn’t make your heart race, they didn’t make your palms sweat and they didn’t make your ears flare up in heat.

The only thing his words did was etch their way into your heart and fill you up with nostalgia, but not the kind that had you longing for his touch. The kind that made you happy that you had once been able to call him yours once. Maybe it was sign or step one of you finally being able to move on.

“Thanks Soli, I’ll keep that in mind.”

You were pacing in front of the main office for what seemed like hours, trying to calm your nerves down. You figured that moving around was better than sitting still and letting your thoughts race through your head, while you were at stand still. Though pacing wasn’t working either because your interview was scheduled to be at nine and it was nearing ten, and the dirty looks from the receptionist wasn’t helping your case either.

“Jeonghan I don’t know what you want me to do? I already sat down with the two of them and told them violence is never the answer.” The door to the administration office finally opened making the receptionist sigh out a sign of relief. As you scrambled to collect the stuff you had placed down on the waiting chairs behind you, you made a mental note to apologize to her before you left today.

“Seokmin don’t worry about it...I’ll contact the parents and see where we can go from there.” You felt the air catch itself in your throat as you slowly turned around to meet a very worried looking Seokmin. He hadn’t noticed you yet and you hoped he wouldn’t because the last thing you needed was to have him running through your mind during your interview. So, you stood there looking like a deer caught in the headlight while he continued chatting with the other man next to him. His voice filled with concern and it made your heart swell knowing how much he seemed to care about the issue at hand.

“Oh you must be here for the new teacher position right?” An unfamiliar voice sounded making you jump out of your days and thank god it did because you were about to let your mind wander to what having kids with Seokmin would be like. And that was something you weren’t ready to imagine, especially not when he looked good enough to eat in his work clothes.

“U-Um yeah I’m--”

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Seokmin finally noticed you. The excitement in his voice made the heat flare up along your face and you tightened your hold on your things pressing them against your chest, as your eyes traveled from his sparkling ones to the very shocked ones of the receptionist and finally landing on the man next to him who was out of this world confused. “Sweetheart? You two know each other?” He questioned signaling to the space between you and Seokmin with his index finger.

“Hannie this is the girl I’ve been telling you guys about.”

“Oh, the one you never shut up about.” He nodded, sending you a knowing wink. Was there anything worse than your possible future boss finding out you were in cahoots with one of his teacher’s before actually getting the job? Probably not because you were currently wishing for the ground to swallow you up. But it made you feel a little better knowing Seokmin was wishing the same thing, judging from the redness of his cheeks.

“I-I’m here to get interviewed for the new teacher position.” You nodded reassuring yourself more than anything. “I didn’t know you were a teacher, I thought you owned a pottery studio?” You looked at Seokmin who was cutely rubbing the back of his neck as he giggled underneath his breath. Your heart convulsing and now you weren’t so sure you wanted the job if it meant having your heart erupting out of your chest twenty four seven, seven days a week.

“I do, but Minghao runs it during the week with our other friend Mingyu. Soonyoung and I are in charge of it during the weekends.” He smiled and took a step forward ignoring the looks Jeonghan and the receptionist were giving one another, and somehow you knew this whole situation was going to be the hot topic of the week in the teacher’s lounge. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He finally closed the distance before pulling you in for a hug, “I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you.” He whispered before kissing your temple lightly and pulling away.

“Alright, lovebird you have a science class to teach and I have an interview to conduct.” Jeonghan voiced shooing Seokmin with his hands making your sweet lover boy laugh.

“Good luck baby.” Seokmin threw you a kiss before exiting the main office, the door closing in behind him. Leaving you alone and deserted with your smirking future boss and nosey receptionist. Your nerves had subsided to almost nothing but now your mind was consumed with Seokmin and you weren’t sure if you were going to survive your interview without letting your mind wander to the loving future that was creeping up on you.

Jeonghan huffed and turned on his heels signaling for you to follow him, “I hope you know that just because my best friend and one of my teachers is head over heels for you, doesn’t mean you get special treatment. I still need to make sure you’re right for the job, and let me tell you sweetheart you have competition.”

“I didn’t expect you to go easy on me anyway.”

Jeonghan closed the file he had in front of him before lacing his fingers together on top of them and leaned forward, eyeing you closely. “Can I give you some advice?” Jeonghan titled his head, his glasses that didn’t have lenses sliding off the bridge of his nose. The entire time he was interviewing you had tried your best to not laugh at his ridiculous antics. But seeing as this was your first and most likely last time you were going to see him, you figured that you would keep it to yourself for now.

“U-Um yeah...of course.” You rushed out a little too eagerly, your nerves once again getting the best of you. They had been in control for the twenty minutes Jeonghan had been interviewing you, but now as he stared you down, you felt your nerves coming crashing down like an ocean wave.

“I’m hesitant on hiring you, your track record is spotless and you’re probably the best candidate for the job--” He sighed and ran a bony hand through his dark hair while leaning back in his chair. You knew your rejection was coming but you didn’t expect it to be so soon. You were hoping to at least make it home cry about how awful your interview had gone before burying yourself in a pint of cookie dough ice cream while Seungkwan lectured you all whilst simultaneously trying to keep your hopes up.

“--But I don’t know how I feel about two of my teacher’s dating, especially if you’re going to have the evidence on full display.” He raised his pen and pointed to the side of your neck where you knew Vernon’s evidence was still on you, a reminder of the sin you had committed a week ago. Your eyes grew wide as you panicked and slapped your hand on the side of your neck. A smirk appeared on Jeonghan’s face as he smugly crossed his arms in front of him. The realization hit you a little too late because now it became clear that he was only testing you and sadly you had failed.

“I’m sorry, um...I--I.” You shook your head, your hand falling down slowly and landing on your lap. There was nothing you could say in order to fix your mistake, you could only hope that Jeonghan wasn’t one of those people who loved to gossip because the last thing you wanted was to ruin a relationship that hadn’t gotten the chance to blossom. “Can you please not tell Seokmin.” A soft whisper fell from your lips, aware that you were throwing yourself under the bus, but what else could you do? You had already lost the job, you didn’t want to lose Seokmin as well, at least not yet.

“Ah, so it’s not from Dokyeom...bummer I was ready to tease him about it all week..” He shrugged and leaned his elbows on his desk along with his body. “So you’re two timing him? And here I was starting to believe that our precious Dokyeom had finally found love.” He tsked, shaking his head, “I must say I’m incredibly disappointed, I thought I was the cruel one.”

“No, no, no, it’s not like that, it’s just--,” Your hands had started to shake on your lap, underneath Jeonghan’s amused stare. “--it’s complicated, more than you can imagine.” The confession stumbled out and you heard him let out a dry laugh.

“I have no doubt in my mind that whatever the situation is, is not an easy one but I suggest figuring your shit out before roping in one of my friends. Dokyeom has been through enough and I have no idea how he still keeps that smile of his on his face knowing the shit he’s been through.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I know you don’t believe me but I have been trying.”

“You’re right I don’t but I’m also not the one that needs to believe you.” He shrugged standing up from his chair and rounded the corner of his desk, stopping in front of you and leaning against it. “This isn’t a conversation you and I need to have, and all I ask of you is to have it with the person that’s meant to hear your words.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” you nodded and smoothed down the wrinkles of your dress. “Thank you for the interview.”

“Cheer up princess.” He laughed and extended his hand in front of him for you to take. You looked up at him hesitantly before grabbing his hand and letting him pull you up. “You got the job.” He smiled before letting go of your hand and walking towards his office door leaving you behind as you tried to figure out if you heard him right. “Now come on it’s almost lunchtime, I’m starving and we have a ton of paperwork to sign.”

“Wait you’re not shitting me are you?”

“If I was, I would’ve told you to leave the second you answered my first question, now let’s go.” He signaled you over while opening the door. You scrambled tripping over the leg of the chair you had just been sitting in making him roll his eyes. Now you understood why he had called himself the cruel one because Yoon Jeonghan was quite literally the reincarnation of the devil.

“Excuse my language but you’re an asshole.”

“I’ve been called worse sweetheart.”

“Are we celebrating?” Seungkwan’s voice excitedly boomed through the speaker of your phone as you climbed up the steps of your apartment building. After you had gone through the mountain of paper’s that Jeonghan and the school district had you signing. You had declined his offer on having lunch with him and all the other teachers, giving him the poor excuse of already having lunch plans with your best friend. You could tell he wanted to say something but instead he bid you farewell before telling you to come over on Friday after school for a tour of the school, as well as to show you where your classroom was going to be. “Please tell me we’re celebrating, I already sent Hansol to buy the cake, the streamers, balloons, champagne and the pizza.”

“I get my classroom on Friday and I start next Wednesday.” You voiced while punching in the code to enter your building, the buzzer sounded indicating that you could enter the lobby. You heard screaming from the other side of the phone followed by shushing noises. “Focus on your job Kwanie.”

“But this is more exciting,” He whined, making you shake your head in disbelief. If Seungkwan wasn’t the best entertainment lawyer at his firm you were sure he would’ve been fired ages ago. “How’d the interview go, I’m guessing good because now you’re employed.”

“It went awful, trust me I was expecting to still be unemployed.” You pressed the button to the elevator, watching as the numbers counted down slowly. The anticipation of getting into your bed again was killing you as the numbers got closer to the ground floor. “Then how do you have a job now?” Seungkwan questioned before letting out a gasp at the same time the elevator dinged announcing it’s rival. “You didn’t...you know, do inappropriate things to get the job did you?”

“I’m offended that you’ve known me for years and yet still think so lowly of me.” You entered the elevator and pressed the number to your floor, leaning against the elevator railings and watched as the doors closed in front of you. “Of course I didn’t.”

“I don’t know after what happened last week, I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

“Jeonghan lectured me already about this after my interview. I don’t need you hanging it over my head again.”

“Wait bubs, who’s Jeonghan.”

“Oh, my boss.” The elevator stopped and slowly opened its doors. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked out, bringing your purse in front of you to fish out the keys to your apartment. “I think you two would get along, you're both equally as cruel.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult, but I don’t have time to be offended because now I’m just confused. How does he know?”

“Surprise! Seokmin is my co-worker and I ran into him before my interview--”

“He’s your coworker and your future baby daddy. This is wild bubs I would not like to have a love story like yours… no offense.”

“Whatever Kwanie, the point is the demon that is my ex boyfriend left a hickey on me last week and it still hasn’t gone away. So my boss saw, lectured me about it and somehow I ended up with the job.” You sighed, dropping your key back into your purse and pushed your already opened front door with the toe of your shoe. Vernon always had a habit of never closing the door completely and it had terrified you a few times, especially when word got around that there was a serial robber on the loose in the area the two of you used to live in.

“Maybe you heard wrong, are you sure you got the job?” Seungkwan questioned and you could almost picture the raise of his eye brow along with his scold. “This doesn’t sound like you got the job to me, maybe you should call them just to make sure.”

“I got it, I already signed all the paperwork.” You shook your head toeing off your shoes, noticing that Vernon’s vans were missing, which meant he still wasn’t home and you had maybe a few minutes of peace to yourself.

“This all sounds a little too suspicious now, but congratulations I’m proud of you...I guess.”

“Thanks you’re the best, I’ll call you later I think I’m going to shower so I can contemplate all my life choices.” You said holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you placed your stuff down on top of the kitchen counter. “Also pizza two days in a row are you okay?”

“I’m fine, can’t say the same thing about you though.” He scoffed. “I’m going now I hope your shower makes you realize how stupid you have been lately.” He spoke before hanging up without letting you get a word in. Sighing you brought the phone down from your ear setting it down next to you. Your thoughts were jumbled and jumping around from one thing to another. You wished you weren’t so scared of confessing something to someone, especially if that someone was starting to become the reason why you kept waking up and getting out of bed every passing day. But you also knew you were hurting him more letting the days pass and keeping him in the dark. Needless to say your life had become a mess in the span of a few months and some days you found yourself wondering how you could return it.

Jeonghan told me…

Your phone buzzed making you jump. You grabbed it quickly watching as Seokmin’s contact name stared at you brightly, along with his message making your heart race. You cursed at yourself for trusting that the snake would keep your secret sealed behind his thin lips. And maybe he had hired you out of spite but whatever it was you were already typing your overdue apology in hopes you could at least salvage the tiny piece of Seokmin’s heart that he had selfishly given to you.

Congratulations baby, dinner on Friday to celebrate?

Your fingers stopped as you let out an embarrassing sigh of relief, silently apologizing to Jeonghan. Quickly you erased the few sentences you had managed to write out before typing out a reply. You weren’t sure what spirit had possessed you but, who's ever it was, gave you the confidence you needed to hit send, because you knew what you were about to do was going to possibly ruin whatever relationship you had with Seokmin or save it. But you were tired of walking on eggshells not only around him but also around Vernon. He needed to know and you needed to finally let go.

I’ll cook, I want you to meet some people.

Vernon walked into the apartment with everything Seungkwan had sent him out to get before leaving for work that morning. The bags he had been carrying for blocks were cutting the circulation in his arms, his fingers burning sweetly from the plastic. How they hadn’t fallen dead on the sidewalk a couple of blocks back was a mystery to him, and in truth the pain didn’t bother him until now, while he toe-d off his shoes as fast as possible. He felt his arms start to give up so he dropped them, like he usually did and let out an enormous sigh of relief. The circulation coming back into his arms at a rapid rate.

He stretched his hands out mumbling incoherently. Coming to a stop when he saw your distressed form leaning against the fake marble of the kitchen counter. Phone clutched tightly in your palm, breaking the circulation, much like the plastic bags had done to him. Before, he could stop myself, he ran over to you. Stumbling over his shoes. The groceries and the tingling feeling on his fingers, from the blood returning to them, long forgotten. All he could think about was you and what was going through your mind.

Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck as he felt your body grow stiff against his. The pang hitting him like a wave of unwanted air giving his heart a run for its money. “Are you okay?” He whispered bringing you close, hoping his comfort would somehow bring you at ease. He was never really good at comfort. He had learned that early on in your relationship, but he always tried as best as he could. Affection had been his major weak point, but now that he had lost you it had become his strongest suit.

“No Vernon, I’m not.” You swallowed the lump of anger that had been lodged into the back of your throat before gripping his arms with your hands and prying them off. Vernon was taken back, the void returning to his chest and you tried your best to shoulder past him. “You almost costed me my job today.” His arms fell at their sides, your words catching him off guard.

No matter how many arguments the two of you had had during your past relationship, he had never heard you use this before. The venom became permanent, interweaving itself with the strings of your vocal chords and for the first time he had realized that he had finally lost you.

“Me?” He questioned, standing dumbfounded. A shaking finger coming to view pointing to his chest. “What do you mean I almost ruined your chances at you getting a job. I’ve only been home and at the grocery store?”

Vernon ran a wary hand through his dark looks, the confusion written all over his face when you glanced at him and pushed past him a little too forcefully. He tried to recall anything he could’ve done for you to look at him in such an unpleasant way, but his mind came to a halt stopping in front of a white wall. All he could remember was trying his best to stay away from you and failing.

Every night he sat in front of your bedroom door while you talked on the phone for hours. He missed the sound of your laugh. He knew it was never going to be directed towards him anymore, but he would never get tired of it. At least it was a distraction, as unpleasant as it may have been at times. His life was ruined and his search for cheap apartments big enough for himself was starting to become a bust.

He wasn’t stupid. As much as you and Seungkwan had tried to mask your distaste for his return. He knew he wasn’t welcomed and he was made more aware of it now that he could feel your anger caging him in.

“This Vernon!” You yelled as he came out of his daze. His eyes widened when he saw you unbutton the first few buttons of your blouse, the nude of your bra peeking out making him swallow thickly. “This is why I was almost not hired today.” You pointed at the faded hickeys he had left behind. A year ago he would’ve smirked while making a slick comment before attacking you. The giggle would fall out of your lips as he led you to the couch while he deepened the lovebites he had previously made.

Now he stayed put, watching the angry tears fall from your eyes and instead of feeling sorry. He was now starting to shed his calm composure letting it get replaced by a year’s worth of anger. He let it consume him, because he had had enough.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that you and Seungkwan were faulting him for something that hadn’t been entirely his fault.

“Did you get undressed in order to get the job? Were you really that desperate. Did he not like the fact that you were whoring yourself around when he saw another man’s mark on you?” He spat out, barely processing what he had said. His fist balling up at his sides while yours did the same thing. “I knew you were capable of things but this is a new low that I should’ve seen coming.”

Vernon had never once said anything hurtful to you, he had given silent treatments, left the house in fits of rage; but never anything hurtful. You were caught by surprise, your heart beating out of your chest angrily and tears flowed at a rapid rate. This was a new side of him and you supposed he was also seeing a new side of you. It made you wonder if you had truly known one another as well as you once prided yourself in.

You forcefully threw down your stuff onto the coffee and took fast, long strides over to him. “Fuck you Vernon, I wish I had never met you.” You forced out jabbing your index finger into his chest as hard as you could, hoping you’d be able to hurt him even further like he had done to you.

He stayed, not budging, looking down at you with an overwhelming amount of disgust. “You’ve ruined my life.” The whisper escaped your lungs before you could stop it, but the damage had already been done. The two of you had been stripped off of everything, left with nothing. Two once perfect colorful arrays of canvases now painted white. What more did you have to lose?

“And you’ve ruined mine.” He emphasized, making sure each word, each syllable was laced with the same amount of poison he was being consumed with. He wanted them to take a piece of your soul. The same way yours did with his.

It was the final blow he needed to deliver to finally be able to walk out of your life for good. To finally forget the way your presence had his heart doing somersaults. To finally realize he was and had never been yours to begin with.

Vernon shook his head in disbelief blinking back the angry tears. He grabbed your wrist and slowly peeled your fingers away from his shirt he hadn’t noticed you were clinging onto. His body was shaking just like yours. Emotions he was now experiencing for the first time consuming him slowly. He pushed you away gently, a stark contrast from the hurtful words he had said earlier and quickly made his way to the front door. Hastily putting on his shoes, mumbling underneath his breath. He ignored the groceries again, and tripped over every miscellaneous item that was decorating the floor as he opened the front door.

Déjà vu hit you like a tsunami, shaking arms wrapped around your torso, sobs falling out of your mouth as you watched him leave just like you had many times before. This time he didn’t love you enough to want to come back.

When the world had once still revolved around you and Vernon, your fights would never last as long as this one had. It had lasted two days and six hours, but who’s counting?

You were avoiding one another like the plague not wanting to admit fault.

“Are you spaced out again?” Seokmin’s voice sounded through the speaker of your phone. You don’t know when the nightly facetime calls became routine, but they were the only thing you look forward to now. Especially after the nasty argument with Vernon two days and six hours ago.

“Sorry Min.” You shake your head and turn to the side bringing your blanket up to your chin. “What were you saying again?”

“I’m sorry we had to move dinner to tomorrow night, I forgot I had to babysit my nephew.” He pouted at the camera before turning his attention back to washing the dishes he had used for dinner.

Since the two of you hadn’t been able to physically have dinner together to celebrate, you figured that having dinner with him through facetime was better than nothing. To keep him company of course and not because he filled the void you had been feeling for days on end.

The entire time you were holed up in your room and witnessed how gentle he was when it came to his nephew. It made the butterflies in your stomach dance to the beat of their own drums. Once again you found yourself pushing the thought of Seokmin and children away. It was too soon.

“Don’t apologize, I enjoyed watching you struggle with Minjae. Personally, baby, I’m a fan of when he calls you Min Min.” Seokmin laughed. His smile reached both ends of his face as he turned the faucet off. He dried his hands on a kitchen towel before grabbing his phone. “When I went to put him to bed he said you were pretty...and I mean he’s not wrong you’re gorgeous sweetheart.” He winked making the apples of your cheeks heat up with the light pink of baby flower petals.You watched as he shut off the lights and walked out of his kitchen, trudging silently through the hallway before reaching his room.

“Since we’re alone now,” he started shutting the door to his room, “You want to tell me what’s been bothering you for the last few days?” He finished. The small complaint falling out of your lips as you hid underneath your blanket. It was amazing how in such a short amount of time Seokmin had been able to read you like a book from start to finish.

It had taken Vernon a full year to be able to decipher the hidden meaning behind your words.

Vernon...you hated how much he was consuming your thoughts. Even when Seokmin was around. It felt like a curse with no cure. “Just got into a small argument with an old friend.”

“Have you tried talking to them?” Seokmin walked around before placing his phone down and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt. “You won’t be able to fix anything if the two of you haven’t talked.”

“I can’t Seokmin, I said some hurtful things to him and honestly I shouldn’t have said them. I was angry over a situation that wasn’t entirely his fault.” You sighed, removing the blanket from your head and flopping down on your back. “If he didn’t hate me before he does now.”

“I don’t know what happened with your friend, but I don’t think he hates you. Just try and talk to him and clear the air.” He nodded before laying down on his bed, grabbing the pillow and hugging it. “It doesn’t hurt to at least try.”

You smiled and nodded. He looked breathtaking underneath the dim light of his room, “If you’re going to be right all the time, I think I might want a refund...again”

“Don’t say that baby...I’ll let you be right on odd days.”

Saturday night came faster than you had anticipated and somehow you had managed to burn spaghetti.

Your day had been awful and you were hoping that when nightfall came everything would’ve gotten better. Your wish had fallen on to deaf ears because you had burned spaghetti, Vernon was acting like a grade A asshole, and Seungkwan was ignoring you.

When Seokmin had arrived. On time. He had found you scrambling in the kitchen trying to remake your famous (easy) pasta dish. Seungkwan and Vernon were arguing over the correct way to set a table...it was chaos.

Neither of them were correct but you didn’t care enough to correct them. They weren’t talking to you either way.

When you had managed to finally finish dinner. With the help of Seokmin. He had insisted after he saw how stressed out you looked, the four of you sat in complete silence. Seokmin at your side, holding your hand underneath the table, Vernon eyeing him down like he was his prey and Seungkwan mindlessly scrolled through his phone. The clinking of utensils and your heavy breathing was the only thing that was heard.

You wanted to die.

“Um...so I know Seungkwan, but I don’t know you. I’m Seokmin.” He nodded in Vernon’s direction before taking a bite of his pasta. You watched as Seungkwan locked his phone and put it down. His eyes traveled between the two male figures before they settled on yours and you watched as he slightly shook his head.

“I know who you are, you’re the one that she stays up talking to.” He signaled in your direction before setting down his fork and leaning into his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m Hansol but you can call me Vernon.”

“Cool...so Vernon, how do you know each other?” Seokmin let go of your hand. The warmth and ease you had felt disappearing as you saw the two of them eye each other. As far as you could tell Vernon wanted to eat Seokmin alive and Seokmin was simply driven by his curiosity. “Did you just move in?”

Vernon laughed bitterly before pushing his half eaten plate away from him. “You haven’t told him?” He questioned. The amused evil glint adorning his soft eyes. A look you had never once seen him give anyone and now that it was directed towards you. You were terrified.

“Hansol don’t!” Seungkwan warned. You felt Seokmin’s body stiffen next to you as he looked over at you, an eyebrow raised. “So we’re just going to sit here and pretend we’re one big happy family when we’re all miserable because of her.” Vernon spat out digging his burning gaze into yours. You jumped and looked over at Seokmin who had retreated into himself. His eyes were burning holes into the pasta in front of him.

“Min I-I can ex-”

“What does he mean, what is he talking about?” Seokmin interrupted and pushed his plate away from him. Your appetite was gone and you could only assume everyone else was feeling the same way.

“Tell him. Why don’t you tell him how you were moaning my name a few days ago just like you had done for the past five years.”

You panicked, your body shaking in intervals of five and you tried to look for anything to say but your lies had finally caught up to you. The only thing you could do was drown and keep drowning, just like you had been doing before Seokmin came into your life and pulled you out of the water. Now you were pushed into it again and this time you were positive no one was going to risk themselves to save you.“Seokmin w-wait please.” You threw your napkin on the table and stood up, the corners landing into the pasta sauce as you turned to face Seokmin. You extended your arm to grab his hand, only for him to pull it back, ”You were just toying with me.” The legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor made you jump. Your body going into survival mode. “I saw the marks on you but I just assumed I had accidentally gotten carried away.”

“You fucked him too, wo-”

“Vernon, shut up for once please.” You yelled. Your world came crashing down again just like it had on that winter night; in front of the infamous coffeeshop. Both times had been Vernon’s fault.

“I-I can’t be here.” Seokmin whispered, running a bony hand through his perfectly styled hair, causing it to messily stick out in random places. He sighed before pushing his char in forcefully as he gathered the few things he had brought with. He stepped on the soles of his shoes, not caring about how uncomfortable he felt. The only thing that was running through his mind was how he needed to get out and far away from you as possible.

“Why can’t you guys let me handle things at my own pace. I was gonna tell him this is why I invited him but I didn’t want him to find out like this.” You shouted, making Seungkwan and Vernon to look at you as if you were a deer and they were the headlights. You shook your head and stood up running past them and the kitchen towards the door that Seokmin had left wide open. Your vision had gone blurry and you opted out at putting on your shoes. It would be a waste of time and you needed to get to him before he left. You were tired of not fighting for what you wanted and you wanted Seokmin enough that it hurt.

“M-Min please wait! Let me explain.” Seokmin stopped as he was halfway down the first flight of stairs.

“I understood. I told you I would wait for you because I knew something had happened to you. Yet I never pushed you to tell me. I started to fall for you, only to find out that you didn’t care that you never cared. T-That there was someone else.”

“I-It’s not like that.” You ran down the flights of stairs, ignoring the small pebbles digging into the skin of your feet. “H-Hansol was my soulmate, bu-”

“Was?”

“Yes Seokmin he was my soulmate, please just give me a chance to explain everything.” You grabbed his hand and brought it up to your heart that was going a mile a minute. “We aren’t together and haven’t been together for a year...i-it’s just complicated.” You pleaded.

“But you slept with him right after our date I’m guessing?”

“I-I...a...Seokmin please just let me explain. I didn’t sleep with him. When you left he was here and we talked and then one thing led to another but I stopped him because of you. Because I had the most amazing ti-”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better because it doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes and pulled his hand back, stuffing both of them into the pockets of his coat. Goosebumps rose against your skin. You blamed the cool wind of the beginning autumn months but you were very well aware that it was because of the coldness behind Seokmin’s comforting eyes. “Do you still love him?”

“M-Min I-I...um. I-”

“God, I really don’t want to look at you right now, I w-wished I h-had never met you.” He whispered.

Your knees gave up at the realization of his confession and you fell down onto the concrete step of the stairs. You were numbly looking at his worn out shoes as he stood there wordlessly, broken sounds leaving his perfect lips. A breeze blew and you shivered, “I-I’m sorry.” You whispered before he turned around and started down the rest of the flights of stairs leaving you behind.

When Vernon left, you were heartbroken.

When Seokmin left, you wanted to die.

It’s unclear how you made it back into your apartment on the couch under a plethora of blankets, shivering, teeth clattering against one another. You weren’t sure how long you had been out in the cold waiting, hoping for Seokmin to come back and take you into his arms. To hold your shivering body close to his warm one, while whispering the three words you longed to hear most.

I forgive you.

That hadn’t been the case though. You sat out there waiting on the concrete steps as the bitter cold overtook your body, until you couldn’t feel your bones anymore. In the midst of your unwavering head, you had lost track of time. And now you are sitting on your couch, listening to soft shuffles of rushed feets and hushed arguments. Tears frozen onto the apples of your cheeks, staring at the blank wall that sat behind the television set.

“Hey,” Seungkwan’s voice sounded distant as he tried grabbing your attention, shaking you gently.

The inside of your head was a mess, the files of all your memories going up in flames. You wanted out of your head, to look at Seungkwan’s face morphed with concern. You wanted to cry into his arms just like you had done many times before but you were done. You had let other people deal with your problems for you instead of facing them head on. So, you ignored him and his soft voice to stare at the blank wall. At least the wall wouldn’t be used by you.

“I ran you a bath, come on.” He placed his palm on your back rubbing it up and down in a soothing manner. You cringed, shrugging his touch away and wrapped the blankets around yourself tighter, retrieving into yourself. “You’re going to freeze to dea-”

“I deserve it.” You mumbled. A tear trickled down your cheek and you looked down at your shivering hands. He was right, the color from your skin had been drained due to the bone chilling cold from the start of the winter months. But you liked wallowing in the numbness, it served as a reminder of how much you truly fucked up.

“You don’t, now come on before you force me to carry you, you know how weak my back has been lately and you would be doing me a great disservice if I have to carry you all the way to the bathroom.” He said pointedly and tugged on your hands as he stood up taking you along with him. The blankets fell from your shoulders, taking residency on the couch. Seungkwan walked the two of you away from the couch, one of his hands on your back the other holding your arm tightly and tentatively. Almost as if he was afraid that you’ll escape and habituate yourself on the couch again. Your point of focus from the wall was no more, now you were staring around the silent apartment. Your eyes landed on the dinner table, where everything had been left untouched, like nothing had happened. And you wondered if ten minutes had gone by instead of an hour, just like you had presumed.

The sound of rushing water brought you back to your senses as you and Seungkwan entered the bathroom. The lights were dimmed and he had set up the stress relieving candles the two of you had bought on a whim one Sunday afternoon. It was moments like these when you realized you didn’t deserve to have a friend like Seungkwan. A friend would drop everything and be at your side in seconds at the mumble of the first syllable of his name. Once again you were reminded how much better he deserved.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered watching him through the fogged out mirror. His long fingers toying with the tiny zipper of your dress, unzipping it slowly, careful not to place his cold palms against your already freezing skin. In a different scenario you would’ve made a sexual innuendo about him seeing you naked, even though he had many times. The two of you lived together and the amount of times either of you had accidentally sleepily walked in on each other either changing or showering was almost laughable. At some point it had become so natural that neither of you strayed away from uninterested pairs of eyes.

“For what?” He raised a brow at you through the mirror. Your dress had now fallen onto the floor leaving you in your matching bra and underwear set. Your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you turned around to look at him.

“E-Everything, I’m the w-worst person ever and here you are t-treating me like a delicate flower. I-I don’t deserve you or Vernon or S-Seokmin.” You sniffed blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. It was a miracle that you hadn’t ran out of tears considering how much you cried daily. At least three times a week.

Seungkwan let out a laugh and hugged you tightly, his hands brushing the hair away from your face, “You aren’t the worst person ever, right now you might not be your own favorite person or the favorite person of a certain individual.” He pulled back and flicked your forehead gently making you pout, the tears still free falling down your cheeks, his thumbs brushing them away. “I can name a few others that are way worse than you, now get in the bath before I seriously drown you.” Seungkwan treated placing a soft kiss against your forehead. “Sometimes I wish I could take away yours and Vernon’s pain.”

“Then you’d be weighted down even more by pain that doesn’t belong to you.”

“If it gets the two of you smiling again, I’d take the risk any day.”

Seungkwan always keeps true to his word.

While he was aggressively washing your hair, he almost did try to drown you and you had never been more scared for your life.

“This is the last time I let you take care of me.” You pouted bringing your knees up to your naked chest, sending him an almost threatening glare. The tears had stopped along with your shivering, but now you could finally feel the emptiness inside of you.

“That’s gonna be hard, I like taking care of you. It’s like my hobby.” He flashed you a smile before turning his attention back to his almost empty wine glass. You sighed, placing your cheek against your knees watching as he poured himself another generous amount of the overly expensive wine you had bought solely for that night.

“That’s the problem, you shouldn’t like to take care of me, you should’ve kicked me out after my third month here.” You grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a sip from it, cringing at the taste as it traveled down your throat burning slightly. For it to be so expensive you were expecting it to be crafted using grapes sent down from the heavens, but the wine from your corner store was a lot better. Maybe this is where you had gone from in the first place. You had tried to be something you weren’t for Seokmin. Tried to put up a front until you were ready to show him the real you. A foolproof plan that ended up backfiring in the end. You should’ve known.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Seungkwan took the bottle from your hand and placed it on the floor. He turned to look at you tugging his knees underneath him and leaned an elbow against the edge of the bathtub.

“Yeah, it was New Year’s and you were spending it with Hansol’s family because you and your family weren’t on best terms.” You looked away from his glossy eyes and down at the water surrounding you. You dipped a pruned finger into the water creating a small ripple in the once warm, now lukewarm water.

“Do you remember what you said to me that night before the clock struck twelve.”

You swished your finger around in the water, watching the ripples grow bigger and bigger, your face breaking into a small smile. The first one you had let decorate your face since everything happened. “I said that whenever I felt down I would always think of you because every time I saw you around campus you always had a smile plastered on your face and your head held high.” You said placing your palm against the water surface and then pushing against it watching as the water swallowed your head.

“Do you know how much your words meant to me?” He put down his glass on the edge of the bathtub, “I was going through the worst period of time in my life, my relationship with my family was strained, I was failing my classes and the person I was in love with was getting married but your words helped me get through that time in my life. And that’s why I choose to be there for you always...because you were there for me.”

“Seungkwan I-.” He held his hand up, stopping you from speaking a distant smile plastered on his face as he grabbed the towel next to him and dipped his hand into the bathtub unclogging the drain, creating a tiny whirlpool.

“I know you’re going to tell me that you were drunk and that your words didn’t deserve to have such an impact on me, and that you still don’t deserve my help, but I don’t want to hear it.” He tapped your shoulder signaling for you to stand, in which you obeyed. You watched silently as he wrapped your towel around you tightly, tiny water droplets chasing down your bare arms and legs. “No matter what happens to you, you will always be able to count on me no matter how annoying I might find you sometimes. I will always be there for you, is that clear?” He finished sternly before wrapping his arms around you, hugging you not carrying that you were getting his only designer shirt wet.

“Crystal.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You beamed up at Seungkwan as he tugged you into bed after helping you dry your hair for an hour. If it were up to you, you would’ve gone to sleep right after you changed into your pajamas, but Seungkwan insisted with a nagging finger on drying your hair because “You should never go to sleep with your hair wet unless you want to wake up sick.” Or so he claimed.

“Am I going to have to write a dissertation in order to answer it?” He sat down on the edge of his bed, tugging a leg underneath him, resting his elbow against his thigh, his chin the palm of his hand.

“Nope but you might get mad at me for asking it.” You grinned, positioning your body to the side in a fetal position. Seungkwan rolled his eyes, mumbling how all his hard work in tugging you in had gone to waste and giving you the go head with a small nod of his head.

“Where’s Vernon?”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes before leaning over to turn your light off. “I don’t know. After he brought you inside he ran out saying he had somewhere to be.” He turned the switch leaving the two of you in darkness and silence. “Why do you ask?”

“I want to beat him up for being a jerk.”

“I’ll film it.”

The brightness of the morning sun made you stir in your sleep, making you wish you had listened to Seungkwan when he had suggested that you buy black out curtains, instead of the sheer ones you bought. With a heavy sigh you felt around your bed looking for your phone knowing very well you hadn’t plugged it in to charge. You wanted the battery to drain out that way you wouldn’t anxiously be waiting for a phone call or text that was never going to come.

Frustrated due to the realization you continued your search, digging your palm into your sheets letting them melt between your fingers, wishing the other side of your bed wasn’t cold and empty. But the one person you wanted to be next to you didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

“Why are you pulling on my hair?”

Your hand came back to you faster than a lightning bolt and you sat up, eyes wide as saucers as you looked down at the last person you were expecting. “Why are you here?” You brought the sheets up to your shirts, covering your arms that were adorned with the thin strap of the tank top you had used to sleep.

Vernon buried his face in your sheets, giving himself a moment to recover from being woken up in such an unpleasant way. He had arrived home two hours ago, took his shoes off in a hurry and rushed to your room. He was met with your sleeping form. Limbs splayed out in all directions, your sheets sliding off your body taking up residency on your bedroom floor.

He smiled feeling the nostalgia take over his body like a poisonous drink. He longed to wake up next to you, with the sheets missing and your arm draped his face, while silent snores fell out of your mouth as you stayed sleeping without a care in the world. He looked forward to those mornings. Especially when he was losing you because it was the only time that felt like nothing was happening. The only time he wouldn’t have to avoid looking at you for fear of breaking down whenever he saw the hurt in your eyes. And as you had slept after the shit show that had happened earlier that night, albeit all his fault. He found himself longing for those few seconds of silence as he watched you sleep.

So, he moved through your room with caution, dodging the specs of light coming in through your window. He picked up your from the floor and carefully placed them on top of you again before sitting down on the floor. His elbow on your bed, chin resting on the palm of your hand and he watched you sleep. The tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, this would be the last time he would be seeing you. At least for a while. He wanted to take everything in, engrave the image of your sleeping face in his mind so he wouldn’t forget about it for a while.

Unaware he had fallen asleep, and now here he was. His heart thumping out of his chest feeling your eyes dig themselves into the side of his head. He could only be honest, his intentions weren’t malicious to begin with, and lying to you always tore him apart. “I came to say goodbye.” He whispered, raising his head. He brought his hands up to his eyes and diligently rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His vision grew spotty from how hard he had rubbed them.

“Oh...where are you going?” You sat up, resting your back against the headboard. It surprised you how soft your voice sounded as it left your mouth and you could tell it had surprised him too. You like him were expecting the coldness, but instead both of your ears were met with warmth.

“I’m moving back into my parents house, until I find my own place. I was selfish in coming here in the first place. I thought that now because I was alone again we could be together again.” He nodded, focusing on your closet door avoiding your face as the words rushed out of his mouth. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore...at least for a while.” He tore his gaze away from the door and turned to his you. “I’m sorry for everything.”

A veil of silence swallowed your waking bodies, as the rising sun finished its journey and stayed put. The golden hues of the rays illuminated Vernon’s side profile, bringing out the tiny freckles underneath his eyes. They were bloodshot, you could tell he hadn’t slept despite him just waking up, making you feel a little guilty. If you hadn’t prolonged this situation as much as you did then maybe things would’ve been different last night and this morning. Maybe you’d be waking up to Seokmin’s soft touches instead of Vernon’s broken and guilt ridden stare.

“I wanted you here Vernon.” You whispered, wrapping your arms around your legs, resting your chin on top of your knees. “We’re equally at fault, though you had been acting like an asshole and I’m still a little upset with you. It’s not all your fault.” You nodded, skimming your hand down your covered legs and placed it on top of his.

Vernon sighed removing his hand from underneath yours, your touch ignited something inside of him. Something he needed to keep at bay in order to let you go once and for all. “I talked to him last night.” He leaned back on his arms, his fingers digging into the fuzziness of your white carpet. He looked at you through his bangs, smiling at the confusion written all over your sleepy face. “Dokyeom, he’s funny.”

The sound of his name sounded foreign coming out of Vernon’s mouth. You almost convinced yourself you had still been dreaming if it wasn’t for the clattering pans in the kitchen, obviously Seungkwan’s doing. “You’re lying to me again.”

“I only lied to you once and I regret it every waking moment I see you, but this time I’m not.” He said crossing his jean clad legs underneath him, “I followed him after I brought you back inside, he punched me.” He laughed and pointed to the side of his jaw that had started to form a light bruise, making your brows furrow in concern. “It’s not as bad as it looks, my jaw is still intact, plus I deserved it.”

“You did. If he hadn’t done I would’ve.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve hurt more coming from you.” He rolled his eyes brushing off the subject with a swipe of his hand against the air, “I apologized to him and he taught me how to make a vase...did you know he’s part owner of a pottery studio?”

You laughed at the splendor in Vernon’s voice. The awkward air that had been crushing both pairs of lungs subsided, “I did he promised he’d take me one day but I guess it won’t happen now.” You shrugged, a side smile forming against your lips. “I’m a little jealous you got to live out my fantasy.”

“Yeah his hands are big and muscular and soft, I felt safe in his arms as he taught me how to form the shape.” Vernon joked. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your pillow before hitting him with it, making him groan. “That hurt.”

“Good, I was hoping it did.”

“You’re just jealous that he and I share a birthday.”

“No you don’t.” You pouted and laid down again crossing your arms in front of you like a child. The guilt consumed you once again but this time because you had been so focused with your problems that you hadn’t taken the chance to actually get to know Seokmin. You hadn’t actually tried to get to know him better and you couldn’t blame him for what he had told you last night. If you were in his shoes, you would also regret ever meeting you.

“What else did he say?” You voiced, untangling your arms and turning your body to face Vernon’s sitting form. He smiled before standing up and brushing the invisible lint balls from his jeans. He extended his hand for your to take, earning a curious stare from you.

“He wants to see you but first you have to eat breakfast.”

After a very uneventful breakfast that consisted of Seungkwan’s nagging (out of love) and leftovers. The three of you helped Vernon carry his stuff out to his car. It was a bittersweet feeling, to see the same scenario play out the same way it did almost over a year ago. This time neither of you were hurting and longing for one another.

“Get in.” Vernon shouted as he closed the trunk of his car, dusting his hands in front of him. He pointed to the passenger seat door, a wide smile on his face as he rounded the corner and opened the door. “I have to take you somewhere.”

“W-What, but I-I haven’t showered and I’m still in my pajamas.” You looked between Vernon who was holding open the door and Seungkwan who had started looking around, whistling and you realized that whatever Vernon was planning, Seungkwan had been in on it too.

“You look fine, now get in before I get punched again.”

“Kwanie help me please.” You pleaded grabbing onto the sleeves of his coat. Not knowing what was happening or what was going to happen only added to the stress of last night.

“I think I left the stove on, I’m going to go save our apartment from burning down.” He winked peeling your fingers from the sleeves of his coat and shoved you towards the car. “Have fun, don’t stay out too late, you still have to clean your room.” He shouted as he turned around and started jogging towards the entrance of the building.

“I have no choice do I?” You sighed looking at Vernon’s scheming face. He shook his head and signaled you to hurry up with the sudden movement of his hand. “Fine, if I end up dead though I’m coming back to haunt you and Seokmin’s asses.” You mumbled in annoyance, the skin of your legs gaining bumps as a cold breeze blew.

Vernon waited, holding the door to his car open for you as you quickly got into the passenger seat of his car. While you got in quickly desperately seeking some kind of warmth. “Are you ready?” He closed the door gently once he was sure you were fully inside and buckled up, leaning his elbows against the open window.

“To be kidnapped, nope. But I have no choice.”

Vernon stopped his car in front of an unnamed warehouse, unlocked the doors and basically shooed you out of it, “The side door is unlocked.” He said, pointing to an inconspicuous grey door before speeding off and leaving you alone, your heart against your throat.

You stood there in the middle of the parking lot, the bitter cold wrapping around you like a frozen blanket. And for once in your life you wished you had new friends, preferably ones that wouldn’t leave you in the middle of nowhere, in your pajamas and without a phone. You realized you had left it midway through your silent journey in Vernon’s old car. You had reached over for the volume knob turning it all the way down. The song that belonged to one of the mixtapes he had once made disappeared from his failing speakers. He had laughed when you told him, “You won’t need it anyway.” He reassured, pressing his foot on the gas as the light turned to an obnoxious yellow.

Now you were left stranded, cold and fearing for your life, refusing to move from your spot, eyeing the grey door in suspicion and fear. “Come in before you die.” You jumped as the grey door slammed open, revealing a boy with reddish hair and glasses perched on top of his nose, wearing grey paint splattered overalls. You contemplated ignoring him at first but then another cold breeze blew, followed by a few snowflakes and you knew you had no choice, but to follow the boys commands.

“Who are you?” You questioned as you jogged towards him and then past him, your body engulfed with the warmth of the warehouse, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Minghao, I’m one of the owners of this place.” He said after closing the door behind him making you jump slightly at the sound of metal hitting metal. “You know we’re in the middle of winter, not summer.” He said pointedly, eyeing you down. And you felt stupid although your attire hadn’t been your doing. If it had been entirely up to you, you wouldn’t be wearing sleep shorts, a tank top, a thin sweater and soping house slippers.

“Yeah, it’s a long story.”

“And I’m sure I’ll hear it one day but your lover boy is waiting behind the curtains.” Minghao smiled and wrapped a black winter coat around your shoulders, rubbing your arms gently before pulling away. “He hasn’t slept, so please tell him too once you finish confessing your love to one another or whatever people do after a fight.” He shoved you lightly towards the creme curtains that separated what seemed like an art room from whatever room was on the other side.

“Also if you need to do like gross couple stuff, can you do it in his room and not the living room.” He stated before grabbing a paint brush and sitting in front of a half painted canvas. Nothing had taken shape yet and you wondered if that was his intention or if he was stuck and just decided to paint whatever came to his mind. Whatever the reason was, you’d have to wait because the creme colored curtain was whispering your name at a decibel only you could hear begging you to reveal what was on the other side. So, you did, pulling it back harder than you had intended, your breath catching itself in the back of your throat.

Your eyes traveled around what seemed to be a living room. The navy blue couch had been pushed to the far end of the room, the back resting against the brick wall. A whole wall filled with all the books you could imagine and you found yourself laughably fighting the urge to run your finger tips against all their spines. There was a kitchen, though it looked more like it had never been used, the overflowing sink filled with dishes told you otherwise. And finally sitting in the middle, on a paint splattered dining room table was Seokmin, his bright and pleading eyes taking your attention away from the bags that laid underneath them. A two tier crooked cake sitting in front of him, with the words “I’m sorry,” written in purple icing.

“Seokmin I-” You started but the words escaped your mouth as your feet mindlessly made your way towards him. For a split second you stood in front of him as he looked up at you, his hands shaking on his lap, and you threw yourself at him, hugging him tightly as you buried your face into his neck taking in his scent. Fearing that this might be the last time you would be smelling it, as it almost was. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you sooner, but I got scared. I didn’t want you to think of me as different, as impure, used, b-broken. I-I don’t know.” Your words rushed out almost creating an incoherent sentence against his soft skin. You felt him suck in a breath before wrapping his arms around you tightly, his palms running down your back soothingly.

“I’m sorry too I wasn’t completely honest with you either. I know how you felt, it wasn’t easy for me when I first lost the person I loved and I wasn’t expecting to find you so soon that day either at the field.” He whispered, kissing your temple gently before pulling back and brushing the loose strands of hair away from your face. “I told you that I’d wait for you but I think I was telling myself that too.”

“Wait you mean...what...when?” You searched his face for any indication of incenserity but all you found was warmth, longing and love.

“Around spring of last year, we were by the cherry blossoms when it happened.” He nodded and you felt the sting of colorful swirls erupt inside of you. “They left me that day and I haven’t seen them since.” He finished cradling your face in his hands, looking into your eyes with so much intensity you were sure you would melt.

“That’s when it happened to Vernon and I.” You placed a palm against your forehead, your blowing out of their sockets because for the first time since that day everything had started to fall into place.

“He told me last night, we also share a birthday which is crazy.” He said matter of factly, causing a small laugh to escape your lips, “do you think we can maybe start over?” He pouted, brushing the stray tears that had fallen from the corner of your eyes way.

“I’d love nothing more Seokmin.” You whispered and closed the tiny gap between the two of you finally connecting your lips with his, the butterflies erupting in the pits of your stomach. Behind your closed eyelids you could see the colorful burst of emotions harbored deep inside you, turning different shades of blue, purple and pink as the kiss deepened. It was something you had never witnessed before and to say it was overwhelming would be an understatement. You felt on cloud nine and you didn’t want it to stop, but the air was running out of your lungs the quicker the kiss got and you could tell Seokmin was feeling the same way as his chest started heaving underneath your palms, so you pulled back, your pants matching up with his.

For the first time since you met him, your world around you seemed to intensify. Everything was brighter, glowing with a fierceness you had never once experienced. The two of you stayed silent staring into each other’s eyes, your heart hammering against your chest as you noticed the subtle specs of gold that were mixed deep within his dark eyes. You didn’t want to stop looking at them, not when you felt his hand cup your chin to pull you back in for another kiss.

“Do you feel it too?” You whispered, your lips hovering over his threatening to close the gap again.

“Feel what?” He teased, rubbing his nose against yours, heating up the blood in your body. And you prayed he wouldn’t see the slight sheen of sweat that had started to form against your hairline.

“Like you’re home?”

“Yes” The simple three letter word, sent you into a frenzy and you once again kissed him. This time with more fever than the last, because in Seokmin’s arms you finally felt like you could fall.

656 notes · View notes

a-froger-epic · 3 years

Text

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

#Queen band #Freddie Mercury #Roger Taylor #John Deacon #Brian May #interview #i am so excited about this #so much into #information #JB

357 notes · View notes

sasstrash · 3 years

Text

Please forgive me I've been super focused on school

The Silent Queen 6; A Royal Morning

Raven woke up the same she always did - quietly. No one ever really noticed her until she was outside her room and hallway back in the castle but at school, people smiled and waved at her the second she left her dorm with Maddie. She guessed that the news of her arrival had spread and a lot of people wanted to know the daughter of the Evil Queen. Raven grimaced at the thought, she would have preferred not to be known at all. To just be a minor character in a smaller story. With a happy ending. But that wasn’t who she was, she was Raven Queen and this was her life.

Walking down the corridors to the castleteria was mostly uneventful aside from all the other students who continued looking at her and pointing things out. It was times like these that she wished she could hear. But then again she wasn’t sure how well she’d adjust to suddenly being able to hear. The castleteria itself is big and crowded with white lighting that made everything look brighter than what Raven was used to, many eyes looked over to her and Raven felt herself subconsciously tug at a lavender streak in her hair. This was going to be a long school year.

Cerise stood up and waved over at the pair of newcomers from her table where she sat with Cedar, Hunter, and a few girls who Raven vaguely remembered from yesterday who had been with that blonde- Apple, Apple White. The next Snow White, the one Raven would eventually have to poison. Raven stopped moving for a second at the thought of her destiny. Eyes wide she almost started to shake until Maddie lightly poked her shoulder, pointing to the castleteria’s food table. Raven straightened and followed her roommate and best friend to grab breakfast.

At home, she usually just walks into the kitchen. Chef made pancakes most mornings with berries from the nearby forest and honey on top. Raven always loved those pancakes, even if she had them almost every day. Raven quickly put a few slices of bacon on her plate smiling at the staff before grabbing some fruit salad and a couple of waffles and left to follow Maddie over to Cedar’s table. Most people moved out of the way to let the two girls pass through in order to get to their table. If Raven was being honest she had expected more students to run away from her when she arrived, and yet they all seemed to be completely enamoured by her. Weird. Maybe it was because she hadn’t shown up for regular school until this year, or because no one knew what she looked like (she avoided mirror phones and rarely left the castle grounds), or maybe none of them knew much about deaf people. Or maybe all three. By the time she and Maddie sat down, Raven was already exhausted, and she hadn’t even gone to class yet!!

‘Morning Rae, how was your first night at EAH?’ Cerise signed over to her childhood friend. Raven smiled at the nickname, Cerise had given it to her when they were about six, very soon afterwards Raven and Cerise began talking more over chats with their mirror phones as Cerise started elementary school while Raven began to be castleschooled. The two would work on video chats every now and again to keep sign language in Cerise’s vocabulary, (usually with a little help from Ramona too, but it’s not like they could talk about that it was a secret!) so the two stayed connected no matter where they were.

‘It’s been good Cher,’ another nickname that had come from their younger years ‘you know after the whole Headmaster situation me and Maddie set up our dorm. It was definitely different from the castle or your place’ Raven concluded before picking up her fork. She really was hungry after skipping dinner last night. As the others smiled at her she felt a warm fuzzy feeling wash over her, these were her friends, some through childhood, some through the others and they all loved her. She was loved, at least she was now but once she became, that she wouldn’t be. Her smile began to dim just a tad as she bit into her waffle. She shook it off before looking at the three girls she didn’t know the names of. ‘Oh sorry I almost forgot, I’m Raven, and you guys are?’ she asked the brunette in pink, the platinum blonde in white and the ginger with green eyes. Each one smiled at her as brightly as her friends, if not a bit brighter, they were probably princesses, Raven thought to herself before each one signed their names.

‘Briar Beauty’ The girl in all pink signed with slightly tired eyes. Raven immediately made the connection to the Sleeping Beauty Story, it took a lot for her not to frown, that was always such a sad tale, sleeping for a hundred years would mean losing the people she loved. Even still Raven could see that something else was turning in her mind, maybe she’d get to see what that was.

The ginger signed after ‘Ashlynn Ella it’s nice to meet you!’ she had the brightest smile that Raven had seen from the trio. Cinderella’s daughter her mind added in, another story with a happy ending but a tragic beginning, she couldn’t imagine losing both of her parents. Then again it was better than being imprisoned in a mirror, or being forced to dance in hot iron shoes until death, or being crushed by a boulder after falling off of a cliff. Raven’s thoughts were broken as she saw that Ashlynn was sitting very close to Hunter, who seemed to be completely focused on her, the dork had a crush, which seemed to be mutual. If Raven could speak well she would have laughed.

‘I’m Darling Charming but you can call me Darl for short’ The Platinum Blonde signed last as she gave a simple polite smile. Like the one that Raven had been taught to use for visitors and knights when she was younger. A female born Charming? She had heard of it before but it wasn’t common, most of them became small-time princesses with small kingdoms, or took over for the Charming Kingdom when the time came. It would be interesting Raven thought to see where her destiny leads her, after all, Darling definitely had the most open book story out of all of them.

‘It’s nice to meet all of you’ Raven signed before continuing ‘So.. has anyone gotten a schedule, I still haven’t’ It hadn’t been a big surprise to her though, she supposed no one had accounted for her deafness and they might have had to remake her schedule. After she mentioned it though she saw Cedar hit her head with her hand. “Ugh, I almost forgot,” she muttered to the group before pulling out a piece of paper. ‘Here Raven, I passed the headmaster and he asked me to give this to you, don’t worry he only had to reschedule two subjects!’ she finished passing the note over. Raven sent a grateful smile to her friend thank goodness for Cedar on the top of the paper a note was written with a schedule underneath. It read:

Dear Ms. Queen; first of all, I’d like to apologize for not being aware of this sooner, in the short time we’ve been given I was able to find some students to help you translate in each class. However, just in case most classes have an extra student who understands sign language. Below is your schedule, I hope you enjoy your time here at Ever After High.

Sincerely,

Headmaster Grimm

Breakfast: 6:30-8:30

Block one: Geografairy with Professor Jack B. Nimble (assisted by Cerise Hood) 8:45-9:30

Block two: Beast Training and Care with Professor Poppa Bear (assisted by Dexter Charming) 9:35-10:20

Block three: General Villainy with Professor Badwolf (assisted by Ramona Badwolf) 10:25-11:10

Block four: Math with Dr. King Charming (assisted by Ashlynn Ella) 11:15-12:00

Lunch: 12:00-12:45

Block five: History with Professor Rumpilstilskin (assisted by Madelyn Hatter) 1:00-1:45

Block six: Spellcasting and Potions with Professor Baba Yaga (assisted by Cedar Wood) 1:50-2:35

Block seven: Grimmnastics with Coach Gingerbreadman (assisted by Darling Charming) 2:40-3:25

Block eight: Art with Professor Card (assisted by Meshell Mermaid) 3:30-4:15

Dinner may be had at any time after this, as can counselling with Baba Yaga or Mother Goose. Lights out is at 10:30

Raven smiled at the schedule she only didn’t know two of the names on here. She was nervous to start her time at EAH but as long as she had good grades and a clear head she was sure she would do fine.

Notes:

I am really sorry this took so long, I kept forgetting about it because of school and COVID. btw if anyone knows how to make a master post and pin it could you please let me know? I would like to be able to do that. I also just got an AO3 account so I might post on there.

Taglist For The Silent Queen:

@virgil-is-a-cutie @justafanwarrior @bee-a-garbage-shipper @spicybelladonna @starrry-nites @tired-butterfly @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @themagicmistic @a-star-with-a-human-name @futursworld @pepelachanel @me-with-a-z-and-double-the-e @wolf-for-life

@iz-bell-saiah @thebookwormfairy @fantasiame

#raven queen #eah #ever after high #maddie hatter #cerise hood #brair beauty #ashlynn ella #darling charming #the silent queen

74 notes · View notes

katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Note

one night stand au for the ask game! (if ur still playing lols)

Yes I most definitely am! (Sorry this took us a sec, I had to consult with my better half 💕 )

This one has been unintentionally underwraps for months, but we work on it pretty much every night. This is a HotchReid roleplay fic, set in an AU where Reid doesn't join the BAU until season 3. And ends up meeting/sleeping with Hotch literally the night before his first day. But they don't know they will be working together when they do, not until Reid is walking into Hotch's office the next morning. And as hard as they try to have that be the end of it -- Hotch is his boss after all, they just can't be doing this -- they find themselves breaking the rules they set down for themselves. Again, and again, and again.

There's so much sex in this, we've already written at least 250k words and we're still going. It's so good. But it is... a lot of sex.

The lovely @spencehotchner writes for Hotch, and I'm writing for Spencer.

With +250k in my docs I feel like I kind of have to include a snippet, so it's below the cut. It's safe for work, sorry folks, just super long. Because I ramble like a mofo so my entries are so, so long. We still need to edit/beta everything but we do plan to post it at some point. Some day. It's too good to keep to ourselves.

Aaron smiles up at him goofily as Spencer tugs him up. "Mm, I'm coming, I'm coming." He scrambles up and follows him.

He would make breakfast if he could. He would make it so good, and kiss Spencer over coffee, and get to know him all day. He’d ask all the questions he wants to ask-- what makes him tick. What puts that beautiful smile on his face. What makes his brain whir, and his heart spin, and his body go electric. He wants to know all of the things that turn Spencer on, even outside of sex. He wants to know what he wakes up for in the morning. What he tastes like after a good cup of coffee.

Fuck work.

"What time do you get off work?" he asks.

Spencer turns to him, eyes wide and... hopeful. Fuck. Aaron is watching him, with this content and appraising look, like he's thinking of things they don't have time for -- not just the sexy things, but other things. He'd said something about coffee the night before, and for the first time since Spencer got word he'd been offered the position at the BAU, he really wished he didn't have to start today. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks.

But all he wants right now is to drink coffee with Aaron in his kitchen.

"Um, well -- first day and all. New team, new boss. Usually I'm nine to five, normal hours, but I don't know how late I'll be there or... if I'll be off early," he glances at Aaron from beneath his lashes, fingers still tangled together, shower beating against the tile behind them and steaming up the room. He pulls the man with him beneath the spray, straight into a kiss that's wet and slick as the shower warms them and sluices down their skin.

He tries to pretend he isn't still shaking a little, aftershock tremors of their morning sex, and nerves about what Aaron is going to ask him. If he's going to ask him.

"Did you have something in mind?" he dares to ask, and it's quiet and barely heard over the shower, but Spencer does ask it. He's proud of himself for that. The affect Aaron is already having on him is palpable, and Spencer likes it -- likes the way Aaron makes him feel. In general, and about himself.

Aaron hums, placing a small kiss on his lips, hiding a smile. "Yeah, well. There's this thing called dinner that people often do at night. I was planning on having it. Was wondering if you'd maybe join me."

It’s not subtle, not in the slightest, but Aaron is through with subtle for the moment. He’s ready to lay it out on the line, here. I want you, I know you want me.

Spencer's heart is about to beat out of his throat, and he smiles so wide he's all teeth and upturned lips and a deluge of pecks to Aaron's own smile that he tries to hide from him. They're basically the same height, the man can't hide a thing from Spencer when they are pressed this close.

"I'd love to," he beams, kissing him again a little deeper, a little more playful, and he's going to make them both late at this rate. But God, does Spencer love kissing Aaron. "I'd love nothing more."

Aaron smiles, pinching his side playfully. "Yeah? Well, I guess that means I'll have to get your number."

Aaron can imagine it now-- being on a case, seeing Spencer’s number on the device in his hand as he texts him good night. Them talking throughout the day today, in the future, little check ins on each other, because Aaron is sure he’s not going to be able to get this boy off his mind. It’ll be a struggle to do anything but text him all day.

He runs a hand through Spencer’s wet curls, playing with the ends of the strands, trying to memorize the way the shower’s steam paints a blush on Spencer’s cheekbones. Watercolor. Aaron could see him as a work of art.

God, he had to be crazy. But going home at night with a random stranger was crazy for him. Standing in his shower the next morning was crazy for him. Asking for his number was crazy for him.

Crazy felt good.

"Play your cards right, you might even get my last name," Spencer says cheekily, giggling and dodging out of the way as Aaron tries to pinch his side again.

But he's... so happy, so delirious with it, that nothing could ruin his day now. Because he was going to have dinner with Aaron after his first day at work for the BAU, which he'd been dreaming about since Jason Gideon used it a lure to recruit him into the FBI just after his second Ph.D.

For the first time, in a long time, his life felt pretty perfect.

Aaron grins and steals another long, slow kiss from him, feeling light and airy and good.

Fucking hell, does he feel good.

They get out of the shower and Aaron dresses as quickly as he can, because he really does need to go. As soon as he's dressed, though, he's pulling a half dressed Spencer into his arms to kiss him again.

Spencer manages to get into briefs and slacks and is trying to color coordinate some kind of dress shirt and sweater combination with a tie (literally everything is clean, this shouldn't be this hard) when Aaron is there pulling him into a searing kiss. Still damp from the shower, dressed in his clothes from last night, smiling against his mouth and Spencer can't help how he huffs out a laugh and kisses back with just as much enthusiasm.

He really didn't want the man to go. But it was quickly approaching 7:00a.m. and D.C. traffic had to be hell, even with a cab. Spencer had always taken the train when he was at MIT, the East coast had a well established system. So he'd decided the week prior he would just do the same here and save himself the daily morning anxiety attack of trying to make it to work on time on his own. That's what public transportation was for. Regulated, mass transit. Set arrival and departure times. A soothing balm if there ever was one.

"Give me your phone," he says with a smile, still so close he basically speaks against Aaron's mouth. He takes the offered iPhone and puts his number in under his name, just his first name. Ready to make the man earn the rest of his personal information.

Maybe, if dinner went well, they'd have... all night to get to know each other. Was it too much to hope Aaron would stay the night again? Probably, but Spencer was in a dreaming mood. Reach for the stars, might as well. With everything going so well, it was only a matter of time before something happened to interfere.

God, he hoped they didn't catch a case on his first day.

Aaron smiles down at the name on his screen. Spencer. He pulls him into one more final kiss, his head spinning pleasantly. There will be more where that came from, he reminds himself. Prays hard in that moment to whoever is listening that he’ll be able to make it to...

"Tonight," he promises. "I'll see you then."

The BAU Section Chief, SES Erin Strauss, is the one to greet Spencer when he arrives at the FBI building in Quantico. She's a stern woman, but friendly enough for someone in such a position of authority, and she seems very pleased that Spencer is there to join the team. Calls him 'Dr. Reid' often enough he knows either Gideon or his former team leader had mentioned it was something he was particular about -- or she was more concerned about his appeal politically than what he can do for the team.

He didn't let it sour his mood, though, because the morning had just been... too good to be ruined by something as trivial as that. Spencer had gotten the job, he was there in the building, had just received his badge and his gun and his ID card for the key-padded doors and a whole slew of other orientation day milestones.

And now he was on the seventh floor, about to walk into the Behavior Analysis Unit, where he can see people milling about busy as worker bees and his chest swells with nervousness and excitement and too many emotions to name.

If not for Aaron, and their amazing night and morning together, Spencer would be all nerves and worry -- but the morning sex alone was enough to knock a lot of that tension out of his spine and shoulders. He was ready for today, more ready than he'd ever thought he'd be.

Chief Strauss leads him into the 'bullpen', as she calls it, a lower level agent holding the door open for both of them, and then she's leading him to a cluster of desks that must be part of the new team he's joining.

"Good morning," she says, startling a trio that was talking animatedly over coffee -- and then all eyes are on Spencer. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm sure you were expecting him. Is Agent Hotchner in, yet?"

The three standing there very obviously fight rolling their eyes, and Spencer gets the feeling it's not about him or his title as 'Dr. Reid' -- or he hopes not anyway. His hopes are confirmed when a pretty, petite blonde smiles sweetly and sincerely at him and introduces herself as "Jennifer Jareau, but call me JJ", the communication liaison for the unit. A position Spencer wasn't aware existed, but he could definitely see the merits of it. Then, she addressed Chief Strauss.

"Hotch is always here by 8:00 a.m." she says, in a way that was somehow not condescending, but probably should have been. "He'll be up in his office waiting for you, ma'am."

"Thank you. Agent Morgan. Agent Prentiss." She nods to the others, and Spencer merely waves and grimaces a smile, wanting to actually introduce himself and hoping the others understand at least a little bit. He isn't sure he can actually say no to the woman who was his boss's boss.

"Erin, are you going to let him meet anyone?" says a voice from above them, just a half a level above the bullpen where offices line the walls -- and it's fucking David Rossi. Standing there, in the flesh, and Spencer is actually a little starstruck. Since when had David Rossi come out of retirement? He knows he's gaping a little bit, mouth parted on a million and one questions to ask the man, but at Chief Strauss's huff of indignation, he lets his jaw snap shut.

Later. He can ask later.

"Is Agent Hotcher ready for Dr. Reid? I'm sure you all have a case to go over," she says in a drone, and Spencer's stomach drops at that. Fuck, he hopes they don't have a case. He... has a date. That would probably be a bad excuse.

"I don't know," David Rossi says in a teasing lilt, then merely turns to the side and speaks into an open office door. "Hotch, you ready for Dr. Reid."

Spencer is blushing down to his roots, and Rossi merely winks at him to show he's joking. Apparently, Chief Strauss was being over the top and not just like this all the time. That kind of makes the situation worse, in his opinion.

Strauss doesn't wait for an answer, and starts up the stairs with Spencer following and trying to get used to the team dynamic. David Rossi actually pats him on the shoulder as he tries to slip by. "Don't worry, he's all bark and only a little bite. And I'm pretty sure he still hasn't read your file yet."

Well, that's not exactly promising.

Aaron still manages to show up about 15 minutes earlier than he had planned on. He had an extra suit at the locker in the office, and just went straight there to get dressed.

Which, of course, meant he had to run into David.

"So," David says, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Someone didn't need a ride home last night."

Aaron keeps his face stoic as he adjusts his tie, sitting down at his desk. "Do you need something, Dave?"

"Who was she?" David just barrels on, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't under the impression that you were on the prowl last night, but I was apparently wrong."

Aaron stares him down.

"That good, huh?" Dave just grins, and grins and grins, and Aaron doesn't let the fact that he's had the most amazing morning in years show through on his face. Nothing can take away the fact that, on his phone, there's a number with the name Spencer beside it.

"I'm an adult," Aaron says, simple as that. "Now, can you leave? I still have to go over the--"

"Oh, he's here!" Dave says, looking out the door. Aaron's blinds are closed, and he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, he's young. Erin are you going to let him meet anyone?" David says as he steps out of the door.

Aaron laughs to himself, straightens his tie again, prepares himself to meet the newest team member. He hopes whoever this is will be good for him-- good for the team. He's nervous. He loves his team, thinks they have a great dynamic. Change is... different. After Elle had left, things had been rocky. No one could replace her, but this new kid was supposed to be something special.

Aaron would just have to see about that.

"Come in," he says, busying himself with some files to look like he isn't anticipating the worst, when a knock rasps at his door.

Chief Strauss knocks at the Unit Chief's door, the team leader that Spencer would be directly under for the foreseeable future, and just walks on in -- in fact, the knock seems a little last second. Like she doesn't usually announce herself when she comes in, and is on her best behavior in front of Spencer.

He's not sure why, it's not like he wouldn't find out how everything works around here eventually. He isn't going anywhere.

"Aar- ahem, Agent Hotchner," again, with the hesitation, acting formal. Spencer looks around the dark wooded office lined with books on Law and sadism and serial killers alike, until he turns to the desk against the wall. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, your newest team member."

Sitting there is a man in a dark suit, broad shouldered, black hair, bent over some files spread on his desk and seemingly very intent on his work. Finishing whatever he was making note of before looking up at them.

Dark eyes. Darker lashes. Tunnel vision stare that pierces through Spencer, and all the breath escapes his lungs.

No.

Strauss turns back to him with a tight, friendly smile; unaware of the bomb that has just gone off inside Spencer's head.

"Dr. Reid, meet your new Unit Chief: Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner."

#god please let this formatting work #everyone form a prayer circle that this super duper long snippet isn't all out of order #did i need to post a 2k snippet?#no i did not #but i wanted to because i love this rp so damn much #this is unedited and subject to change but i honestly feel like it's perfect #asks #ask game #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

63 notes · View notes

ladykissingfish · 3 years

Text

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Six // Hidan

Hidan

“Ah; you fucking lucky bastards! I should charge you all for this; to kiss an elite follower of the mighty Jashin is a privilege you assholes don’t deserve. Except you, Konan. In fact if you want to move the mistletoe to my bedroom then — ow! OW!! Kakuzu let go!! I was only kidding; can none of you take a fucking joke?!”

Konan

She sighs before she goes to him. He’s made a big deal all day about kissing her in particular, although she doesn’t get why. She feels nothing other than friendship for him, and, despite his ramblings, she doesn’t think he feels anything stronger either. Nevertheless, it’s her turn. She steps up to him and he reaches out and takes her small hands, giving them a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You ready for this, gorgeous?” But something about that, about the word “gorgeous”, sets off the normally calm Konan. She yanks her hands out of his and plants them on her hips. “Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy — that’s literally all you ever say to me. I’m more than a pair of tits; I have a fucking brain in this head!” Hidan blinks, startled. “That’s - the first time I ever heard ya curse, Konan.” He grabs her hands again. He speaks in a soft voice and apologizes, and tells her that he has nothing but respect for her. “I only wanna kiss you so bad ‘cuz you’re beautiful INSIDE and out, and you bring lots of light to my shitty darkness.” She blushes and thanks him, and he takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss her lips. Just a soft touch, but both of them are smiling afterwards.

Deidara

Both of them are hesitant to do this, to say the least. Hidan won’t ever admit this, but he’s held a small physical attraction to Deidara since the day they met. Very small, and *purely* physical, but still. He doesn’t like thinking about it, because to do so would be him admitting to himself that his own sexuality isn’t as black and white as he’d thought it to be. He tells himself that if he likes Deidara at all, it’s simply because the guy looks ridiculously similar to a woman. Deidara doesn’t wish to kiss Hidan because, although HE will never admit to it, Hidan scares him. The man’s proven immortality throws a wrench into Deidara’s long-held ideals of what life (and art) are ultimately about: beauty made greater by virtue of being fleeting. But Hidan being able to live forever — could it be that Deidara’s partner Sasori has been right this whole time? That art really is eternal? Still, everyone is watching, so the two shake off their feelings, and Deidara approaches him. “Keep your tongue in your mouth, okay?” “Same goes for you, blondie.” Hidan gives himself very quick peck to the lips, but both men are blushing quite hard regardless. And even as brief as that was — Hidan makes note to ask Deidara what kind of shampoo he used later, because he smelled absolutely incredible.

Kisame

After the last kiss between them, when it was Kisame’s turn, Hidan is hesitant to get close to this guy again. But Kisame is grinning, and appears to be in a good mood. “Ah, come now, Hidan; surely we can let bygones be bygones?” Hidan starts to curse at him, but catches himself just in time: after all, his mouth was what got him into trouble last time. So he merely nods and stands still, while Kisame approaches him. “Are you afraid, Hidan?” “Ah? Why would I be —“ “I can smell the fear coming from you.” Hidan folds his arms in front of his chest and demands to know who wouldn’t be afraid at the thought of possible dismemberment. Kisame just laughs and promises he’ll behave himself. He leans in, locks eyes with Hidan, and flashes his teeth — before giving Hidan a closed-mouth kiss on the forehead. Hidan let’s out a shaky sigh of relief, and Kisame walks away, laughing.

Itachi

Like Deidara, Hidan has a bit of a grudge against the raven-haired Uchiha. He’s fallen victim before to the power of Itachi’s sharingan, and the calm, quiet way that Itachi reacts to Hidan’s jabs and wheedles always serve to irritate. But even so — Hidan has to admit that the guy isn’t all THAT bad (certainly not the hell-spawn that Deidara makes him out to be, anyway). There was a time once when Hidan caught a cold, and Itachi braved going into his room to bring him a cup of sinus-clearing tea. Itachi steps up to him and nods, and Hidan leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. An oddly sweet gesture, and one that Itachi seems to like, as he actually smiles before he leaves. Hidan watches him go, thinking (and not for the first time) that having a talent like the sharingan is completely wasted in someone who isn’t immortal. Maybe he should talk to him later about joining the Jashinist movement ...

Pein (Nagato)

If the Akatsuki is a family, and everybody (save Konan) are Pein’s children, then Hidan is undoubtedly the problem child of the group. The loudest, the most foul-mouthed, definitely the most violent ... but still. When Hidan could find an ounce of maturity, and focus, he was one of the best members of the team. And Nagato finds his regenerative abilities to be amazing, and, if there was ever the time and opportunity for it, would love to study Hidan in-depth. Pein approaches him and Hidan bows his head, an act of respect he gives to the Leader ... and ONLY the Leader. Pein delivers a light kiss to the forehead and walks away. He can hear Hidan mumbling behind him about “those damn piercings could kill somebody” but chooses to ignore it.

Zetsu

Oh, God. Hidan smells like human blood most of the time (thanks to his many gory sacrifices), and Zetsu is attracted to this scent like a bee is to a flower. He’d hang around this guy all day if he could, if not for the smell then to act as clean-up for the bits and pieces of his victims that he leaves behind. But Hidan doesn’t quite care for the plant man, to say the least. He didn’t sign up for the Akatsuki to be made to work alongside non-human freaks of nature. When Zetsu walks up to Hidan, the gray-haired jashin lover is nervous, to say the least. Zetsu puts his hand on Hidan’s face, leans in, and kisses his nose. It should only take a second, but Zetsu lingers over the spot for an abnormal amount of time ... and Hidan realizes it’s because he’s sniffing him, like an animal. “Okay, freak; get the hell away from me!” But Zetsu doesn’t move, in fact tightening his grip on Hidan’s face. Hidan is surprised; Zetsu is quite a bit stronger than he’d realized. His surprise turns to fear when the expression in Zetsu’s eyes shifts, and Hidan hears a very noticeable stomach-growl come from him. Hidan is seconds away from fight or flight (he hasn’t quite decided yet) when Tobi comes into the room, seemingly breaking the trance Zetsu had been in. Hidan breathes out a sigh of relief as zetsu keaves, giving silent thanks to the moron in the mask.

Tobi

After “scaring” Zetsu away, Tobi gleefully announces that its his turn with Hidan. “Ohh boy, Hidan-san! You and Tobi are gonna have fun!” Hidan is actually quite eager for this; not so much for the kiss itself, but for his chance to see this freak up close and unmasked. Tobi looks behind him; nobody else is around. He turns back to Hidan and slides his mash halfway off his face, revealing his pale skin, dark, long-lashed eyes, and full lips, pursed into a grin. Getting closer, Hidan can detect faded, jagged lines extending from the right side of his forehead to the bottom of his mouth. Still, even with them — “Fucking hot”, Hidan mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Tobi grins and cups Hidan’s face, staring into his eyes. “So are you,” he murmurs, and is it Hidan’s imagination or is his voice ... different, somehow? Well, no time to think about it; suddenly Tobi’s (unbelievably soft) lips are on his own, and for the first time since this encounter started, Hidan feels a feather-touch of unease. The way Tobi’s kissing him ... this isn’t how an idiot kisses. What in the name of Jashin — and then just as quickly as it began, it ends. Tobi slides his mask back into place, and skips off to the kitchen. Hidan has to take a few moments to collect himself, and in the way-back of his mind is a small voice urging him to warn Deidara to watch himself around Tobi. About what? Hidan doesn’t know the specifics. All he knows is those two are alone a LOT for missions, and if Tobi really is more than he seems, then — But then again, why should he care what happens with the blonde jerk, anyway?

Sasori

Another person that annoys Hidan. He was in the Akatsuki for almost an entire year before he’d realized that the ugly body that he was in, wasn’t even his own. His surprise when he witnessed a hatch open and a childlike-looking redhead step out was unprecedented. Learning that he was in his 30’s meant that Hidan should have shown him the proper respect, but Hidan just couldn’t take orders from somebody with the face of a young boy. Sasori seems to know this, and therefore avoids interactions with him as much as possible. Now, however, contact is unavoidable. “Can you even reach my face, shorty?” Sasori tilts his head and seems to really be considering Hidan’s question. Suddenly, without warning, Sasori’s wooden arm detaches itself from Sasori’s body, and hits Hidan full-force in the center of his stomach. Hidan curses and doubles over, and while he’s bent Sasori takes the opportunity to go to Hidan and kiss his forehead. “I can reach you just fine, brat,” he murmurs, before leaving. Hidan has a quick recovery time to all forms of pain, and he’s quickly back on his feet, staring after Sasori with anger — and a tiny bit of admiration.

Kakuzu

“Hey old fucker; you’ve been waiting all day to get a taste of this, eh?” Kakuzu just rolls his eyes at Hidan’s comment. He’s not sure what he did, either in this life or another one, to be partnered with a creature as odious as Hidan. Normally with people that Kakuzu finds no value in, he kills, plain and simple. But Hidan is neither plain nor simple; no matter what Kakuzu hits him with, he keeps getting back up, just as loud and irritating as ever. But ... even someone as gruff as Kakuzu has to admit that Hidan isn’t all that bad. It’s actually a bit lovely, to have found another person (besides Sasori, who has made it clear that when everyone else expires, his complete solitude is something he’s looking forward to) to be with to share the blessing (and curse) of immortality. He walks up to Hidan and grabs him by the forearms, forcing him into stillness. “What the hell, old man?! Let go of me before —“ but Kakuzu interrupts him by inclining his neck and kissing his lips. Hidan’s mouth is soft, and he has a taste to him, something akin to cinnamon or pumpkin. Kakuzu let’s go of him and starts to walk away, when suddenly Hidan reaches out grabs him, pulling him into another kiss. Kakuzu is surprised, but he makes no attempt to break Hidan’s hold on him because ... this is nice. This feels good, this feels natural. Almost like — and then a sudden explosion makes them both jump; Tobi comes running past them, with Deidara (and his bombs) on his heels. “Get back here you little shit!!” Kakuzu sighs, and this time when he turns to go, Hidan doesn’t stop him. But Kakuzu can feels Hidan’s eyes on him, following him all the way to his room.

#the akatsuki #under the mistletoe #kissing #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #tobi #zetsu #pein #nagato #konan #kisame #itachi uchiha

34 notes · View notes

darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

The Light in You Is Shining in My Eyes

Summary: Robin is annoyed with the conditions of the nature hike she’s on when she falls through a hole in the ground to discover the domain of a nymph. The short encounter changes her life when she’s touched by Alice’s spirit and kindness.

Special credit to the guest stars of this fanfic - mosquitoes. They are playing a very important role in the lives of our leading ladies. XD

For @intothewickedwood. I wish you all the best and many, many smiles!

The leaves rustling in the wind were drowned out by the laughter of large friend groups taking selfies and screaming children on family hikes but the cloud of mosquitoes surrounding Robin buzzed in her ears over all of that. Waving her hands to chase them away was like sticking them in the beast's mouth. Mosquito bites covered her like a map of her blood flow and the thin flannel shirt over her tank top only stuck to her skin with sweat to irritate her rather than protect her.

There was an unusual presence of mosquitoes at the spot where she was growing roots as if to taunt her. Killian had left her there to the annoying and hungry insects to follow up the fox tracks he'd spotted. Walking away was an option but the worst one. Having a phone on him didn't do much when Killian was a technological disaster so she had to wait around if she didn't want to lose him. Her mom would kill them both over the phone at the smallest mishap. Even the little pricks preying on her blood were preferable to never being let out of her room again, let alone Storybrooke.

A mosquito landed on her arm where she'd pushed the shirt off her shoulder. Robin got it before it could bite her smearing it over her skin. Her face twisted in disgust as her fingers brushed it away and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as if that could help her escape.

She froze at a loud crack under her feet but to no avail. She plunged through the crumbling ground.

Great! Down the rabbit hole was the last thing she needed. Underground roots tugged at her hair and whipped at her hands when she raised them. There was no avoiding the hard soil under her weight or the sharp-edged stones poking her but she could protect her face and her glasses. Her heart pounded in her ears over her own screaming.

Her feet hit the ground to send the impact rattling up her bones. She was thrown forward, down into a pile of damp leaves. The smell of decay hit her from the heap of brown, yellow and red to give her a boost.

She pushed herself up on all fours. She was a breath away from a thick trunk in front of her. A few more inches and she would've face-planted into a tree. A very peculiar tree.

A woman's face was carved into it, though it could hardly be the work of a human hand or mind. Every line and curve was one with the tree bark as if shaped into it from the inside of the trunk rather than hacked into it with a blade. The woman's features were detailed despite the gentility with which they were imprinted in the tree and made her look ethereal. Like a work of art brought to life.

Robin squinted at the faint light trying to make out more before she lifted her head to look for the source. She'd fallen underground but all that was above her head was a thick net of intertwined tree branches that formed the ceiling of a tunnel. The light was coming from somewhere above, golden-white like a whisper of sun rays. It was far from bright or sufficient.

Robin pushed herself up to her knees to fish her phone out of her jeans' pocket. In the light of the screen a scratch on her hand caught her eye. She hadn't felt it through the rush of adrenaline but it wasn't the only one. She was covered in shallow slashes on her exposed skin and where her jeans and shirt had ripped. One of her bracelets had torn off as well from the fall but she ignored them. She could only have them tended to once she was back on the surface.

Focusing on her phone left her rolling her eyes at the different notifications from social media waiting for her before she'd even unlocked it. She'd told her so-called friends she was taking a hiatus on all her platforms while traveling to distance herself from the routine of Storybrooke. Yet her phone was still a receptacle for gossip that bored her to death and performative acts of friendship.

She swiped aside the notifications to get to the flashlight. It shined light into the endless darkness of the tunnel and Robin raised it towards the face in the tree.

"Hey! Stop that!" a loud voice sent her hurtling back, phone dropping in the pile of dead leaves while her heart pounded all around her in the black absence of her flashlight.

"What the bloody hell?" Robin groaned as a sturdy root poking from the ground stabbed her in the small of her back.

The tree bark stretched in front of her to shape the rest of the woman and fell back into a normal trunk when she phased out of it. "Oh, no, none of that in my park."

Robin shuffled backwards, mouth gaping open. "Wh-what are you?" her fingers dug in the ground, the pain rushing through them doing nothing to snap her out of... whatever this was. If she had to guess, she'd hit her head in the tree and had dreamed up everything after that. Either that or she'd breathed in something highly questionable rummaging around Killian's boat.

"What? What? What a rude question! I am not a what," the woman spoke fast, her diction and tone the embodiment of time if Robin had ever imagined what it would sound like. "My name is Alice and I'm a tree nymph and guardian of this park."

Robin had read about nymphs in a book her mom had borrowed from her sister. All she could recall was that they were nature spirits that lived in trees. That was true enough but she had no idea whether she should work on returning her heart back in her chest from her throat or yelling for help with all the might of her lungs.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. She swallowed quickly under Alice's calm gaze. "You just startled me." She wasn't menacing but that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

"Well, you were shining that flashlight in my eyes."

Right. Her phone. She'd have to grope around for it since the leaves had swallowed its light. Or she'd broken it.

"You're familiar with phones?" Robin's eyebrows rose high on her forehead.

"Thousands of people come here every day and they all bring phones with them. It would be impossible to miss it. I'd have to turn away from the park. Were you looking at your phone when you missed the hole in the ground?"

"No." Robin patted her hands down on her jeans. She'd already destroyed those. She could leave all the dust on them to keep it away from her glasses and hair. "I was trying to get rid of a mosquito."

"You failed in that," Alice was staring at her like she could see not just the outside of her in the dark but also the inside. "There's still some of it left on your arm."

Robin's face contorted again at the proof of Alice's words as she swiped her fingers over her arm. "How did you-"

"I told you. I'm the guardian of this park. I'm connected to all life here. I felt that mosquito die as you squashed it," her voice quieted and a gleam of light reflected in the wetness in her eyes. It was deafening in the aura of strength she exuded. As if all life stopped to pay its respects to a little insect.

"I'm sorry," Robin fiddled with the loose ends of her shirt. She hadn't meant to do that. She hadn't meant to disturb her.

"Don't apologize to me. It's the mosquito you wronged but apologies won't bring back its life."

Robin frowned. "It was going to bite me."

"That's what mosquitoes do. Would you kill a person for eating food or drinking water?"

"But it's... different," Robin faltered under the power of Alice's resolve. She'd never raised her voice. It just echoed around them like it reached every inch of the park, like it was a part of it. "Mosquitoes aren't-"

"They aren't important? And what is important? Not the mosquitoes, not the bees, not the sea turtles, not the melting ice caps, not the rain forests, not the ozone layer, not Earth, not anything," her voice sped up with the anxious energy seeping into it. She wasn't angry. She was distressed.

Robin's mouth hung open as her eyes filled with tears at her loss for words. Someone who was one with nature was so shaken from the things that Robin closed her eyes to when she didn't have the power to change them singlehandedly. And Alice for all her understanding and care for life couldn't change them either.

"Robin," Killian's voice dropped from the hole like a lifeline to grab on to before she or Alice could break down. "Are you down there, lass?"

Robin looked up the hole she'd fallen through. There was nothing but darkness as all the twists and turns got in the way of the light coming in. "Yeah, I'm here, Killian," Robin yelled back, chest moving easier with the relief that he'd found her.

"I'll get you out of there. Do you think you'll be able to get out if I let down a rope for you?"

"Yes, that should work." There was no other plausible option even if neither of them knew how deep she'd fallen. Killian had tons of rope on his boat. The question was how quickly he'd be able to carry them over. It wasn't a short distance to the docks on the route they'd taken.

Robin turned back to Alice to find a question clearly etched on her face. "He's a close friend of my mom and aunt's. He instantly agreed to take me on his trip when I asked to join him." It was a miracle she'd convinced her mom to let her go.

Alice nodded. "Sounds good. But you won't be able to climb up like that. Your ankle's sprained. Can't you feel it?"

Robin stared at Alice's face. Her constant concern with all life around her should have carved deep lines in her skin but it only lit her eyes up like stars in the dark tunnel. Maybe she was the source of the dim light, though if it were her, there would have been a shine brighter than the sun above.

Robin tried her ankle at the reminder of the climb awaiting her. "Ow!" she whimpered at the charge of pain shooting through her. "You're right. I won't be climbing up that hole."

"Hold still," Alice knelt down next to her slowly as if to keep from scaring her.

In the proximity Robin's eyes caught on the material of Alice's dress. She'd assumed it was somehow her hair twisted and braided around her body due to the similar color but it was strands of dry grass instead. A summer coming to an end.

"I'll heal it," Alice startled her back to reality.

Robin opened her mouth to ask how but Alice was already rolling her jeans up. She locked her hands around the exposed skin to pour energy into it. A ring of waves closed around Robin's ankle, each washing away the pain and swelling little by little.

"How do you do that?" Robin gasped, her chest barely moving in the delicate balance of the magical process even if there was nothing fragile in Alice's concentration.

"Nymph magic."

"Whoa!"

"You don't believe me?" Alice looked up at her, eyes so blue she could have captured the whole ocean in them.

"I do. That's the thing." Robin could feel the magic working its... well, magic. And even if she couldn't, she'd believe whatever Alice told her. She was genuine in a striking way that didn't cancel out her gentleness. There wasn't the rawness of cynicism and jadedness Robin had seen in her mom and aunt and anyone else who used the truth to slap you in the face with it. Alice was just honest because it was her nature just as empathy and tenderness were. All that was left a mystery was what she wanted with Robin. For someone so genuine she sure wasn't easy to read.

"Why are you helping me?"

"I've always liked robins." Alice smiled, more to herself than to Robin. "Though, you're the most prickly one I've met."

"I'm not... I'm not prickly." At least she wasn't trying to be. "And I'm not a robin." All she could make fly were arrows.

"Humans are a part of nature, too. And all nature is beautiful and needs preservation." Alice looked up at the tree branches–or were they roots?–or what lay above them. "It pains me to see the direction in which the human race is driving the entire planet. It didn't use to be like that. People were one with nature. Now they're trying to escape from it and sacrifice it in the name of progress. When nature is progress, it is growth, it is life."

"How would you solve the problem then?" Robin had always been put off by the radical notions of exterminating humankind to let Earth heal. And leaving behind her environment hadn't worked for her on a personal level either.

"By being kinder and valuing the life of every person, every animal and every plant. By respecting nature and working with it, not against it. By giving it in return as much as you take from it. It is a powerful force but it is not unlimited, you know?" Alice's hands retreated from Robin's ankle and she buried them in the leaves around them. The perfect proof of her words. Her domain along with all nature above ground and even her outfit were cycling through different seasons to replenish their energy. "It needs tending to and someone to take care of it once in a while just as it takes care of everything and everyone."

Alice pulled her hand out of the fallen leaves with Robin's phone clasped in it. The flashlight was still on and blinded Robin as Alice handed it to her. She understood Alice's frustration from before.

"How old are you?" she asked, fingers curling around her phone desperately It was only Alice's face in front of her that kept her eyes away from the screen in pursuit of some clue to the answer.

"You really are a rude one, aren't you?" Alice teased, a grin from one ear to the other on her face. She probably didn't get a lot of company.

"Wow, that old, huh?" Robin chuckled. "Well, you do look spectacular for your age." She was a vision. Robin was lucky she hadn't hit her head and missed all of this. A dark and humid underground tunnel that was the home of the kindest soul she'd ever met.

"The light comes from the trees above," Alice explained when she noticed her staring at them. So those were roots then on the ceiling of the tunnel. "They spare some of theirs for me and my tree. Just enough to let me live," Alice smiled brightly even as she was starting to fade. Her energy came from the light and there wasn't that much of it as the sun must have started to set.

"Robin," Killian's voice reached her again. "I got the rope. Here you go."

Dirt fell from the hole as the rope skidded down before it unrolled in Robin's feet. There was even some length to spare as Robin scurried to turn off her flashlight and shove her phone back in her pocket to grab the rope.

"Thank you," she looked to Alice. "Looks like I have to go. At least if we want you to stay hidden." That had to be the reason why her tree was in the tunnel of roots with barely any light reaching it.

"Goodbye," Alice clasped her hands in front of her before raising one to wave stiffly.

Robin would abandon the rope and run into her arms to remain tangled in the tree roots if it wouldn't alert the world above to Alice's existence. She nodded and climbed into the hole.

"Take care, little robin. You can do more than you know," Alice's voice had the rope slipping in her sweaty palms.

Robin craned her neck back for a last peek but Alice was gone, retired to her tree. Her face was the only thing showing in the bark, her eyes staring upwards into the mellow glow of light coming from the roots of her park.

Robin pulled herself up, arms wailing as she climbed. She had to press her back to one end of the hole and her feet into the other to push herself up. She was an archer, not a body builder. Her back would be bruised from all the roots and stones poking it on her way up and she chaffed her palms on the rope.

She must have fallen into the very core of the Earth with how long it took her to make her way out The hole was cramped and claustrophobic and the only thing that kept her going was the certainty in the pit of her stomach that there would be no Alice to heal her if she plummeted back down. Nearly losing her glasses as she glanced down convinced her to train her gaze on the passage above her and light finally hit her eyes.

Killian grabbed her hand and then her arms to pull her out. All her muscles burned as she sprawled on the ground.

"Are you okay?" His concerned face blocked out the trees above her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Robin heaved out while her senses adapted to the brightness and loud noises along with all the different smells.

A mosquito landed on the back of her hand. She winced at its bite but left it to its devices. It was only doing what was natural for mosquitoes.

"Here, you dropped your bracelet," Killian handed her the offensive thing in blue and white. It was from a girl she'd never liked and belonged in the trash. She'd worn it to keep up appearances because it'd mattered to her whether the people that were hardly her friends liked her or not. It'd mattered until she'd fallen down the rabbit hole.

Looking at her hand, the mosquito was gone to differ from the bracelets. They were the real parasites. Out of the twelve she still had on only one or two called smiles to her face. The rest were coming right off.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Killian asked as he watched her tug on them like she'd lost her mind.

"I'm fine," she repeated. Better than ever. The mist in her head was clearing to leave her with ideas. All the followers she had on her social platforms keeping up with her archery achievements would be the perfect audience for a new ecological lifestyle she wanted to start. That would be the meaningful thing she'd been looking for all along to expand her consciousness and her world. And she had only Alice to thank for opening her eyes. Thank goodness for phones and flashlights you could shine in a tree nymph's eyes.

#once upon a time #ouat #robin mills #alice jones #curious archer #killian jones #wish hook #(he's kind of an amalgamation of the two)#fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #happy birthday becky!

18 notes · View notes

platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Hook Possum 4/4

Art by @monsdasarah for Harringrove Big Bang!

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

The last night, Robin told one of the weirder bits of Hook Possum lore, staring dead at Steve the whole time.

“Once, long, long time ago,” she began, in a sibilant stage whisper, her flashlight under her chin. “Back when all these trees were still pinecones, a stranger came to the little town you passed driving in, on the highway.” The littlest kids shivered and nodded, scooting closer to the fire. “There wasn’t much going on there then,” Robin went on, grinning evilly, “—and a stranger was exciting. He went to all the dances, and he was handsome, and what do you think happened?” she offered the flashlight to an older girl, who was biting her lips together in glee.

“One of the girls fell in love with him,” she suggested, and Robin smiled.

“Have you never wondered who Hook Possum searches for, with a lantern, in the dead of night,” Robin said, and Steve rubbed his face, feeling it heat.

“...what,” Hook Possum asked, edging closer, and Steve sighed, shaking his head. It’d become habit now to slide his fingers in Hook Possum’s costume at the wrist, between his wrist, the cuff, and the friendship bracelet, and Steve leaned closer. Hook Possum’s hand twitched, but then he relaxed, ducking his head. Steve hoped he was smiling.

“Hook Possum searches for a murderer,” Robin said. “The dancing stranger. Because the night they were to be married, he left Hook Possum buried in a shallow grave.”

“Wait, Hook Possum’s a girl?!” yelled a kid, huge-eyed, and Hook Possum looked around. Steve thought Hook Possum being a possum was more to the point, but nobody else seemed to see a problem.

“It’s just a costume,” said another one. “Hook Possum might be a girl really.”

“That’s right, mom possums carry their young around,” said another one, and a couple kids grabbed Hook Possum’s legs and arm, listening intently.

“Hook Possum came to meet her love, under the yellow poplar in the center of camp,” Robin whispered. “And he buried her there.”

Everybody gasped, and Hook Possum’s mask twitched as he glanced at Steve.

“She’d made a lovely flower crown, and she never got to wear it at her wedding,” Robin said, and Steve’s cheeks heated further. He decided to shift the planks holding her mattress up that night, so she’d fall through in the dead of night. “And that,” Robin intoned, holding the flashlight under her chin, and letting her voice waver creepily, “—is the real reason Hook Possum wanders this earth, alone, with her lantern. She wants to wear her flower crown. She’s looking for her love.”

The kids were all staring at Hook Possum, but as a creepy mass, their eyes followed his arm down to where Steve had his fingers tucked in the cuff and friendship bracelet, and then up again to Steve’s face. “Oh noooo,” he breathed.

“I can make flower crowns,” said Blair Witch Mirror Kid.

“We can have a wedding,” said Sun Safety Girl.

“Tomorrow,” Robin said, her mouth quirked evilly. “We’ll need to get ready.”

“I was at a wedding,” Pink Overalls said. “You throw flowers at people.”

“Before the buses show up,” Robin announced. “We’ll hold a wedding for Hook Possum.”

Steve had wondered before then whether the kids had noticed...whatever it was, between him and Hook Possum. Hook Possum sat next to him at the fire, his mask on Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s fingers tucked against his wrist, feeling his heartbeat. Sometimes the kids looked at them for a while, but they never said anything shitty, and Steve wondered if he’d been obvious the whole time, and Robin, Dustin, Max, and El had been running interference.

“We’ll need vows,” said Bell Witch Mirror Game Kid, who needed a shorter nickname, but Steve shrugged, because it was the second-to-last day of camp.

Hook Possum’s mask kept jerking towards Steve, then away, but he didn’t pull his arm away from Steve’s.

The next morning, Hook Possum got drug away from the cabin first thing, while Steve still had his arms wrapped around the post of the bed, snoring with his head under the pillow. When they let Steve come and look, the kids had drug all the chairs so there was an aisle under the trees, and set up an overturned trash can as the altar.

“Because he’s a possum,” said Dustin, grinning.

“Ha, ha,” Steve said dryly. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he tried to keep a straight face as little kids showed him the flowers they’d picked, and told him they’d used all his possum facts in the vows. “...wow,” Steve said, thinking about ticks and carrion.

“We’re gonna play kazoos,” said Dustin, and Steve turned to see El earnestly putting a kazoo between her lips, accompanied by Max, Lucas, and Nancy’s kid brother, Mitchell. “...oh,” Steve said, wondering whether he was gonna be able to keep from doubling up with laughter when they were mid-possum vow and the kazoos started.

The kazoos started as they walked Hook Possum out, flower crown and all. “I made you a flower crown too,” Bell Witch Mirror Game Boy told Steve, and Steve dropped to a crouch let him put it on his head. He bit his lips as he turned to watch Hook Possum, bedecked in a flower crown and carrying a bouquet.

“There aren’t rings,” Robin whispered. “I got Sesame Street band-aids. Bert and Ernie.” It occurred to Steve suddenly, his cheeks heating at the actual care she’d put into it, that it might be on him, some day, to organize a more serious kind of wedding for her and her...someone. He bit his lip, trying not to think about how silly it all was, with Hook Possum moving away.

At least nearly everyone he knew had been at camp, he thought, watching Hook Possum bump blindly into the chairs, and listening to a bunch of off-tempo children earnestly try to produce ‘Here Comes The Bride’ on kazoo. They sounded like a lot of wet bees, mostly. At least Dustin would know what Steve was talking about, when he mentioned Hook Possum six times a sentence, or turned to grin at him, and then realized he wasn’t there.

Hook Possum drew closer—Pink Overalls had just grabbed his hand, finally, and hauled him along, and Steve wondered why he was having so much trouble seeing. It was drizzly, and gray, but it wasn’t dark. Pink Overalls threw flowers at Steve’s face, then at Hook Possum’s, and stepped back.

Steve wondered, as ever, what she thought was happening.

“Friends and campers gathered here today,” Dustin began, but Steve didn’t really listen to the vows. He’d slid his finger through Hook Possum’s handcuff, and the friendship bracelet, and his hand was shaking a little.

“Are you seriously okay with this,” he breathed, leaning close to Steve’s head. “This—this is—”

“Ssssshhhh,” Dustin groaned. “Where are the rings?”

“We’ll just wrap it around Hook Possum’s paw and he can put it on later,” Robin decided, and Steve wrapped it around Hook Possum’s furry-gloved finger. It felt really... weddingy, when Hook Possum (with Robin’s help) unwrapped the Bert-and-Ernie bandaid and wrapped it around Steve’s finger. Steve took his paw and squeezed it, wondering what he’d agreed to.

“To love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?” Robin asked, her eyes steady, and Steve kind of wanted to run, dreading Hook Possum laughing.

“...I do,” he whispered.

“I do too,” Steve said quickly, grabbing Hook Possum’s other paw, and squeezing that one too.

“You may kiss the bride,” announced Dustin, and Steve leaned in and smacked a kiss on the mask, listening to the startled laughter of the man inside.

After that, in the first raindrops, Robin sent the kids to get their packed bags. “The buses will be here in twenty minutes!” she yelled, stomping off, and Steve pulled back from hugging Hook Possum as hard as he could.

“I have to take the costume off,” Hook Possum whispered. “It’s starting to rain.”

It hadn’t rained for the whole three weeks of camp, not during the day, and it felt like a sign camp was truly over. Steve nodded, squeezing the dirty old costume paws in his hands, and wondering about the human inside them.

“He said you could kiss the bride,” Hook Possum said in kind of a weird choked voice, standing perfectly still, and Steve froze.

“You...saying I can see you?” he whispered back, as the rain started to penetrate his hair, cold against his head.

“...I’m saying I’m taking it off,” Hook Possum hissed, dragging Steve back towards the cabin. “Don’t look. But, uh. If—if you—he said you could kiss the bride, so—”

“I want to,” Steve told him, panting as they ran. “I want to, I do.”

“Okay,” Hook Possum laughed, kind of unevenly. “Yeah.”

Steve helped him get out of the damn costume for the last time, untying the little cords slowly, and sliding the warm, wet, musty fabric down Hook Possum’s muscular shoulders. As a show of good faith, he opened Robin’s luggage and took out one of her kneesocks, and wrapped it around his eyes. That done, he ran his hands down Hook Possum’s arms to find his bracelet and cuff, and a warm, strong hand to run his fingers over. He did the same on the other side, finding that Hook Possum hadn’t put the band-aid on.

“Lemme do it right,” Steve asked, and Hook Possum stilled. Steve fiddled blindly with the little tabs, but he got it on there, and slid their fingers together. “...they fit nice,” he said softly, and Hook Possum sighed. “Lemme take your mask off,” Steve tried next, and Hook Possum let him, let him slide his hands up over the pulse pounding in Hook Possum’s neck, and lift the mask away, before running his thumb over a stubbly jaw, and sliding his fingers into soft, sweaty curls.

Hook Possum stepped away. “Just let me get my feet out,” he whispered.

Steve stood there with a sock around his head for a long second, feeling stupid, when warm, chapped lips met his. Hook Possum’s breath was shaky.

“...gonna miss you,” Steve told him, as soon as he could draw breath, licking his lips, and Hook Possum made a little grunty whining noise in the back of his throat, and kissed him again. “We’re married now,” Steve told him. “You aren’t gonna run out on me, are you?”

“...this was never real,” Hook Possum said, his voice cracking, and Steve nodded once, his eyes stinging, and walked out. He yanked the sock off his head and blinked up at the rain, then yelped as Hook Possum dragged him back against the side of the cabin, the rain slicking up their hands and faces as they kissed again. “I wish it was real,” Hook Possum whispered.

“Give me your phone number, at least,” Steve whispered, kissing the warm, soft mouth against his. “Your name?!”

“...sorry,” Hook Possum muttered, pulling away. “Don’t look.”

Steve didn’t. He stood there in the rain for five entire minutes. His shoulders shook because of the warm Indiana summer rain, and for no other reason.

“He’ll meet you at the diner,” Max’s voice said, as Steve was paying for a stack of frozen TV dinners at Bradley’s Big Buy, and skateboarded off, without telling Steve when, so he yelled incoherently after her and drove to the diner. He ordered coffee as his TV dinners slowly defrosted in his car, and watched the door, then, finally, when the waitress wouldn’t go away, he ordered pie. It was really good, he thought distractedly, chomping bites of lemon meringue as he stared through the door at the parking lot.

Three hours—and a lot of pie—later, Billy Hargrove pulled up in front, and Steve made a face, wondering if he dared risk running to the bathroom. Billy lingered outside, cleaning his windshield wipers, and checking under the hood, blocking Steve’s view of everyone else who might drive up, and in his annoyance, Steve failed to notice he’d received and finished another refill on his coffee, and the bathroom question was becoming desperate.

He pressed his knees together, glancing at the clock, and gritting his teeth.

Billy glanced in, saw Steve, and stopped, watching him like he still kinda wanted to beat his teeth in, or something. Steve knocked back half a mug of coffee in sheer annoyance, and then glowered down at it, mentally apologizing to his bladder.

The door creaked open, and Steve jerked to attention, nearly knocking his latest empty pie plate off the counter with his elbow, but it was just Billy, slouching, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was tugging at his cuff, one hand stuffed in his pocket.

“Harrington,” he said, and Steve nodded, trying to see past him through the door. Billy huffed a laugh. “...you got a hot date?” he asked, and Steve nearly said yes, but then thought what it would look like, when a man showed up.

“None of your beeswax,” he said tiredly, wishing Max had said when. “Hey,” he called to the waitress. “How early d’you open in the morning?”

“We’re open five o’clock in the morning to eleven o’clock at night,” she said, and Steve winced, hoping Hook Possum showed up before, like, tomorrow afternoon. He had visions of himself keeping vigil for days, glutting himself on pie, and sleeping in the parking lot.

Billy turned and stalked back out, shaking his head, and Steve decided to risk the bathroom. He sprinted back out to see the parking spot in front empty, and sat back down, opening the pie menu.

“Your friend left,” said the waitress.

“What?!” Steve said, jerking his head around to the door. “Just now?!”

“The boy with the shirt and jacket made of blue jeans,” she said, cocking her head like Billy’s fashion sense was annoying, which to be fair, it was.

“Oh,” Steve said, deflating.

“He came back and asked how long you’d waited. If you’d said anything about who you were waiting for,” she said, eyeing him narrowly, and Steve blinked back at her.

Max’s voice suddenly sounded in his head again. Uh, he lives on my street. She’d sounded hesitant, which was very unlike Max.

He’s the big brother I never had, she’d said, and Steve had assumed that couldn’t be Billy.

You’re the son of the boss’s boss?! He heard again, in Hook Possum’s raspy, high-pitched tones. You could get me fired.

“...Billy,” Steve said aloud.

“Is this some kind of Shop Around The Corner thing? I love that movie.” the waitress asked, as Steve scrambled for his wallet, thinking about Billy’s curls, and how he’d been afraid of Steve seeing him with the mask off, even once they were friends. “Was he supposed to carry a certain book or something? Were you penpals?” she asked idly, leaning on the counter. “You should probably go talk to him, if you can walk, after all that pie.”

“He’s moving to California,” Steve said, shoving a wad of cash at her without bothering to count it, and running out to his car.

“Good luck!” she called after him. “Idiot,” he thought he heard, and his cheeks burned.

When he pulled up to the Hargrove house, it wasn’t lit up. He ran around to Max’s window—he knew where that was, from driving Dustin and Lucas around—and tossed a pinecone at it. After a few thudded into the glass, the blinds shot up, and she glowered out, then glared down at him, yanking the window up. “The hell are you doing here?!” she hissed.

“Billy’s Hook Possum,” Steve stage-whispered back at her, cupping his face. “Isn’t he?”

She frowned harder, glancing over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?!”

“Come let me in,” Steve told her, and she shook her head.

“He’s not home! Did you miss him?! God, you’re such morons—”

“Where’s his room?” Steve hissed back, and she pointed, leaning out.

“He left like an hour ago,” she shot back, waving at the road. “We’d hear his car.”

“Let me in, I’ll wait for him,” Steve whispered up, and she groaned, leaning her head against the wood of the window.

“Fine,” she said, slamming it shut. A few minutes later, the window next to it opened, and Max’s head poked out. “Get up here,” she said. “And be quiet, you’ll get him in trouble, his dad’s watching the ballgame.”

“Okay,” Steve said, gauging the jump to the windowsill.

He wasn’t graceful, but he made it in, kicking off the siding and getting an arm inside. He clambered in with Max’s help, and looked around in the refracted light from the streetlamps. Everything was in boxes. “...when’s he leaving,” Steve asked, his throat tight.

“He was gonna leave today, but I got him to meet you at the diner,” Max growled. “What happened?!”

“He didn’t say anything, he just left,” Steve groaned, his eye catching on something over on the mirrored dresser thingy. He squinted in the dim light, leaning in—and he was right, it was the flower crown Hook Possum had worn for their ‘marriage’. The flowers were wilted, their petals crumbly in his hands, and Steve leaned to smell them, remembering.

He shivered, trying not to laugh, because he was right, Billy Hargrove was Hook Possum, and now everything was even more complicated. Billy Hargrove hates me, Steve thought, bewildered. He HATES me, he nearly beat my face in.

“That’s his car,” Max said, staring at nothing, and then Steve could hear it, through the open window.

“I just need to talk to him,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, you fucking do,” she muttered, slamming the door on her way out.

Alone in Billy’s room, Steve wandered around, squinting at the couple of posters still on the wall. He found the light switch, and leaned against the wall near it as footsteps came down the hall, and the doorknob turned.

Steve waited until Billy shut the door and wandered over to the window before flipping on the light, and Billy yelled.

“Holy cross eyed jesus, Harrington,” he panted, staring. “What—why—”

“You’re Hook Possum,” Steve said. “Right?”

“What,” Billy said, backing away. He had his arms up like he wanted to fight, but as Steve stepped closer he just flinched back, his head and shoulders thudding against the wall. Steve could see a glint against his denim cuff, and grabbed his wrist, sliding a finger down inside.

“My friendship bracelet,” he said, feeling too relieved for a true smirk. “...and you still haven’t gotten this handcuff off?!” he asked, sliding the clinking metal up Billy’s wrist.

“Looks kinda rad, don’t you think,” Billy whispered, swallowing. “Why’re you here, Harrington?”

“You’re Hook Possum,” Steve said again, running his fingers along the soft skin on the underside of Billy’s wrist, under the cuff and the friendship bracelet.

Billy watched his face, licking his lips, and Steve remembered how it’d felt kissing him. He’d kissed Billy Hargrove, he thought, his brain stumbling to a halt as it reorganized Steve’s memories to fit the new facts.

“What happens now,” Billy asked, and Steve let him go, stepping back as he remembered nothing had actually changed.

“...you’re moving to California,” Steve said, looking around at the boxes. “I—I guess I can send postcards now. Now I know the big secret.” It was almost worse, knowing more about Hook Possum, and having to watch him leave.

“...you’re not pissed,” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows, and Steve considered, and then shook his head.

It was hard to imagine being angry at Hook Possum, even if Hook Possum was Billy Hargrove. “Nah,” Steve said, stalking over to sit on the bed. “Thanks, uh, thanks for meeting me. I guess. I know you didn’t want to see me again.” He’d thought Hook Possum liked him, which was stupid, he realized. “I should go, huh.”

“I didn’t know you’d be there, at the camp,” Billy said, laughing. He sounded tense. “I thought I was getting away from Hawkins.”

Max knew, Steve thought, remembering planning with Dustin and everyone. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You wishing you didn’t know, now?” Billy asked, with another laugh, sitting in the window, and gripping the sill with white knuckles.

“...no,” Steve said, honestly. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this...wary distance.

“You want your friendship bracelet back?” Billy sneered, and Steve just shook his head, and got up to leave out the door, if Billy was gonna block the window. The eight slices of pie were roiling in his stomach with probably two whole pots of coffee, and he felt like he might throw up. “Harrington, fuck, wait,” Billy growled, pushing himself up to stalk over and hold the door shut. “Why’d you come over here,” he hissed, his low register all Billy Hargrove, who’d beaten Steve unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, laughing, a little, because Hook Possum had been right. Summer camp wasn’t the real world, and he wasn’t married to a magic possum. He yanked on the doorknob, but Billy leaned his weight against the door, watching his face.

“Do you still want me,” Billy asked, grabbing Steve’s arm.

Steve wanted to get out of the conversation, and he almost dodged the question with a what do you mean, or a I have to go, but Billy’s hand was warm on his skin, and nervously sweaty.

Steve nodded.

Billy made a noise in his throat, kind of a strangled choke, and grabbed him, yanking him into a clumsy kiss, all teeth, because he was laughing. “You’ll make me another friendship bracelet, right,” he said breathlessly, like it was important, and Steve nodded, losing track of what was going on. He ran his finger along Billy’s wrist, and hooked it around the friendship bracelet/cuff accessory, and Billy kissed him again, leaning in. “If—if I’m here, you’ll make me another one.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, dizzy with kisses.

“Make us rings,” Billy whispered, smiling so wide his kisses were a little wet against Steve’s cheek, and ear. Steve’s bones creaked from how hard Billy was squeezing him.

“...can’t believe you haven’t taken the handcuff off,” Steve whispered, against Billy’s jaw. “...god, I hope nobody ever asks how we met. Stay out of the trash.”

Billy snorted a laugh, leaning his face into Steve’s neck with a sigh, and then pressing soft kisses up it, so Steve started having wild thoughts about Billy’s mattress, five feet away. “Y’know,” Billy said softly, “I kinda hope they do ask, actually. You ashamed of your magical...haunted possum...girlfriend?”

“God I missed you,” Steve said, snorting a laugh. His vision blurred with tears.

#harringrove big bang #Harringrove #Ridiculous possum mascot story #Art by Monsdasarah!!#Amazing

16 notes · View notes

downywrites · 3 years

Text

Bird has decided that it is time to unleash all of bird’s old fics. Enjoy some sad Tubbo and bird Tommy brainrot fic.

Tubbo is sad, and Tommy wants to help him make his presidency better. (tw-depressive episode)

He sighed, shifting in the presidential seat uncomfortably. People spoke, saying their piece, before nodding and turning away. He signed document after document, skimming over the words like a badly written newspaper. Soft whispers echo around him, but from who (or what), he didn’t know. His eyes dimmed, dropping gently as the day went by. The sun began to set, the edge of the star kissing the lip of the horizon. He looked out, blinking at the winks of the rays blinded him for little moments at a time. Sighing, he waited for the next person to appear, only for the doors to close quietly. He watched the door handles jiggle at the movements, before looking to his guard. He nodded to them, watching them silently as they walked out. Their boots clicked as they walked, closing the door behind them. He sighed again, drumming his fingers on the wood on the armrest of the chair.

He got up, formal vesture shifting as he did so. He winced at the tightness of the tie around his throat, the familiar pressure comforting but equally uncomfortable. He stepped down, checking for each stair as he did. Slipping right now would feel.. Terrible. He looked down at the floor, eyes dulled and tired from the long day. He dragged his hooves on the floor, barely glancing at the beauty of the country around him. He couldn’t see it, not when he felt like this.

He didn’t belong on the seat. They only elected him because the others wanted him here. They wanted Wilbur, wanted Tommy. But they got him, the little goat nobody. They didn’t want him, did they? He saw it in the way they looked away from him. He looked too much like… him. He sobbed a little as he walked, peering through the corners of his eyes to make sure nobody saw him moping. If anyone saw him right now, they’d probably laugh at him. Mock him. He was already such a scapegoat, wasn’t he? Or was he? He’s probably making all of this up. He knew that it was all a trick his head played on him, but he couldn’t escape it.

He felt trapped, like a bird in a cage. He saw the outside, tasted the air, but just couldn’t reach, his hands trapped by the golden bars. He wanted out. Wanted to be happy. But he knew he couldn’t not with such a weight on his shoulders, a weight he bore alone. At least he had Quackity at his side. He..he felt alone. He had no vice president, not in the way they had. He… His hoof knocked on his door, and he looked up at the familiar sight of his house. He opened the door, looking into the darkened house with the worn-out eyes of a man of war. He stumbled in, collapsing on his chair. He maaed softly at the sinking feeling he felt, snuggling slightly into the comforting softness of the leathery seat. He felt tears burn, unshed, behind his eyelids, from stress, sadness, or frustration, he couldn’t tell.

He had everything. Why did he feel like this? He felt...empty. He couldn’t bring himself to visit his old apiaries, unable to face what he loved to do before. He couldn’t bring himself to browse the flower forests for new flowers. He couldn’t bring himself to visit his friends, to feed himself. Eyebags had formed under his eyes, dark circles like bruises apparent on his gaunt face. Nobody asked. Nobody cared. He sniffled, curling up a bit more in the chair. If only I could tell someone… no. I’m already a big burden as it is.

The sound of his door creaking made his ears perk weakly. “Tubbo?” A familiar voice washed over him, and he forced himself to suppress a sob at the sound. He managed to get out a choked “Here.” before he dug his face back into the chair. The sound of a quick gait got louder and louder, until warm, familiar arms cradled him gently. He turned to sob into the familiar red and white t-shirt, tears burning as they trailed down his cheeks and into the fabric. If Tommy felt it, he made no reaction to it, wrapping his wings around him like a comforting, weighted, living blanket. Tubbo wept openly into his caring embrace, snuggling in deeper into the other. Tommy rubbed soft circles into his back, murmuring soft little comforting words. “It’s okay, Tubbs. Let it all out.” His ears drooped fully. He relaxed into Tommy, empty feeling slowly being replaced by sadness, hopelessness.

“I- Tommy…”

He sniffled, curling up and cherishing the feeling of being held. Tommy, frowned at his reactions, tightening his wings around him. “Tubbo, are you okay, big man? I know that the presidency has been getting you down lately.” He traced the ridges on his horns softly, as to not rouse him. “ You’ve been sadder lately. Duller. You never visit your favorite places anymore. I was worried.” He drew little circles at the base of his horns, making Tubbo giggle through his tears. “You...are you okay, big man? I haven’t been talking to you, and I thought...Tubbo?” Tubbo whimpered through his tears, looking at Tommy hesitantly. “Tubbo, are you feeling...down lately?” Tommy grasped at the words, wanting to find the right ones to explain his feelings, but he felt like he was grasping at air. Emotions filling his heart to the brim, he looked down into his eyes, hoping that his eyes told the whole story to him.

Tubbo’s eyes burned with another wave of tears, and he buried his face into Tommy’s chest, inhaling the scent of grass, of feathers. The scent of warm fireplaces and wood. It was so...Tommy. He missed this. And Tommy felt the same. The two stayed there for many minutes, simply basking in the high of being in each other’s presence again. When Tommy finally opened his mouth again, it was to ask for something. “Hey, Big T?” The goat hybrid made a noise of acknowledgement, stirring a little in his wings. “You’re feeling sad, huh?” He made another affirming noise, tamping down the feeling of him being a burden, a liar, a burden of a liar. “Want me to..to.. You know?” He tried to explain what he meant, dragging his fingers over his horns to elicit a giggle from the other.

Tubbo put two and two together quickly, ears flicking in muted joy. He looked at Tommy again, tail wagging slightly somewhere in the mess of feathers and fabric. With a start of realization, Tubbo noticed that they had changed positions. He didn’t know when, and once again, he had to ignore the feeling of worry that came with that idea. His mind whirled, hissing fearful statements into his ears. What if he was an enemy? You’d be clueless. You are a weak little hybrid, a liability. You- He whimpered, nodding at the bird hybrid. “P-please.”

Tommy gently slid his hands over his horns, teasing softly at the ridges. He squirmed a bit, maaing quietly at the feeling. The bird hybrid continued his ministrations, moving from the outside of the curls of his horns to the base of his horns. As he got closer and closer to the base, Tubbo’s giggles got louder and louder. Once he got to the base, Tubbo’s leg kicked a little in the cuddle pile, making Tommy snort quietly.

He teased and worried the flesh there tenderly with his fingers, carefully avoiding the places where the skin looked chafed from Tubbo’s nervous scratching. Tubbo melted into his hands, giggling under his breath. “..ihihihi…” “Does that feel good, Tubbs?” He drummed at the bottom part of the base, smiling at the little maa he got in response. He slid one of his hands back over, tracing the dip in the horn all the way to the end of the swirl, tapping the tip of it as he finished. He moved his hand back over the ridges again, stroking it as if he was a prized sword in his collection, like a beautiful work of art.

He touched him with a love he thought he didn’t deserve, rubbing his horn with the love of a family member, the family he never knew. His touch was the smell of honey in the air, the sound of bees buzzing their little tunes in the air as they collected the nectar of the lilacs. His voice was the feeling of honeycomb against his skin, the crackle of the campfires. His wings, wrapped around him and keeping him snug and warm in their embrace, were the scent of flowers on the spring breeze, the sound of laughter and music discs playing in the wake of the setting sun. How did he forget this? How did he forget.. Him? The love he felt from the boy..he didn’t deserve this. Or did he?

I do, he told himself. He loves me. I love him. We’ve been together, through thick and thin. I.. he trailed off, feeling a hand tenderly rub at his ear. Tommy gently thumbed his ear, before using his pointer and thumb to gently rub at both faces of the ear. He smiled at the texture of the fur and marvelled at the waxy texture of the inner ear. He cherished the sound of Tubbo’s laughter, his voice, no matter how broken it sounded right now. The feeling of his fur against his arms. He wanted to make it better. To make it all better. He regretted not doing this earlier. He wanted to have helped earlier. But he was here, when Tubbo needed him most. He prided himself on that. He knew that he had the key to the lock on his cage, to give him the respite he needed.

He rubbed circles into his ear, using the other hand to trace his horns some more. “You’ve done great, Tubbo. You’re a great president. The best.” Tubbo nodded, sniffling a little at that. His tears didn’t burn so much as they trailed down his cheeks again. He flicked his untouched ear. He sobbed a little at the compliment, trying to look up as much as he can without dislodging his hands. “R-really? Y- sniff you mean it?” Tommy’s heart almost shattered at the sound of his voice. It was so broken, so sad… no. He clenched his fist internally. No, he would not let this stand, not when he could still stand, still breathe.

For as long as he could walk, he would guide Tubbo along the path too. As long as he could hold a sword, he could hold his hand, keeping him on the same road as they went. As long as he could fly, touch the clouds with his tips of his wings, kiss the sun, he could wrap his wings, tipped with red and filled with his love from the base to the very edges of his wingtips, around his best friend. He could give him the love he needs, as long as he had love in him. And love was something he knew how to give. His friends, his family, his mentors- he had love to use. Love to share. And he vowed to himself to never see another tear like this slide down the goat boy’s cheek, not if he could do something about it.

His emotion, his raw emotions, bold and true, could be felt in every gentle stroke of Tubbo’s ear, every tap and touch on his horns. For Tubbo was loved, and he was loved by everyone in the SMP. Everyone knew that he looked like Schlatt, but they knew better. Schlatt’s drunken, dazed eyes no longer gazed on the country. Instead, a pair of eyes, sharp as they were soft with love for his nation, strong and steely, even as he helped repair a fence with fondness and gentle hands, gazed on the country in his place. Long, powerful, intimidating looking horns were replaced by the curling horns of a young goat, nubby at the edges and unbroken by the biting edge of a sword. Ragged, roughly scarred ears were replaced by soft, blushing ears that people loved to tease and touch. Gone was the dictator. The true president of L’manberg, vulnerable in the avian’s arms, smiled, eyes closing gently at the soft tickles and stroking. He felt warm, full of love. He felt whole again.

And the next day, Tommy and Tubbo sat on the seat together, poking at each other and giggling the whole time. Nobody said anything about it or complained; if anything, people loved the duo even more than the one alone, leaving gifts on the doorsteps of each as thank you presents on the holidays. And, as the sun rose again on the dawning, budding nation, a bird flew out the door, leaving the confines of its cage forever.

#mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #lee!tubbo #ler!tommy #it's soft #but also sad so be careful #my writing #downywrites #sfw tickling

36 notes · View notes

kiruuuuu · 3 years

Text

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

~*~

There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

He needs to recover.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

~*~

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

~*~

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

~*~

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

#rainbow six siege #montagne #bandit #montagne/bandit #lion #fanfic #protection mountain #I'm personally very happy with how all this is concluded #thank you to the one person who started all this you know who you are #thank you also to suzie for keeping this ship alive all this time #thank you all #💗💗💗#ALSO #CAN YOU GUESS WHO'S THE SNITCH?

52 notes · View notes